Category Archives: teenagers and alcohol

Happy holidays

19 Saturday Jul 2014

Posted by in family, humour, Living in France, Parenting, Raising boys, renovations, teenagers and alcohol

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Bonsoir Blog,

Slack?
Very

Promises of regular blogging?
The road to hell is well paved.

Here in the year 1904, summer is being enjoyed.
Oh!
Hang on – did I say 1904? What I mean is living as if I was in 1904 -when this house was built – but without the conveniences of staff….. And a well kept holeless roof – it could be called old fashioned air conditioning?

Still – a summer holiday washing up for 6 at a sink which is so low, Im already resembling a hunchback (yes, a very old fashioned idea – washing up by hand!) 3 times a day is a change from loading a dishwasher for 7 (yep – you’re on the ball ce soir; Le Prodigal has removed to Angleterre) and we do have electricity and 4 channels on the tv but no phone or, horror above all horrors, no internet.
We threw a bed away today. The mattress was stuffed with horse hair – you get the scene?

This evening we tried for the 9th time to try and catch the sunset at the beach.
There have been various obstacles which have prevented this simple yet fulfilling and soul refreshing activity.
Tonights?
Lidl Supermarket Dog enjoyed her first freestyle swim in the sea.
She swam.
She swam further.
We felt a bit uneasy.
She swam further perhaps to make the first canine attempt at swimming the Channel.
The husband stripped down to his underpants – ‘im going in’
We screamed her name.
She swam.
He waded.
She swam.
LIDL SUPERMARKET DOG!!!!
Fatty screamed as i pulled him from the water to strap him into the buggy to avoid a 2nd near drowning as I had to go in too – with a leash.
I must point out that I did not strip down to my pants as by that time we had an interested crowd.
I left Maisy the now very smart looking dog in charge of the kids and in I went as The Prof incessantly chanted ‘she’s going to drown. I told you she would’ and Fatty roaring ‘i want to go in with you and Papa!!!’

It has a happy ending. Although that walk home in our clothes soaking wet as the storm started behind us, felt LONG:
Finally she saw the leash and swam near enough to be grabbed.
By way of thanks, she left me a sea enema deposit in the sand to clear up and I suspect similar greetings in the morning.

Sunset tomorrow?

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The long road to recovery and some other stuff

31 Saturday May 2014

Posted by in accidents, family, Living in a village, osteopathy, Parenting and family, Raising boys, teenagers and alcohol

≈ 7 Comments

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Blog,

I’m back.

It’s been 6-7 weeks since I was last in touch (and none of my uncaring Readers asked when the next post was which tells me one thing – that we (that  is you and I, blog)  are BOOOOOOOO-RING).

The night that I actually felt fully recovered enough to drive, I had an appointment with the osteopath.

‘So your daughter…?’

‘My son, you mean?’ I reply – the osteo was referring to Fatty who came with us to my first appointment and had to sit in the waiting room for an hour and a half so naturally wasn’t feeling too co-operative when the time came for my husband/him and me to talk to the osteo, post neck and back cricking.

‘Yes. Your son. Does he have nightmares often? Is he hyperactive?’

This guy is about to give me free parenting advice as well as a neck manipulation. Hang on, if he is dealing with my neck, why is his hand under my butt and he is twiddling his fingers?

He went on to talk to me about Fatty’s behavior and if we didn’t sort it out, he would not be accepted by society. Whilst his hand was still place under my buttocks, i was concentrating hard on not passing any air, shall we say?

This relaxed me no end.

‘Ok, stick out your tongue’

‘What?’

‘How do you say?’ as he pokes out his tongue

Here we go again, I think.

He waits with a tissue in his hand and his fingers in my ear, whilst I stick out my tongue.

‘I am going to pull on your tongue and you are going to try and swallow. This might be difficult.’

I kid you not. He nearly pulled my tongue out of my head whilst jamming his fingers into and pulling my ear.

What makes it worse is that I paid for this torture. However, I’m still fairly happy as it’s my first fully recovered evening and I go home and think of all the things that I can now do until…

Until…

I wake up at 3.00 a.m. with the worst bout of cystitis that I’ve ever had.

