Saturday, 23 February 2013

Shopping for Bras...Pah!

I have managed to dress myself for 3 (maybe more) years without looking in the mirror (even though I have huge mirror wardrobes in the 'dressing area' -  sounds posh, it ain't), so when trying on bras in M&S in their evil changing rooms with the double mirrors it was a terrific shock.  Who was this flubbly woman with back rolls.  I gag just to remember. 

I left in disgust and did not have the heart to get the bigger (no, please, not the 38 DD) size that I so clearly needed.  I decided to try BHS for the style I wanted and yes ok then the bigger size.  The mirrors were less evil, but I was completely disheartened and the bra styles I eventually found were still so hideously fitting that I realised because I had not looked in a mirror for so long that I hadn't seen how ghastly I looked.  There is no false modesty here people.

My daughter is petite with a good shape and can in my opinion wear anything, but she is insecure about her looks.  I told her so, that some of the clothing she puzzled over would suit her, and that I envied her youth and figure and she could with complete confidence carry off anything in the shop.  That lifted her spirits somewhat, yet she does not follow the crowd and dresses individually but with style.

I came home empty handed, disappointed and empty pursed.  Dear (not so Dear by the end of the day) daughter was disappointed too.  Cannot get shoes because she is a 5 1/2, cannot find much she likes in New Look because we have shopped in the cheapie Primark/Matalan shops that normal prices shock her.  She has precious Xmas Vouchers and yet cannot find anything in her size of the few items she likes.  She was seriously channelling Grandma today.

The weather was vicious, with a driving bitter blizzard in our faces.  Today was the only, only time that The FW did not offer a lift.  Hmmm do you think the snowfall had anything to do with that perchance?

The bus journey home was ghastly with a major accident blocking the only route the driver knew and who then had to ask us passengers how to get on to the dual carriageway by another way.  It took half an hour, two wrong lane changes before we could get half a mile the other side of the incident which happened on the roundabout just outside town.  The daughter's tolerance level took a huge nosedive and she spent the journey not speaking and turned away from me.  The complete opposite of the outward journey when we chatted and laughed.

I turned inward and wondered what I was doing that was so wrong.  I had to tell myself that it wasn't me necessarily but that she is so genetically like her father's family, who also used to make me feel as if I could do no right, that to even be existing in their presence was a major faux pas on my part.  I know this sounds paranoid, unreasonable even, but no other human beings on this planet make me feel so.

She says (after encountering a girl from school who had asked a question about the bus at the bus station, calling her by her full name - daughter's name is hyphenated - and who seemed pleasant enough) that she cannot wait to leave and not have to deal with the bitchiness any more.  I wondered at her reaction to this girl, she did not answer (I gave the information) and became, not hostile as such, but almost closed down.  I wondered if, due to her own insecurity, she gave out negative vibes that the other girls reacted to by dark looks, cold shoulders and bitchy comments.

My heart cries out to the fact that she may have a lifetime of few friends as has her father's family, but my head wants to tell her to be more open, more smiley, less sensitive and less intolerant about people and their individual characters.

I feel a failure as a mother just because I am quite aware of her personality and maybe I should be more loveblind to her character, treat her as precious and fault free.  Or would that not be honest, to myself if not to her.  I never criticise her and sometime close my mouth instead of guiding her about people and their motives/personalities as I have been able to with her brothers, who have used my advice and found it useful in their life experiences.

I wonder at our future relationship as we both age, I am scared of losing her and yet I do not want to become a passive 'victim' (too strong a word perhaps) to her lack of tolerance and tact as I was to her father for so many years.  I love her so desperately that I weep for our mother/daughter attachment that in reality may have more distance than closeness.

Tomorrow or maybe Monday as it is still snowing here, I will have to return to the Big Town and return two items she was excited about as one does not fit (probably my fault for saying get a 10 instead of an 8) and one that does not suit her.  Another disappointment.

