Just A Normal Day

After a few manic days I thought maybe I'd have a lazy day. I lounged in front of the pc catching up on a few things and having a chat or two. Finally dragged myself into the shower around lunchtime and was pondering what to wear when Paul rang and suggested we go out for lunch. Which is always a suggestion I'm open to! So, after Paul harrassing me through the letterbox to hurry up and dress we headed over to Newark and the delicious food at Gannets.

I always promise myself I'll have something other than the potato skins & salad and I always break that promise to myself. Seriously, they're just so damn good.

We wandered around Newark and headed home with an ice cream.

When I got home Glen had already arrived and ready for an Air Hockey match or several. Except I was sure that the table would just comfortably fit through the door, be set up in the kitchen and we'd be away. My cottage appears to have small doorways. Damn that cottage. So, we played in the drive. With legs balanced on a flip flop and a piece of wood. Turns out gravel isn't too stable. Who knew?! No real injuries were sustained, but a puck to the knuckles - it smarts a little.

After beating me easily Glen scootered off and I jumped in the shower, the combination of the sun and air hockey makes you a little warm. I've always said that if they had air hockey and ceilidhs at the gym I'd go!

Mum rang and begged a favour, then Paul rang and asked if I wanted to go blackberrying. So I trotted off with Paul, grabbing my spare key as I was too lazy to grab my proper keys from upstairs. We gathered a nice amount of blackberries, suffering only minor injuries, despite Paul's almost fall into a large bramble patch, although I do seem to have thorns embedded in a thumb. As Paul went to drop me off at Mum's we smelt chips cooking on the drive past the local pub and agreed that a chip supper was in order. So a few minutes later we arrived at my mothers, complete with chips and stuffed our faces. Then it was time to assist my mother with her favour, showering a dog. Yeah, that's just as much fun as it sounds. Bless the poor mite, she's got a skin condition and is a bit manky and stinky. So on with the shampoo and Penny was understandably thrilled. I wish I had a photo of her all lathered up, but all I have is this blurry image of her post-shower, and my word she looks ecstatic:

After her bath I started getting more concerned about the fact I couldn't find my house key. We checked the car and the outside of my house and I think that key is now at one with the brambles. Excellent.
So, I went round to my new neighbours, who have only recently moved in, introduced myself - Hi, I'm Stephanie and I appear to have dropped my house key in a bramble bush, do you mind if I fanny around on your lawn and try and climb through my dining room window? I think I made a wonderful first impression. The man of the house, Brian, offered to climb through the window on my behalf. I knew my house keys were sitting on my laundry basket in the bathroom, on a bra, so I toyed with the possible embarrassment associated with this and held it against the humiliation of falling head first through my dining room window with an audience. I said he could go. At which point Paul appeared, and took over the climbing through said window. Hurrah, access was granted.
I grabbed my Betty Page wallet and we headed for the pub. And you know, I managed to get there - and back - without incident. No mean feat.

But when I woke up this morning, the phone rang and as I leapt out of bed I got cramp in my right calf. I'm limping around like the walking wounded and I've got boxes to move. I ask you. Just a hint of a simple life? Is that too much to ask?! Ah but then I'd be bored. Impossible to please? Moi?

Extinction

I heard about this story on the radio today and was appalled.
It seems so shocking that, in this day and age, when we are so much more aware of our environment and our impact upon it, something like this can happen. How we come to lose, or, virtually lose an entire species is beyond me. It feels like a criminal offence to allow this to happen. It saddens me greatly that no one can really be held accountable for the extermination of these creatures, when responsibility can clearly be laid at the feet of a government.

I'm not very political, but things like this make me feel that I should be, that I should be involved somehow, fighting whatever fight needs to be fought.

Probably The Best...

... Cat Flap In The World:

Cold Tubbing

I went for a bbq at Mum's tonight and finally got round to helping her change the cover for the hot tub after the previous one was damaged. So the cover is all changed. But the honeysuckle was overhanging so that got hacked back, the warm bubbly water is just not the same when there are dead leaves falling in your face constantly. Then into the tub to clean out the leaves and the remaining water. No problem.

All sorted and time to fill it up. So there I sit with the hose pipe, it was almost meditative watching the water level slowly rise, the jets slowly cover over, the water inching its way up the tub. It gets to a little over half way and I ask Mum at what point you can turn it on. She says she thinks it's fine to start it up now. She saunters over to the switch and flips it on. It gurgles into life and the filter starts to grumble. She comes back to the tub and wonders if maybe it should remain switched off until the water level is over the filter.
She starts to press the buttons.
She hits the button marked 1.
Nothing much happens.
She hits the button marked 2.

Water spurts from all of the jets. This hot tub seats about five. That's a lot of jets. It may have rivalled the Bellagio. Which looks beautiful. Unfortunately when you're sitting atop the hot tub and the water is very cold you don't spend that long looking at the jets as they soak you through your clothes. I flung my legs over the side of the hot tub, noticing Mum running fast in the opposite direction. I ran down the steps as fast as I could and away from the demonic jets. And apparently I also forgot to drop the hose pipe.... and shot my mother in the back with it. I was absolutely drenched, under and outer wear stuck to my skin, hair dripping, mouth agape. Mum was laughing somewhat hysterically and the giggles overtook me.

