Blog,

Listen, when I tell you that I’ve missed our exchanges…….or rather non-exchanges as it’s one way (thank goodness computers can’t answer you back……YET!).

Radio 4.

The Archers. Omnibus.

They used my favourite poem for Jolene and Kenton’s marriage ceremony!!!!!!!!! I found this quite shocking. I don’t think it has the same resonance? sense? feeling? spirit? as it once had (W. B. Yeats – He wishes for the cloths of heaven – put that in for you Bogster, as I know that you …..well, like to know). I’ve loved that poem since I was 17 years old.

Doggy business

So,

I’m incredibly sorry to tell you, Blog, that that incredible farting dog is now farting in another realm…..releasing spiritual gas to celestial beings.

Entre nous, when I heard the news, I did cry.

I then took our very alive woofy for a walk and had ……another cry.

I then found photos of Farting Dog and enlarged the part of the photo that had just her in it.

Connected to this or not, I also became Doggy Broker and have placed a potential Farting Dog of the future from a home where ‘the puppy goes or I go’ (guess which sex of the partnership stated this?) to the home of my cousin. I’ve enjoyed great times with my cousin and family…….but…..what if …… ah well….. perhaps they’ll ask for their commission to be refunded.

Ageing

Whilst I’ve been having my little…….rest….from blogging, I also accidentally became AGED. Jesus. I’m now OVER FORTY. I DON’T FIND IT….hang on, better with the caps off… a wonderful experience getting older. I’m now a bit like a vampire……the mirrors and daylight avoidance thing? Well, it’s simple – JUST AVOID MIRRORS IN DAYLIGHT. In fact, just avoid daylight. But do……BUT DO LOCATE ALL PUBLIC TOILETS in any area you are likely to go. And start comparing adult nappy prices/styles  (yes, brother number ….hang on…1,2,3,4,5..yes, brother no. 5, I know that you once said the worst combination of words in the English language is Adult and Nappy but these Pampers clad Elephants in the room, need to be addressed).

Bad behaviour

So, get this:

Me and the husband find some charming lunatics who agree to come to our house and stay there (with the children) whilst we go out.

Our very first night out together in Nowhere is at F’aussie’s house for her birthday.

We get there and as she had lots of ‘gay people’ visiting, the house looks Party-tastic-fab-u-LOUS!

We’ve even agreed beforehand (along the lines of Me suggesting: ‘YOU’RE DRIVING!!!! As you’re always getting drunk and I never am’ ) that I can have a few drinks and let my hair down.

We’ve confirmed to the couple who (we’ve tied down to the chair) are babysitting, that we’ll be a couple of hours…….

…………

Camera 1: Me singing at the top of my voice when I stop to ask myself ‘what is that strange light i can see coming over the hill?’ And

‘where is everyone?’

I stagger around, have some memory of my husband shouting some abuse at he as he left (v v late) and I DUG IN MY HEELS IM NOT GOING HOME AS IM HAVING TOO MUCH FUN… when I see one of F’Aussie’s kids who is COMING DOWNSTAIRS TO BREAKFAST.

Yes, not my finest moment. I did however manage to pour milk onto her cereal without falling headfirst into the bowl.

the strange light I could see coming from over the hill?

It was the dawn.

Here’s a tip – NEVER EVER GO TO A PARTY AND TAKE OFF YOUR WATCH.

I had to sit on a sofa and wait until I was better (yes, I wasn’t hungover but not well……) to drive home. And how pleased to see me, they all were when I did crawl in through the front door……at 11. 30 A.M. especially when I went to bed (I was sick, remember), got up at 2 p.m. to have some lunch, get sent back to bed ‘you look like you are 100 years old’ and stayed in bed until 7 a.m. on Monday. Oh, my husband just ruffled my hair and said ‘oh, you are a one, aren’t you?’ but he must have said it in French….it;s what he meant to say  but somehow  it sounded like he said ‘putain. merde. la vache.’

Blog, so much rubbish to tell you and so little time (management).