 

The 5 boys

What Fatty says:

‘I know that you are a mum but who are you?’

‘My Daddy lives in England. He has lots of money and he will send me some and I will give it to you, Papa. He is bigger than you, Papa….’

What Fatty does:

Toilet training, Fatty style equals squatting in the garden doggy style, letting his load  drop and then checking it’s all out and then wiping his fingers on himself.  I don’t have to worry about picking up his deposit as Lidl Supermarket Chain dog always gets there before me.

The Prof & Lips

Fighting less (but that’s because it’s hard to get a punch in when the Lips and Fatty are fighting).

Pokemon card CRAZY. THese bloody cards are the bane (bain? that looks a bit French) of my existence. I’ve had to deal with pokemon cards for the best part of 10 years.

The Face

Is still extremely popular. His herd fan club of girls regularly hang around the village hoping to get a glimpse of him. As he has a 24 hour on call hairdresser (the Prodigal), the Face always keeps his hair looking tiptop

The Prodigal

Where do I start?

When will it end?

I’ll cut out the nonsense of the last 7 weeks with the story of Mothers Day evening. It goes something like this:

‘Dinner, Prodigal’

He comes down (finally) and I realise that he is smashed. We exchange pleasantries for about 5 mins and he leaves to stagger back upstairs.

I decide that rather than have an escalation of his drunken bad behavior and as it is mothers day and as I still have feckin cystitis, I will just not deal with him and put it off until the morning.

However,

It doesn’t work out that way.

How it does work out is the Prodigal speaking to me in an unacceptable manner; me putting it to him how I feel about this; him giving me a demented look and walking over to his bedroom window, climbing out of it and dropping about 10 or so feet down onto a SLOPE where I hear some words that I couldn’t repeat to my own grandmother and look down to see him struggling to get up.

A trip to the casualty, another trip via ambulance to another casualty and an operation for his smashed up ankle scheduled for the next morning.

This has NOTHING to do with the fact that he had exams the next two days……….don’t ever let it be said……just not connected at all……really…..

So,

I call his Dad who actually does live in England but who has NOTHING to do with the biological make up of Fatty and explain what’s what.

That told me.

Within a few days, the said Dad and the ex of me together with my charming Husband are sitting down to lunch together at this house.

AWKWARD?  Very.

My one concern was that Fatty would start calling him Daddy.

My unknown  but what was soon to become apparent and greater concern was how drunk my husband was getting. My husband, stressed up to the eyeballs had decided the day before to give up his 4 year nicorette addiction (and I don’t use that word lightly).

If you have seen the Hangover films, you’ll understand what happened next.

Still, all is well that ends well and the Gendarmes only knocked on our door once and no one was arrested.

Blog, as I’m nearly at the 1000 word mark, I’m going to clear off but rest assured, I shall be back within the week. Can’t wait?

 

Sprung Sprang Sprong Spring

10 Thursday Apr 2014

Posted by in family, humour, Living in a village, Living in France, Parenting, Parenting and family, Raising boys, renovations, teenagers and alcohol

≈ 2 Comments

Well Blog,

What a day. Has your day been like that? IS your day currently like that?

Let’s have a photo of something peaceful to calm down any unhappy spirits:

Image

 

Did that work?

Not even a little bit?

Then we’re all doomed to depression.

Anyway, moving on:

In this old stone (crumbling) abode, we have had a (half) week of peepee and caca.

If it wasn’t Lidl Supermarket Chain Dog with a urine infection? Bladder control? Bad manners (certainly) then perhaps it was Fatty pushing the limits of his Freedom of Nappy Bottom Phase. There has been wee every-where. I have been walking around with an old rag (actually, the husband’s favorite item of clothing – it would be hard to distinguish the two) and disinfectant spray. It’s got so bad that I think the villagers are dropping in just to pee on the floor. I exaggerate NOT.

We’ve also had more poo munching by the said dog; taking toilet paper (used and a deep shade of …..brown) from the toilet (‘but I always flush the chain, mummy’), a bare bummed Fatty squatting in the garden and releasing his bowels without getting any on his trousers …….or so I thought.

Until,

‘mummy, I wet my trowlers’ as Fatty comes in with his feet apart and his lower body resembling a triangle.