I peeled off my clothes and filled the rest of the tub perched on the edge in a towel. I'm so cool. I told Mum she had to drive me home. Because walking through the village in a pink towel? I think not. I must have lost my sense of adventure.

No Shortage Of Drama

I attended Digby's Party In The Park yesterday, had myself a stall there with Mum and a friend. It was a glorious day, selling our wares and doing ok. Although the combination of marshmallows, chocolate brownie and molten dark Belgian chocolate all at the same time - well, it made me feel quite sick. Which dealt with the hunger pangs successfully!

As evening drew on we packed up our things, loaded up the cars and trailer, then sat down to listen to the bands on stage for a while and wait for the finale fireworks which are always excellent. Mum and Sharron chatted away and I, because I lean towards the geek side of life, was playing tetris on my phone. (Admittedly an out of date geek.) So there I am, minding my own business, sitting quietly in my chair and only slightly aware of their chatting and their discussing a couple of lads playing not too far away. When suddenly tetris was the last thing on my mind as I was walloped in the head, totally out of the blue. Apparently the lads had been throwing a hard rubber doodlebug! Which set its missile aim at my head.

Children tend to have an accident and burst into tears immediately. It's been a long time since I did that, but my god did I cry. I held my head and cried. It really bloody hurt. I do remember screaming 'who the fucking hell did that?' but my vision was a little woozy! Next thing I know there's police, RAF police and a call for a medic. The St. John's ambulance man commented that if I had had my head cut open that the colour of my hair would make detecting that pretty hard! Apparently the lads were profuse with their apologies. Damn right.
Gave me a pretty splendid headache and a sore neck.
I also had the offer of taking further action... hell, why would I want to do that, how many people can say they got hit in the head by a doodlebug and survived?

There's just never any shortage of drama in my world.

And I'm the colour of a lobster. Even with regularly applied suncream. Rather brilliantly I have these little red circles on my back from the bra shoulder straps. No straight forward sunburn for me. No Sir.

Almost Roadworthy

I dropped in to the local garage, asked them about my car, and was told to bring it in so they could give it the once over. So last night I dropped it off. I told him the windows didn't work and he said 'Don't Care' I guess they don't matter for an MOT. He said he'd look at it so I could decide what I wanted to do.
Then this morning at 8.15am he rang to ask where the spare wheel was, I explained how I'd shredded a wheel in a pot hole incident. He said he wanted it, so I offered to drop it in as I went past at 10.15am. That was fine. Or so he said.

At 9.15am as I sat in my gorgeous pyjamas there was a knock at the door, I skipped down the stairs, saw Mum's car out the window, assumed it was her and opened the door. At that point I also remembered that I'd driven Mum's car to mine and therefore Mum most definitely hadn't driven it. So there stands the garage guy. I immediately question my decision to answer the door in my gorgeous pyjamas, but he seems to care just as much about my attire as he does for my broken windows.
He says 'I need your wheel'.
'But it's not here, it's at my mother's house.'
'Where is she?'
'Round the corner - the white house'
'Ring her and tell I'm coming will you'
Followed by a swift exit.

I ring my mother. Answerphone. I ring again. Answerphone. I ring her mobile. Answerphone. I ring her home line again. Answerphone.

Panic sets in. I fling on clothes faster than is natural and dive out the door, into the car and speed round the corner. I see garage man - Len, rolling my tyre down the drive, so I turn the car round and go home. The entire journey took about thirty seconds. My neighbours must have wondered what the hell I was doing.

Anyway, suddenly, my decision about having the work done on the car was out of my hands. Apparently I was having the work done, Len had decided. So I spent the rest of the day panicking about the cost of the brake discs being sorted, the new wipers, the new tyres and everything else. Anyway, my car is safely home with me for not a whole lot of money really. Now I just need to wait for the new V5 to finally wend its way through my letterbox.

Open Letter To Barclays Bank

I must congratulate you on your staff training. I particularly admire the way that your training seems to suck every ounce of compassion from their souls.

I also like the way they assure you that no charges will be applied to your account when you expressly go in to the branch to check. Then find you have been charged and upon calling are advised 'There's nothing I can do Madam'.

I love that they feel, during moments of extreme customer stress that the best response would be 'May I suggest that you manage your account better?'

I am currently fantasising about shoving pineapples up each and every one of your lying, unhelpful arses. Although, as you seem to spew so much crap from that orifice I'm thinking there's probably actually plenty of room, even for one of those giant pineapples you can sometimes get from Sainsburys.

You really are the suckiest bank I have had the misfortune to have an account with, I can only blame my own teenage self for making such a bad decision, but I am paying for that decision. Literally. Damn your extortionate charges and damn your glee in taking them.

I now only dream of lottery winnings so I can show you the money and then swiftly take it somewhere else. Although I'm sure I could get your staff to perform like trained monkeys (only with less skill) should they get even a sniff of a figure with mulitple zeros.

I should also add how admirable it is that your staff are unable to make a single decision that hasn't been given to them by a computer. It speaks volumes for the intellect of said drones.

And as an aside to the bitch who I had the displeasure of dealing with today. I hope you get bitten by a rabid partridge.

Lots of love,