Au revoir, my good friend.

Until……. well, actually, demain soir we have been invited for dinner to a French household in the village.

It’s ok though, as it’s the ones I mentioned in blog 4?….you don’t recall? The ones who came to pick up their kids and we drank 4 or 5 bottles of wine? yes, it’s them. With wine, I am fluent in french.

The family

Well in case you are wondering, they are all still up to their usual nonsense (some more than others). We did have a new soon to be made classic the FAce moment, involving some names on the classroom parent representative list. His pronounciation of Virgenie was inspired!

ok, i’m off.

until next time, Bloggy.

Hey Blog,

How has your day been? Up and down? Too many exclamation points giving you a headache?

Now,

My family are well and truly onto me.

Not the family I have haphazardly produced…..no, the original of My Family. The mob who created, molded, fashioned the person that I am today. Which means, I molded, fashioned and created them too ? Don’t shake your heads!

I used the term MOB in it’s truest sense. 8 of us. 6 boys and two girls. Wild, as a collective (some of us may have been wild individually but I can’t comment on that). Could have been wilder had we not had Mother who ruled over us with love, care, devotion and a lighting quick ability to whack 5 of us with one swipe of the arm.

Don’t think that Father was absent. Actually, in the physical sense he was, as he disappeared to work before the birds woke (you know how we all knew what time the Father left? He gave us his own, particular wake up call – longer and louder if he’d eaten onions the night before) and came back around the time dinner landed on the table. We felt his presence through his absence. This materialised in the form of ‘Wait until your father gets home! I’ll tell him what little [x[”0= you have been.’ It was a good threat too. He had and has, very large hands.

Anyway, my family all know about you, Blog. They all know because I’ve told them. So, I’ve given this some thought:

-do I self edit what I put for fear of the Family not liking it? No, else the blog is pointless.

-are they allowed to disagree with me? Of course.

-will I publish their comments? Only if they agree.

Welcome Family. May we take many blog journeys together.

Big Boy Bed

So for the past two weeks or so, Fatty has been uncooperative at bedtime.

Still uncooperative at 10.30 p.m. in fact.

You’d think, this being the youngest of 5, I’d be able to nip this behaviour in the bud?

Well, he showed me a thing or two.

I’d used up all my best bribes (sweets, new toys, stories, films,…..PLEASE FATTY….. burning his favourite teddy, throwing his dummy down the toilet…mummy is leaving now…FOREVER….) during the first night which meant, on night II of Phase Ultra Git, he definitely had the upper hand and knew it.

It dragged on and on until we asked if he would go to bed nicely if he had a big boy bed, just like the Prof and the Lips.

‘of course.’

Like the good parents that we are, during the day, we forgot all about our promise…..idea and as we never, ever learn, forgot for a few more days/nights (the difficulty being that the parts to change the cot into the bed were……..in a box……..of 50 boxes……somewhere ……..in the barn of our neighbour…….in a place with no electricity). This HAD to be done in the day.

‘Fatty! Stop crying like a baby. I thought that you were a big boy now?’

‘no!’

‘why not? come on, this is what a baby does.’

‘…..I don’t… have a big boy bed.’

Translation: How do you expect me to behave when you make me sleep in a baby cot?

Parents: 0        Fatty: 1

The cot was transformed. He got into bed. He laid down. He didn’t kick up a fuss………for an hour.

‘I don’t like baddies.’

I brought him up his toy gun, put it on his big boy bed and told him to shoot them  (great parenting tip number 2).

He slept………….like a baby.

Driving in the department of Also Nowhere, France

Every,

single

time

that I get into the car and drive

I am putting my life, and those of the passengers, in danger.

No, no, no, I’m not criticizing my driving (I’ll leave that to others and ok, yes I reversed into a boulder and made it roll under the car and yes, I took off some piece of metal on a tree stump – also from under the car but……other than that….and driving on the wrong side of the road…..very RARELY these days…). I’m talking about the driving style prevalent down here. Even for the French, these folk drive like the breaks have gone, their feet are glued down on the gas pedal and there is a Win a Baguette Every Day for Life competition at their destination.