‘all right (feckin feckin feck). Come over here and I’ll take them off…..and your wet shoes and weewee socks”

‘are you cwross, Mummy?’

‘no, fatty but next time, tell me.’

So I cuddle him as I put him up onto my knee, lift up his bum to pull down his ‘trowlers’ and ‘oh, but what’s this on my hand and jeans? I didn’t give you any chocolate, Fatty? AGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Yuk!’

“mummy, are you cwross now?’

The Husband

has gone to Paris.

Yep.

AGAIN.

I know.

The other one is far more demanding and alluring than moi.

Never mind, it’s not like he left half the garden wall pulled down and unfinished and not like he left a power drill switched on in the area that Fatty plays. No…..not like that at all.

Normally, when the Husband is gone, the Prodigal behaves.

I said normally.

But not this time.

The Prodigal

If I could package him up in a box and another box and another box and then cellophane (industrial strength) it, put a chain around it and padlock it and then send it (the box) to a destination 1,000km west of, say,,,,,Sydney……then I would!

I get home at 10.30 this morning:

‘what’s wrong with you, Prodigal?’

‘You’ve come home.’

Great. I can’t say our exchanges got much better from there. Still, it beats him tapping his fingers on the kitchen table (incessantly) for around 15 mins on Sunday when I accused him of having drunk alcohol.

He denied it.

But then he always does.

He gave me some words of wisdom. In his denial of having drunk alcohol and generally tripping over his sober…..yes, sober words, he told me: ‘You’ll understand when you’re older.’

Yep. My 18 yr old said that to my 41 year old self.

The Face

Has fans.

Yep. Two girls from the village who hung around (for at least an hour) the (broken, unbuilt, unsecured) garden wall JUST to get a glimpse of him…….. I’m presuming it’s of the Face they’re interested in and not say, the builders bum showing, half naked, wild haired husband. Well, there is no accounting (none) for taste.

The Prof

Has yet to edit his latest love letter to his amour. Currently, he signs off saying:

‘It’s been ages since you rubbed me’ – we need to work on his spelling – it’s not what he meant to say (I hope).

The Lips

Told me not to worry that I couldnt’ remember something as ‘you don’t sleep too good.’

what an understanding child. Funny though, because as he said it, I swear I saw him smile towards his father in a ‘check out the mad old bat’ (yes, each insult has it’s own facial expression).

My parents

Visited us.

I enjoyed that.

We even left the house and ate in a place called a restaurant. Not once but twice.

Fatty

yes, I know that I covered him (and he covered me) earlier but I’ve just realised that he has been asleep for 40 minutes and it’s 5.20 p.m. MERDE!

I’m signing off dear blog/readers/weirdos

but I shall leave you with these wise words:

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

(that’s here as in the village of Nowhere, SW France).

Who will edit this post for me?

 

 

 

 

 

Aside

An addition to the family

18 Tuesday Mar 2014

Posted by in humour, Parenting and family, Raising boys, teenagers and alcohol

≈ 5 Comments

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Good morning Blog,

Time check: 6.20 a.m.

Is this the best part of the day? Not from where I’m sitting especially from where I’ve been sitting started just after 5 a.m.  Why thank you, Fatty.

Remember the blog ‘And then there were three’?  – well, let’s just say ‘and then they were 5 plus 1 dog……plus another dog’

Oh yes, blog, we now have 5 boys and 2 dogs.

This new dog, also a black labrador and with a name that is almost identical to a supermarket chain, (Lidi…..sounds like Lidl to me) is untrained.

7 months old it has been used to ruling the roost, dog kennel, human dwelling, jumping up and scratching, sitting up at the table, evacuating its bodily waste wherever she likes (it’s a girl at least. I need all the female support i can get in this oh so very testosterone household). In fact, her behaviour is very much like that of the boys – so she’ll settle right in.  And on the plus side, she doesn’t leave dirty washing EVERYWHERE…….yet.

Q&A when bringing a new dog into the home

Do you know how far red wine flies when your glass is knocked by an airborne dog as you sit on the sofa watching tv?

No?

