Wednesday, 25 November 2009

Things I Have Said To My Husband Today

  • Hmmm
  • What is it?
  • Well let me have a look then
  • Hold still
  • Don't complain all day and not let me look
  • Pull them down a bit more
  • Ok
  • Hmmmm
  • Er
  • Well it looks like a rash
  • Has it been chaffing?
  • Well it looks like it has
  • I'm well aware that it's itchy
  • Nobody could have escaped the fact that it's itching
  • Please don't scratch while I'm down here
  • It's been a week now I think
  • Judging from when the itching started
  • Why don't you put some cream on?
  • We have
  • In the cabinet
  • If it works for nappy rash it'll work for this
  • It's not bum cream it's for rashes
  • No I don't think you need something extra strength from the doctor
  • Because it's just a rash
  • Well I think it's just from sweat
  • No, I don't think you're ill
  • Or that it's life threatening
  • Have you ever heard of death by rash?
  • What do you mean Pokey, Stu and Bucket Head say it could happen?
  • You let them look at your bum rash?
  • Why?
  • Why would they have any insight?
  • Are they medically trained?
  • Specialists in rashes?
  • Have any knowledge at all of rash related deaths?
  • Pokey had one?
  • One like this?
  • Oh
  • Well what did the doctor say?
  • His pants?
  • Well how often did he change them?
  • Do you only change your pants once a week?
  • Oh good
  • But every few days isn't good enough
  • Every day
  • Yes, every day
  • Most people do
  • It's not obsessive
  • Or girly
  • Most normal people change everyday
  • Pokey, Stu and Bucket Head are not normal
  • Because they're forty four and live together
  • And only eat bacon
  • And still have a wok in their garden
  • That Bucket Head used as a toilet
  • That's not normal.

Monday, 16 November 2009

Oh Glory Be

Ok, so I covered myself in glory on Saturday night. Glory I tell you. Award winning glory, glory worthy of Husband tutting and shaking his head. When Husband tuts and shakes his head at your inebriated state you know you're in trouble, and any sensible person would hot foot it to the taxi rank, pour themselves into a cab and attempt to get themselves home.
But no. I'm not sure why or how, but for some reason after a small barrel of wine my brain doesn't begin to shut down and home in on water and ways to get home to bed sharpish, oh no, my brain takes on a whole new personality and begins to think it's Madonna. Forget my two left feet, forget the three inch heels, forget the poise, the elegance, the stomach-in-shoulders-back stance I have been studiously practising all evening, I am Madonna. Forget also the good impressions I had been cultivating, the attempt at witty repartee, intelligent head nods and discreet laughter, fielding tricky questions with a light hand and clever twist. I am Madonna. I can dance (in three inch stilettos), I can sing, I am sexy and above all everybody (everybody.) wants to see me perform.
This is the point where I become Material Girl and move seamlessly from try-hard dinner companion to all singing all dancing queen of the evening, and there is absolutely nothing anybody can do about it. Not only that, but Material Girl is not shy, not a wallflower bone in her body and Material Girl absolutely and utterly has to have a stage. Any stage will do, but even better if it's up with the band, because Material Girl deserves a stage, needs a stage and knows that her performance will be the highlight of the evening.
Material Girl also thinks she is sexy, very sexy indeed, and that every dance move she makes with her forgotten two left feet is sexy too. And she thinks that mouthing all the words to the songs impresses everybody, and that suddenly three inch stilettos are easy peasy to dance in and refuses to remove them because it's not professional. She also thinks that every other person on the dance floor is watching her in impressed awe wishing beyond words that they could perform with such effortless sexiness while simultaneously holding a bottle of wine aloft and mouthing all the words to Hi Ho Silver Lining. I mean, how does she do it? they're all thinking, brains, long lyric remembering skills and sexy, we might as well give up and just watch her. Material Girl knows this and dances even more sexily and requests encores of the songs she knows best. Material Girl fights hard not to be dragged off the stage by Husband and instead shows him exactly why he was so lucky to marry her in the first place.
Except last Saturday night.
You see there was a wire, one teeny little wire attached to the guitar stolen from the lead guitarist that Material Girl was playing with incredible skill and dexterity, as well as managing to sing the entire bridge of Show Me The Way To Amarillo (such talent). But as I said, there was a wire, a wire that wrapped her feet and snaked slowly to her ankles before tightening suddenly and upending Material Girl, gashing her shin with the sharp sticky out bits.
Alas, Material Girl was no more, she was taken sheepishly and gingerly to casualty and sat as the doctors sniggered as Husband explained in what can only be described as intense detail exactly how the injury had been sustained.
Poor Material Girl I hear you all thinking, and you'd be right. Thankyou for your compassion as I sit here tapping away, leg swathed in bandage, brain ticking away trying to think of an entirely un-alcohol related reason for the injury to recount to my parents. Thankyou for what I know will be only kind and understanding comments in the comments section as my unshaveable leg grows hairier than next door's dog. And thankyou also for paying tribute to the last ever performance of Material Girl.
I hope you're proud of me.