Overtaking on blind bends

crests of hills

narrow country lanes (in fact, PARTICULARLY on narrow country lanes)

Better still – narrow country lanes…one lane only in fact….then waiting for a blind bend at the crest of a hill and THEN taking over….I see this DAILY.

All of the above happens whilst they chat on their mobiles, are doing 120km/hour and smoking a cigarette.

This, the department of Also Nowhere, is a pays of Near Misses!

Mother – KEEP UP WITH THE PRAYERS. THEY ARE WORKING!

The Village of Nowhere (and of no one)

This will be a topic that I’ll cover regularly. But as I’ve already bored you to death interested you sooo much with my other topics, this evening, I’ll just make a quick mention.

Monsieur Felix.

It’s actually not his name.

His dog is called Felix.

I can never, ever catch what his name is and now, as it has been 3 years since we have been having our (lost in translation) discussions, I just cannot ask him.

He ambushes me when I take the dog out for a walk. He used to catch me regularly and stand and talk at me for 30 minutes but (after a year), I caught on and now sidle along walls, crawl under bushes, jump over hedges, walk after dark (and it gets DARK here. Walking along the back lane with a black dog (helpful) with your hands out in front of you to avoid (the black dog?) trees and other villagers) to avoid him.

And,

What do you know?

He only bloody knocks at the door the other day.

30 minutes later (still at the door. If I let him in, I’d be finished) and much jumping up and down and making throat slitting actions (yep….who KNOWS what he understood me to have said. I though I was talking about the weather) and I only got rid of him by saying that our dog had fleas (true). He stepped back but not before he asked me which sign I was. I answered. He stepped back again – obviously crossed a charming Scorpio before.

The prodigal and I drove back into the village the other evening. It was a balmy night but still light. We saw 8 people wandering around the village (this is unprecedented unless there is a funeral in the village church):

‘Reminds me of 28 Days Later.’

We laughed so hard that we nearly (not quite so nearly, as she is a large presence) knocked over the village hairdresser who was standing in our (muddy, grassy banked, dog turd littered) parking place, holding one of her little (bastard) dogs and giving us bad……although, not quite zombied, looks. She owns another (bastard) dog and I hate the pair of them as they make my dog, CRAZY. They are also ‘put out’ of the front door to come and shit down where we park our car DESPITE the Mayor indicating (by letter and signs) that dogs should be kept on leashes and to PICK UP YOUR DOG SHITE YOU LAZY BASTARDS…or something like that, all around the village.

Anyway..trying to park the car (whilst checking the mirrors in case any of the people wandering around the village, were zombies. Hard to tell them apart)..

She did move, eventually. Probably in the confusion of working out exactly what I had said to her from my car window (I thought I had stated that we were about to park there but only she can tell you what I actually said) but continued to stare back at us in a not very welcoming, happy, smiling way.

Turns out, little (bastard) dog the smaller, was run over and left to die along that stretch of mud track.

Clearly, she though it was me.

(I’m convinced it was a tree stump I reversed over the other day……………)

Farewell

actually, I should say, good night. Farewell makes it sound like I’m off to Switzerland on a one way ticket to end up in a better place?

Blog, my friend (my family, my followers and others), sleep tight and remember:

Conscience is the inner voice that warns us somebody may be looking

sweet dreams.

Dear blog,

In my case, things drown out of sight, fade in the shadow of closer people……ie my family.

Just to say IVE NOT FORGOTTEN YOU.

I have forgotten lots of other things but not you , dearest blog.

Since I last blogged we’ve had more dramas than the Archers Omnibus.

Now, as I’ve finally decided to blog, Fatty has also decided to roll his motorbike up and down my arm and across the keyboard.