I’ll tell you. It can cover an entire sofa, part of a (new) rug, two pairs of jeans (being worn), a dressing gown, a pair of Ugg boots and a t shirt.

Do you know how much weight a floating, unattached pool cover can take?

No?

It can take about 25 kgs of dog. A dog who tried to walk across water.

How many children can fit in a dog cage?

Three. A 7 year old, a 6 year old and a larger than average 3 year old.

DSC_1829

Coke is it

So, I have to let you in on a little secret and enjoy the benefit of my parenting skill, fails experience:

If Fatty doesn’t sleep during the day (and let me tell you how many times I BEG him to) then, as you most likely know, by 5 p.m. he is like an unleashed demon on anabolic steroids as we try to keep him awake.

In order to keep him awake until 6/6.30 p.m., I give him a small (oh and very small as let me tell you the mistake I made after giving him too much…….Camera 1, time: midnight – scene of Fatty running around and around the kitchen table) amount of coca cola – the official brand, and not Mc Donalds own cola.

This normally cuts it until 6 at least.

The other day, I opened the can, put it out of his reach (really Fran, did you REALLY put it out of his reach?), went off to run his bath, came back down and who did I see emptying the last of the can into his plastic cup?

Fatty: 1 Parent: -10,000000000000000000

DSC_1800

the Prodigal

So with the imminent arrival back from holidays of the Husband, the Prof and the Lips, the Prodigal decides to unravel by taking the key of the locked office, unlocking it and taking out plenty of the (hidden) alcohol. Not the bottles – as I’d notice too easily – no, he decides to put it in the kids’ water bottles. Oh yes indeed. AND, he leaves these ‘hidden’ (boys can’t hide things as well as they can’t find things) in the garden and in the house.

Smart on so many counts? hmm.

Whilst he is on this roll, he decides to begin cutting through (I had to look that up – ‘through’ as I’d written throw and then threw…..Jesus!)  the tv power cable so that some of the copper wires are exposed. He then gets bored of that and tells the Face to plug it back into the tv and switch it on. Luckily, the never present electrician had recently updated that part of the electrics and the house didn’t catch fire….never mind, the effect it would have had on the FAce’s hairdo.

To be fair, he only left the iron plugged in once these last two weeks………..  and the glass cake stand which he smashed half of? well, only one person cut their hand on it as he left it where it was.

Today, we (me, Husband, Fatty, the new (untrained) dog and the Prodigal) go to Toulouse to see the psychiatrist. Call it a Mental Health Day Out. Actually, this is the Prodigal’s first session with a professional (other than chatting with Dr. Frances in my sister’s garden….thank you for that, Dr. I didn’t yet receive your bill).

I’m slightly concerned that us as a collective (Green snot faced not very charming Fatty, the Husband wearing his usual attire of paint splattered everything, the Prodigal looking like a Russian peasant, the untrained Dog and myself) will present an ‘interesting’ first impression…..

Coming Soon to a Blog in Front of You:

My next blog (maybe tmrw – what a treat for you!) will be about my brother, Fingers.

The question of Nationality

Max Clifford’s equipment (transcript from part of his recent court case)

So, keep well dear Readers and I’ll be back soon (unless the psychiatrist admits US today).

 

Exchanging wine for a boomerang?

12 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by in current affairs, humour, Living in France, Parenting, Parenting & family, Parenting and family, Raising boys, teenagers and alcohol

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Howdy Blog and a very warm welcome to my new followers – may we enjoy 1,000s of blog entires together….

I’ve just lost you haven’t I?  You can’t answer as you’ve already spaced out and moved on to a better, brighter, funnier, more insightful Blog – in case you’re waivering, I’ll insert an extraordinary picture (which truly has nothing whatsoever to do with this post):

Image

Things we now know that we didn’t know last week:

-Passenger planes can just vanish OR Governments/Army/Navy can not tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth….or nothing at all, as in this case.

-When large lorries, travelling at speed in the middle of a country lane where the road narrows, break hard and quickly, they skid for about 20 metres…..you can also smell burned rubber for about two miles further on up the road…….or was that coming from my foot as I JAMMMMED THE ANCHORS coming against the said lorry, with no where to go but a wall or a river?