Tuesday, 10 November 2009


So, the more observant among you will notice that this blog has had a facelift, those who didn't pick up on the subtle changes IF YOU CAN'T READ THIS GET SOMEONE TO READ IT TO YOU AND THEN BOOK AN APPOINTMENT AT THE OPTICIANS. I say this because there is nothing subtle about the changes. No siree.
It is, in a nutshell a complete and utter face lift. Not for me the discreet trip to Switzerland to visit family for a month to return visibly refreshed in an indescribable way, scars hidden behind the comments section and under the blog archive, a little nip of the font, a tuck of the colour scheme. I didn't even bother to pretend to be away anywhere. In true blogger dedication I continued to post while the changes were underway. That's how dedicated I am to you all. The phone company should take note and perhaps book me for a seminar. I'm reassuringly expensive.
And I did think that it was about time I had a photo of myself up there, and this is exactly how I look, every day. I always think it important to wear pearls and an alice band whatever the weather, and this photo proves me right. There I was minding my own business the other day, taking a perfectly baked cherry pie out of the oven, when a photographer came to the door complete with a blue background and snapped me unawares. I mean, how often does that happen? Rarely, I tell you, which is why it's important to accessorise even when alone in the house baking.
Can you imagine what would have happened if I hadn't had such exacting standards? It just doesn't bear thinking about. Imagine a morning of screaming children, slippers, poached egg covered dressing gown, last night's eyeliner, bed hair, bored dog humping your leg and a photographer at the door with a blue background. Then what would I have done about a blog photo, probably picked wildly and ended up with some stupid laughing horse, or something.
Anyway, I'm glad you get to see me as I really am, and let this be a sage lesson to you. You never know when a photographer is going to come to your door, best have the good china out just in case. You have been warned.

ps I don't usually do tags, mainly because I am incapable but Husband has promised to help. The design was done by Jennisa, who was just fab and deserves a (working) tag here.

pps If it doesn't work, Husband did it.

Monday, 2 November 2009

Things I Have Said To My Husband Today

  • It's salmon
  • Salmon
  • Fish
  • You do like fish
  • You do
  • Well you like it from the fish and chip shop
  • That is fish
  • Cod is fish
  • Well why do they call it a fish and chip shop?
  • It's not just an old fashioned name
  • It's called fish and chips because that's what they serve
  • So you believe me?
  • That cod is a fish?
  • So you like fish
  • Well then you like salmon
  • What's wrong with pink fish?
  • It's not a bit girly
  • Pretend it's cod dyed pink
  • Thankyou, now eat it up
  • If you play with it it'll get cold
  • And I can see you hiding it under the cabbage
  • And behind the broccoli
  • I'm not stupid
  • Or blind
  • Look just try one mouthful and if you don't like it leave it
  • Great
  • Pretending to gag is so mature
  • Please stop gagging
  • And holding your throat
  • And gesturing to the toilet
  • And attempting to dial 999

Things I Have Said To The 999 Operator Today

  • Oh hello
  • I'm so so sorry
  • It was a mistake
  • No not the children
  • Or the dog
  • Well, my Husband
  • He doesn't like his fish
  • Salmon
  • I'm glad you sympathise
  • Oh, with him, I see
  • No he's not ill
  • Err
  • Well I suppose he is gagging
  • But he's pretending
  • Yes I'm sure
  • Because he does this every time I give him peas
  • And porridge
  • And sometimes if my Mother comes over
  • Yes he is quite dramatic
  • Yes I suppose he could go on the stage
  • Oh sorry
  • Is that better?
  • I just had to leave the room
  • All the gagging was stopping me hearing you
  • No he's in the toilet
  • Gagging and pretending to throw up
  • Yes he will stop in a bit
  • When I give him some ice cream
  • I'd better get it hadn't I
  • Sorry again for wasting your time
  • Yes, I agree no more salmon