Bugger – mobile ringing. I shan’t answer it in case it is the vet I just called. He is probably ringing to catch the Husband to ask if the lunatic who just called and who said that she was a labrador in need of a vaccination but couldn’t spell out her own name, is anything to do with him…….

right – I’m off. I shall return ce soir.

A bientot.

Hello Blog,

Just a quick one in between the kids coming home from school and me having to go and pick up the Prodigal (an hour plus trip) because he has spent his bus fare…..

It’s hot. 33 degrees. No more to be said about that.

I’ve recreated my childhood. Absolutely, totally recreated my childhood except that now I’m one of the parents.

What would a psychiatrist tell me this means?

Perhaps it means I actually like living in houses that are in the process of being done up?

perhaps it means that I like having a lot of work to do?

I’ve made this happen somewhere along the line – lots of kids, house in constant state (of repair), a husband with no sense of embarrassment and who definitely thinks the cost of living should be as it was in the 1940’s (just like my charming father), LONG road trips in a car full of kids (albeit with seat belts these days), toys which are broken, a garden littered with tools and sharp, pointy, dangerous things……

The Doctor

Tomorrow I go back to the Dr who stood me up last week.

Knowing her, she is going to tell me off. She probably expected me to come at some other time – some other time than the one she gave me over the phone (in French) and which I repeated back to her and wrote down.

The fact that I wrote the wrong day on my note which said (in French) ‘im here, where are you?’ will make her think I’m the guilty party.

I might take the time I wrote on the post it note and wave it around in front of her nose.

Except I won’t do it. I won’t say anything other than ‘desolee’ as my language part of my brain needs a lot of oil (wine) to get working and to turn up to see her drunk might lead to further issues……..like the kids being taken off me…..hang on…..could it work?

 

Ok Blog – the charming buggers 3,4 & 5 are back and 4 just told me that number 3 got a bad mark in school. And so the afternoon begins.

 

Remember: in a marriage, three is company and two is not  (oscar wilde).

Until next time and a big hello to my two new followers (siblings – does that count?).

 

 

It is in fact 45 steps.

45 steps!!!!!!!!!!!!

I counted them the 6 times I ran between the kitchen and the oven.

over and out.

Dear Blog,

I know. I can’t give you any decent excuses for why I’ve neglected you for 5 days. All I can say is, I’ve let things get on top of me  but I promise to try harder next time (this is, by the way, also the same thing I say to my French teacher every single Monday morning).

Gains and Loses

 

 I’ve lost more ground (literal) in my battle with the Husband and his chaos this week than I have in a long time. 

He played a clever card in our warfare. He told me ‘ok, from now on I will finish one room at a time.’  I believed him. The room was going to be the kitchen – fabulous? Great? Let’s have it finished.

Since that statement he has:

-knocked through an ancient window opening onto the stairs, painted four outside windows, drilled what started as 1 small hole between the playroom and kitchen and ended up in being a rather big, big hole on both sides of the wall so he could run an internet cable (and needed trips to three different neighbours for drill bits and then a trip to the town to buy the longest drill bit in France and which cost about as much as an engagement ring), cleaned the pool, bought cases and cases of wine to take advantage of the supermarket offers, tidied (not in my understanding of the word) the office (totally chaotic) and 4th bedroom (neither room we’ve ever been able to use other than to dump tools and shite), knocked out part of a wall of the fireplace, knocked through part of the actual fireplace floor in my bedroom, researched………whatever he researches……..but work in the kitchen? well…. He has moaned a lot too. An awful lot.

So total gains to him: 5 rooms (and I’m being lenient) in a chaotic state

Total gains to me: 1 wardrobe with the door hanging off for a year was finally moved (out of my sight) and the door put back on. Oh and the Australian canvas of photos was finally hung up after 3 1/2 years.

I don’t mean to sound like a spoilt brat but after 3 1/2 years of waging a Mess/Renovation battle with the love of my life, I think a little break would do me good. A little break to say? our other house…………. oh, no, hang on a minute. That one is worse than this. 