-Bob Crow died. Who are Daily Mail reading London Tube passengers going to moan about now?

-When you invite lots of people to your house, perhaps consider that they might all turn up so be prepared – that showed me, didn’t it? And them…..

-When people (moi?….jamais) say ‘I’m going to sell this baby’, they don’t really mean it and the person they are having this lighthearted exchange with, REALLY shouldn’t take it as literal……because….I wouldn’t have sold the baby, I would have given him away.

The Family

I can feel that you are all desperate to hear news of the 5 boys and the Woofy?

So are the local police.

All right, all right:

The Prodigal 

I’ve not managed to find ONE empty alcohol container over the past 3 weeks. This means that

a)he has turned a corner and given up or

b)he is getting better at hiding them or

c) my eyesight is getting worse

d)he sneaks back into the neighbour’s house and ‘steals her wine and leaves his boomerang’ (her very words to me via a charming email about teenagers and alcohol and the dangers and how my son is leading her daughter astray….I should probably return the favour and reply with a charming response warning of the dangers of teenagers and say….oh…..marijuana and how her daughter is leading my son..if not, astray, then stumbling slightly off the Path towards the Righteous Parent? But I’m not enough of a bitch…actually, I am….but my Level of Bitch in French is pas bonne.  In English or French, I still cannot grasp what she meant by the boomerang – it’s probably the same case for her).

Image

The Face

‘Prodigal, does that make me Jesus as I cured your jaw when I kicked a football at it?’

Image

The Prof

Dunno as I’ve not seen him for nearly two weeks

The Lips

ditto – i do hear though that they (the Prof and Lips) have studied hard and are getting more serious about knocking the hell out of each other.  I’m very much a stand back (and block my ears and eyes) and let them get on with it . Up until blood is spilled or worse,  they’re about to break something I like, then I’ll step in.

Fatty

Turned 3.

‘So Fatty, remember we said that on your 3rd birthday, you are going to throw away all of your dummies (soothers)?”

‘I DON’T WANT TO BE 3!!!!!!!’

He made me think of how his father is when he has run out of Nicorette gum. I found him searching under things; lifting things up;looking looking looking looking with that crazy, addict look and yearning for his drug of choice (sillicone in his case).

He found one in the car and knew he had conquered and crushed my No Dummy Phase I stage (little hands clamped around a dummy have a strength that surely goes against all physiological possibilities).

Later, I found him face down on the floor under his little table……face down to hide what he had in his mouth.  No Dummy Phase II stage destroyed.  In the Tug of Dummy which occurred after this:  Fatty’s grip 1  Mummy 0.

Things that Fatty says:

‘Can I open more presents now?’  on waking up the day after his birthday.

‘if a shark wanted to eat me, I would turn into a snowman.’

And,

‘Fatty, where is your other shoe?’

” is it behind my ear?’

The Woofy

She’s getting a bit porky around the middle but that’s not surprising as she spends most of her time hanging around Fatty who has an extremely generous  nature especially with a packet of biscuits and his breakfast, lunch dinner, knife, spoon, fork. He is also generous with sharing his sword with the Woofy ‘see she likes being hit with it.’ and sharing his sense of fun as he pulls her tail and goes ever so near to her ‘what’s that mummy? is that where her baby comes out?

‘GET YOUR HAND OUT OF THERE NOW< FATTY!!!!!’

OH and better not to forget, The Husband

Is still away. yes, I know, he has been away rather a lot but at least this time he took 2/5 with him. I know that you are wondering if he’ll buy me another family pack of chocolates by way of a present from his holidays. I’m feeling lucky. I think that he might.

—

Ok, thank you for reading. Feel free to leave a comment – if I don’t like them, I won’t approve them…..I HAVE the Power!!!!  Also, as I’m not going to edit (EVER) feel free to make the corrections. I’ll read them, take note and then empty my brain of them.

So, I’ll leave you with a line by one of my all time favourite characters (plus he reminds me of my brother, Fingers):

You can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be led.

Liberty, equality, fraternity – anyone?

13 Thursday Feb 2014

Posted by in current affairs, Living in France, Parenting and family, Raising boys, teenagers and alcohol

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Bonjour Blog,

Comment ca va?