The husband is stubborn. He wants to do it all himself. He also wants to do every room at the same time. I’m wondering now if he regrets the conversation of February 2010 :

‘hey love, check out this house. Isn’t it perfect? we could move straight in and enjoy ourselves.’

‘I don’t want to pay for a house in which the work has already been done.’

OOOOH, I bet he REGRETS THOSE WORDS now!!!!

This evening

I picked up the Prodigal, brought him home and he was SHOUTED at by the Husband (my husband, to avoid confusion) because he, the Prodigal, had cooked chips last night and spilt chip fat all over the new made to measure slab of wood/kitchen stand that IVE ONLY BEEN WAITING THREE YEARS FOR!!!!!!!

The Prodigal went out (and I don’t blame him), shortly after arriving home, and got drunk with some Petanque players (or so he said) and fell in through the door, on top of the dog around 9.30 p.m.

The Husband went to bed at 8.30 p.m. probably under the weight of his House Woes.

The Fatty was being difficult until 10.15 p.m.

I am now enjoying the first half an hour of being on my own today…….except that it’s almost tomorrow.

And so the day ends with some words by Dickens:

Reflect on your present blessings, of which every man has many; not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.

Until next time.

 

 

 

 

Blog! How are you?

Not so good? Well, everyone has days like that. Tomorrow it will be different……….maybe not better…..maybe worse in fact….but different.

Parenting tip no. 1: I’ve shared these wise words (above) with the kids countless times. I can tell that they take real comfort in them  (although I have noticed that they look horrified, possibly dumbstruck and definitely tearful when they hear them. I guess they are just filled with love for me and my sound parenting skills).

Blardey hell! The flatulent guest has just released the F-bomb (the fart to top all farts).  The old girl has one more night with us before her human parents return tomorrow. I’ve been checking that she is breathing when she falls asleep. I’m hovering around her like some neurotic parent of a new born baby.  Just stay alive for a few (12?……24?) more hours PLEASE?

Good things today:

erm…

I’ll come back to this.

Bad or annoying things today:

-sick kids

-whineging 2 year old

-arriving at the dr’s surgery and being stood up……by the dr.

-missing out on a banana bread morning (actually that should go to top of the list).

-picking up enough soggy dog shite to fill four nappy bags (scented but lacking the power to overcome that particular odour).

-whingeing two year old.

-sick Prodigal who ‘NEEDS to leave the house.’ as he has split up with his ex current ex current ex ex current current girlfriend

-not sleeping last night (yes, I know I DO go on about this – my husband tells me the exact same thing – but I’m going to moan about it anyway) because a)the farking dogs doing things in my room they shouldn’t b) I overate at dinner….. yep, second time this week that a stomach ache from a stuff up has kept me awake. Will I learn?…….. well, actually I have. I had a fried egg on toast for dinner tonight.

the problem here is this:

I’ve also drunk half a bottle of wine.

in another hour, I’ll THINK I’m hungry again………and will also need more wine……

Never mind. Tomorrow is Saturday so I can sleep in until  what?………oh goodie – 7.30 a.m………

The party that wasn’t intended, is tomorrow afternoon.

The Lips turns 6 on Monday.

6 years since I fractured my ankle in an Australia playground and I just happened to be 9 plus months pregnant. Ah….happy memories.  The Husband coming back with coffees (he had taken a half day from work) to find me on the floor. Him not panicking AT ALL and running around a bit…….very together…..  Him running off again to get me a taxi to take me to the hospital.  Me, finally in the taxi (how?) and a drunk guy opening the door and nearly sitting on top of me. Me, in the waiting room after the X ray, hearing two medical people say ‘ohhhh!! She is what? 9 months pregnant? Who is going to have to break this news to her?’. Me, sitting in the X ray room (still) and nurses coming in to have a gawp at the pregnant idiot.  The Husband, calling my mother (visiting) to get to the hospital to pick me up. My mother, borrowing someone’s car and driving all of the way with the handbreak on (they sold that car not long after). So I gave birth with my ankle to knee in a cast, wrapped in black bin liners……but not until a few weeks later.  I had crutches to get around on before then and for 6 weeks after. No car. Lived on the top of a very steep hill and had a 14 month old (plus The Prodigal and The Face and a husband who worked until 10.30 p.m. most nights) . Still……..HAPPY MEMORIES!