Impec-ca-b-le and glad to hear it.

A quick thank you to my new follower, Cristian Mihai and for the L(y)ikes I received from people I don’t even know. I will never cease to be amazed that anyone (who isn’t a friend or family or whom I have no power of blackmailing) will even bother to read the rubbish I publish on this site. I am, however, grateful. Fame at last…..

Ok, so making news in France this week:

-Floods, floods, floods together with aerial footage of the same blardey wave-battered phare (or lighthouse to vous et moi) that the news programmes have been showing for WEEKS (and that’s ALL the news programmes). I guess they have the budget for a collective chopper but not enough euros for one each. They also seem to be scrabbling and scratching around for news stories as they dedicate around 25 mins to weather news.

-the return of Sarkowzy. Now, timing is everything and mon Dieu, would you believe that his return to the  flashbulb focus of the political press just so happened to fall on the same day that Flanby (or President Hollande) arrived in the U. S. of A. ?

-Taxis of France (that’s not their official collective name but it will do) want to have a law passed which means that private taxis or chauffeur taxis as they are known can only collect their Fare (if ordered online or by telephone and Fare representing the actual person or thing being carried) not before 15 minutes after the booking. Yep – because it’s not fare…..I mean, fair to the taxis which are available to be hailed on the street. Very equality. Very liberty. And extremely fraternity.

-oh and finally, I think I heard something about a law being passed which makes it easier for shops to make their staff work on Sundays.  Now, this is progress. Down here in Nowhere, some shops (and not just little ones) still close for 2 hours at lunchtime. So if you are in one of these shops and about to spend 2 gazillion euros on something as the clock strikes 11.59, you will be asked to leave. I kid you not. Welcome to the France of the 17th.. 21st century.

– actually, finally again – neknomiate has yet to reach France. If it does, I can imagine that it won’t take on. I really can’t see any respectable French youth downing a pint or a litre of wine mixed together with some blood of a virgin..oxo cube..raw egg…snot of a toddler (I can help supply this). Unless……unless the wine is say, English or Californian. The blood of a virgin would also have to be non French. From what I hear, there aren’t too many of those who reach their teens…

News from the family

-The Prodigal returned from England with, if not quite his tail between his legs, then definitely trailing on the floor.  I don’t watch Crimewatch UK but if you do…….   We had a good few days since his return – if that can be measured in the empty alcohol containers I have found in his room – only 5. Onwards and upwards.

-The Face – well he is outperforming (a brain dead piece of roadkill) at school. Last week we had marks of 9/20 and 1/10.  This week he has made great effort and scored 1/20 in French:

‘Do you have any HW the Face?’

‘No, remember I have study period for 20 hours today and yesterday and the day before that….. Also, my maths/french/science/English/Geography/history teachers are all sick/’

‘Right but you have been telling me this for the entire term. Do they have a terminal illness…each? Are they also all blind so perhaps unable to see their un-brailled keyboards to put in your 18/20 marks?’

GIT.

Lying GIT.

The Professor – well, this charming 7 year old continues to help me help the Lips to do his homework. Yep. And when I don’t understand something, he takes over. I don’t feel any shame…..just pure delight after years and years of battling with the Prodigal and the Face to do work, I have ONE (out of five) willing (and able) child. Yipp yippppppeeeeee. The downside?  As I typed an email reply the other evening, he sidled up to me (silently…of course) and after I had pressed ‘send’ said ‘what do you mean ‘only two hours until bed’?’

‘what do you mean, what do I mean, only two hours until bed? have YOU been reading my emails?’  Bugger. I didn’t think his reading in English was very good. That showed me.

‘yeah, I sometimes read them.’

whooops

The Lips – him and Fatty could be compared to Coyote and Roadrunner…actually, that isn’t true. FAtty isn’t fast (unless I am shouting at him to ‘STOP AND COME BACK HERE NOW!’ Ok so it could be compared to Coyote and a legless (literally and not drunk), fat roadrunner or better still, two coyotes. It is in-cess-ant. The winding winding winding up up up………….

FAtty – will soon be three. I asked him what he wants for his birthday:

‘erm…an orange hoover……a motorbike…..a poo…that’s a toy poo…..some paper….some letters. Actually, I don’t want the toy poo… I’ll have a sword instead.’

The Husband is still in Paris. The Husband is having a go at being a down and out but within the walls of a nice if bare apartment in the centre.  What I mean, is that the Husband looks like a squatter who has found a nice apartement….  Unwashed, unfed, unloved? There is no talk of the sex shop down the road this time. He may have thought about it but I doubt they’d let him in.

Sleep

Yes, I just had to get in a quick moan about my sleep situation. Even the dog refuses to listen to me now. So, I shall pick myself up from my near delierious state and say that SLEEP IS FOR GIMPS…..WIMPS……and the soon to be demented.

Ok, so I’ll probably post this UNEDITED AGAIN – one day (far off from now) I might stop chucking around commas and semi-colons and colons and full stops and be less flippant with my grammar……..but I’m making no promises.

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” 

Blog 2 of 2014

17 Friday Jan 2014

Posted by in Parenting & family, Parenting and family, Raising boys, teenagers and alcohol

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Hey,

Yes, I know that I only blogged the other day but as I’ve set up an alarm to remind myself to do this more often……here i am!

And,

guess what?

bang on time,

Fatty, who has been doing something (sticking forks into plug sockets, chewing on an old nicorette gum he found lying around, testing the edge of the rusty saw) quietly for 10 mins, has come out, seen me in front of a lap top and is now hanging off me with his incessant ‘my legs are tired, my legs are tired, my legs are tired, my legs are tired, mylegsareTIRED…’

YES, WELL FATTY…………… MY EARS ARE TIRED.

Ok, so he has left.

I now fully understand why I can never, ever remember my own mother ever, ever, EVER sitting down (depositor of 8 kids onto this planet).

She knew, only too well, that if you sit down, the Human Climbing Frame is open for (small, smelly, grimy…….is that grimey or grimy? Demention:1, Memory:0) visitors.

It’s all Dutch to me

So Francois Hollande, the President of France – what is his game?

Described by a U.S. newsreader as ‘having about as much charisma as unbuttered toast.,’ has managed to find someone who maybe (surely not?) likes seeing him in his underpants…….. This thought distresses me….and out of them….. But the facts or rumours are there; he has not denied them; he has not rushed to the side of his current girlfriend, Valerie (stretching the meaning of girl to its limits) who has collasped under the SHOCK AND HORROR of learning, only last week (yes, only last week despite the fact that he tried to sue a magazine last summer for suggesting that he was having an affair and despite the fact that heart broken Val is a JOURNALIST) that he has found someone (visiually and mentally impaired) who shares the attraction she had for him. Hospitalized no less.

So, Valerie didn’t know?

Hollande believed that no one would find out or rather, no paper would print this story?

I say to that: n’importe quoi! Or plain old nonsense to you and moi.

This is staged; this is planned – all of it. The only angle I can understand is that THEY (whoever the powers are behind Hollande as he has none) have decided that it might make a positive impact on his ratings as President whilst taking the lumiere off the fact that Hollande has moved (RIGHT……literally and politically) away from his socialist views to suggest that perhaps the State should stop babysitting the French people (erm….that;s not exactly what he said but you get the idea?) because France, funnily enough, cannot afford to do it any more.

That’s all from me and from him:

Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot.
Charlie Chaplin

Day 14 of blog. Fevered cabin.

26 Tuesday Nov 2013

Posted by in teenagers and alcohol

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Morning blog,

Caught you out? Yep, it is a bit early.

Why I continue to hate mondays

When I woke up yesterday, I faced the prospect of:
– 2 sick kids (since Saturday)
– 2 baskets full of washing plus three bed changes on the floor as I am lacking a 3rd laundry basket.
-a french lesson (actually, I had the foresight to cancel this sunday evening)
-a meeting with the French teacher of the Face
– a house which, if Id seen on ‘how clean is your home?’, I would have been moved to ‘oooh, how can people live like that?’
-a continuation of a pre(mid?)-menopausal up the creek cycle
And
– a meeting with the AA

As i now need to make the hour long return school run (if I can get past the washing), I’ll leave you with all the best wishes for a tremendous Tuesday!