Anyway, it is his party tomorrow.

Entre nous, I DREAD these events. DREAD them. Last year, the B’stard kid (and there is always one) threw something at The Lip’s head so hard that he had this Harry Potter like scar for…..actually, I think it is still there. And guess who is coming tomorrow? Plus 9 other buggers………..actually, make that 7, as Mrs. East Coast is bringing two (plus one) of hers and naturally, they do not come under the ‘other bugger’ category (phew…do you think she’ll notice I did that turnaround?).

Blog – I’m going to have to call it a night.

This is probably a good thing.

Just to leave you with something Fatty said yesterday:

‘Where do you come from, Fatty?’, I ask, affectionately from something cute he has just done.

‘I come from a retard.’ he  replied.

Out of the mouths of babes………………..

Sweet dreams, Blog (and my HUGE followers group).

Dear Blog,

GOOD MORNING!!! Did you sleep well?

Having just gone over Day 5 of blog – I can safely say that yesterday’s blog was a bit rubbish. I should have made a transitional (blog) entry.

I apologise.

Will try harder for blog 6.

And remember – Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast (Oscar Wilde).

 

 

Good evening, Blog,

How are you doing?

Nice to hear that.

Right – now back to ME.

Topics to be pondered on this evening:

-can you get food poisoning from a dirty chip pan?

-does the full moon make people (and other species) crazy?

-How difficult is it to have a good night’s sleep?

-The 35 steps

So, we’ll begin with the last one.

There are 35 steps from my kitchen (stocked with the usual kitchen apparel plus school bags, a 5 foot canvas stuck over with photos from Australia, bags full of wood chips, wood, gas heater, enough coloured pencils to redecorate the house, paper, more paper, even more paper, grubby children, grumpy husband, toys, dogs beds (x2), dog hair (copious), ingredients for things to burn, plates, not very clean looking saucepans, dead mice under the floorboards? definitely…..or I hope so, as how else would I explain THAT smell etc) to the OUTSIDE OVEN. 35 steps.  35 steps from that oven to the sink with say, a large, heavy, full of boiling liquid saucepan.  35 steps back to the kitchen in case I forget something……i mean, WHEN I forget something. 35 steps backwards and forwards every bloody day until that day of days, when the Husband, permits me (yes, I have to ask permission as he has hidden the fuse) to switch on the oven which resides in the kitchen. The mother of all ovens, indeed.  

but

We are still two months away from that moment (the inside oven acts as an (expensive) radiator. Not until the inside temperature is about 12 degrees, I am allowed to switch this on). Two months of me still not working out how not to burn everything within an outside gas oven (hotter at the bottom than the top? Well, that isn’t always the case either). Two months away from me standing there in all weathers (ok, so there is a roof but no walls), relighting the stove that gets blown out.

did I mention that there are 35 steps between the kitchen and this oven?….

-I think we have satisfactorily covered the 35 Steps topic. Now let us address the ‘how difficult is it to have a good night’s sleep?’ question:

It would appear for me……VERY difficult.

In fact, we can combine, at this time of the month (no, not mine…the lunar calendar), the full moon question too.

So……I go to bed early as (ref to blog 4 re never get caught drinking wine alone by French parents? Well, I got that WRONG. The French parents turned up with two bottles of red which we drank together……and then opened two more) as I was tired. 

‘Good night, Prodigal. Whatever you do, make sure you close the two dogs (especially the farting one) in the kitchen tonight!’

‘ok, lovely, beautiful, youthful, fabulous, Mother.’

Well, I’ll be damned if those two dogs didn’t contrive a way to open the door, sneak upstairs and then:

Farting dog: Did countless impressions of an emphysemic (? someone with buggered lungs) patient who is about to die but still managing to let off some stinkers at the same time as coughing up its lungs.

Other dog: licking my elbow, running around the upstairs (floorboards with unclipped nails), licking my elbow, whining, nudging my face….. not farting……to be fair.

I get up and let them outside but they don’t want to go (as it is freezing standing there at an open door) and it is at 3 a.m.

The village bell chimes that it is 3 a.m. at 3.30 a.m.

The bell chimes that it is 3 a.m. again at 3.35 a.m.

4.00 a.m. – I hear noises from the kitchen. ‘Hear we go,’ I think (wrongly) ‘the Prodigal can’t sleep and has found the vodka.’

It’s not him (thank christ) but the FAce. he is sick and is making himself some hot drink. So we have a chat and I think it may have followed along the lines of ‘don’t let those fecking dogs out of the kitchen else I will drag you out of your bed and make you sleep down here with them. Hope you are feeling better. Are we clear?’

4.30 a.m. – guess for whom the bell is tolling?

-The mixed up travel arrangements:

I’m introducing a new topic here – just to keep my 2 FOLLOWERS on their toes.

‘Prodigal, have you fully charged your mobile? We don’t want any cock ups when it comes to the time I need to pick you up from (the nearest town) after your first day, do we?’

‘Yes beautiful etc, Mother. No problem.’

So at 18.45, I leave to go and collect him. I have done my research. I have gone through the route of the bus from start to finish and pinpointed every single bloody bus stop along the way as i just KNOW in my womb, that this very simple of things (collecting an 18 year old from a bus stop – a 20 minute journey) can and will go wrong.

And it did.

A SIMPLE AND STRAIGHTFORWARD 20 min round trip collection, ending up taken over an hour (and involved me driving between two potential drop off stops which were FALSE even though they were on the bus company website; an odd conversation between me and an old dog walker who said ‘je vous comprends, pas du tout.’ but I laboured my point anyway until he told me the wrong thing JUST to be rid of me; a stop at my lovely Mrs. East Coast friend’s house, to collect the Prodigal who had the sense to walk there and call me).

A yes, my mobile is fully charged mother was actually a No, my mobile battery is flat.

Now, this makes me worried because:

-he is 18

-on Sunday I have to take him and pick him up from a place 45 mins away (national beauty pagent thing – I’m presuming he is doing the hair and not appearing as one of the contestants). We know the start time and the finish time is ‘erm…..yeah, they mentioned that it might finish around 10.00 or 11 p.m. and they haven’t told me where it is.’ and on Friday 4th Oct, I have to pick him up from a town 30 mins away at ‘around 3 a.m.’………I’m sure these trips will all run smoothly……smooth as broken, smashed, unoiled (can you say that?) clockwork.

– I know that you are now desperate for me to cover the chip pan question but I’m going to have to disappoint you, dear Readers, the Husband’s sighings at having to come in, pick up a sleeping two year old from the filthy rug (I am a dedicated blogger and when the Prof and the Face said ‘but mum, he is asleep on the floor, I ignored them. And when the Husband came in and said ‘ did you know that he was asleep on the floor?’ ……..I said yes……a little shame? a very little) have increased in a way that only a french person could do………small, little sighs…..huffs or puffs, you might say……v quiet……..but their essence FILL THE ROOM.

so, I’m sighing? singing? signing…..signing out.

Until next time? When we can discuss the ‘it could be worse?’ topic. For this I will reveal little snippets of the lives of two of my friends (F’Aussie and Miss East Coast for starters). It’s a favourite game of mine (the could be worse) and when I was (practically) a single mother, living away from family (and help)……….about 10,000 million miles away….. with a 11 yr old, 7 year old and insomniac under 18 months old (two)  with 14 months difference in age – well, at that time, I used to play it ALL OF THE TIME!).

p.s. Im about to post this without reading it over……… have I just lost my 2 followers? forgive me.