Later, much later, she will deny any of the negative feelings and disappointment of the day if the subject were to arise.  Quite vehemently if I were to challenge it.  This is a familiar pattern of behaviour.  Then she expresses bitter disappointment in me for thinking or saying the opposite to her opinion.  I often do not say anything, perhaps I should, but I do not want to be the sort of mother that rows with her teenage daughter (I am remembering an article I read about Shona Sibarry who admits to hitting her teenage daughter which I found shocking).  Being a teenager is a difficult time and I hope does not set in stone a person's character.  It may offer a hint though.

I have said to her (when speaking of one of her few friends) that sometimes a girl's negative behaviour may be hormonal or may be their character, only time will tell.  And that a bit of leeway may be given for hormonal reasons.  I hope that she absorbs some of my gentle words and reads more into it than generic advice.

On that note my friends, tomorrow is another day, que sera sera and all that jazz.

Love you lots,

Have just woken this morning and feel the need to add that she is bright, funny, intelligent (all those As!), talented ('tho secretive and covers her work when I go in her room), liked by every adult who know her, and is hugely loyal to the close circle of friends she has.  They are good kids and I am pleased to say that all my children have made good choices in their friends.
I feel better now.

Friday, 22 February 2013

An Upsie-Downsie Week

Please excuse the short sentences, they match my short attention span.

Darling daughter has been offered the college place she wants.  They are impressed with her work.  Financial assistance is offered for travel, the levy and maybe even food vouchers.  I am relieved.  We are proud of her.

Best Friend has not phoned since I phoned her twice last week.  She has not asked how we got on Wednesday, or about the college interview.  I will not phone her again.  It seems petty, but I cannot keep giving.

The sunny weather (and freezing wind) is cheering and I have made sure to walk out several times.  Briskly!

I met son's girlfriend in town today and am 'totes amaze' at her meeting with mortgage advisers on getting a new mortgage.  I am twice her age and am dithering as to whether to be brave and go for a voluntary job in a charity shop.

On Valentine's Day it was the college interview and we would be out at our normal meal time.  I suggested a cooked brunch and have a light snack when we got back.  I was still exhausted from the day before.  The FW decided to go out and buy sausages from the poncey farm shop (he said they were on special offer).  I had to start the food as Eldest Son had a dentist appointment and time was running short.  The FW came in and took over the cooking despite my saying there was not time to cook the sausages as usually he wanted them very well done.  He was tetchy and when I asked him to turn the heat down on my nice little omelette pan he shouted "LEAVE ME ALONE".

Son, who was making the tea, turned to me in horror and I had to check myself and pretend to be washing some dishes before leaving the kitchen.  My children have never ever heard either of us shouting at each other, because we don't do that.

As you can imagine I was terribly upset and wept  upstairs, then had to calm myself at sit at the table to eat charred bacon and undercooked egg.   I picked at the food and left most of it, then left the kitchen again.  This is unusual as I normally clear away immediately.

The rest of the day was tense, and when daughter came home from school I had to pretend to be cheerful for her as she is quite unsure of herself in new situations.

He has made several hints as to car tax and mot etc which I am ignoring.  In return I have mentioned that I need to pay daughter's savings back before her 16th birthday (which I had to borrow to pay household bills) because then she will have control of her bank account.  Plus whatever she wants to do for her Big Day,  (luckily she is not keen on parties).  You can bet your sweet bippy I will be paying for that, just as I paid for our son's graduation two years ago.  He just does not think he should put his hand in his pocket for our children.

Also, whatever she will need for college.  Which will pretty much take care of all of the Late Vera's Legacy.  Never mind, as long as I get a pair of shoes at some point.  Oh, and bras!  Me and the kid are off on the bus to Big Town tomorrow, M & S here I come. yippee.  (He will offer to give us a lift despite daughter's car sickness and then be stroppy and offended when we say "no thanks").  It's a control thing, he would never help with shopping when the children were small and I had a heavy pushchair and a very long walk into town.  bastard.

You know, it is easier to write than to speak at the moment,  I seem to be tripping over my words or mixing them up.  Menopausal Fug, Depression Tongue-Tie or Early Dementia?  Which is it, I wonder?


Today, he seems remarkably cheerful, too cheerful in fact, so I shall wonder and watch.

PS - I have just found a bunch of stuff in the Drafts folder.  I will tweak them and post, though they may be a little out of context.  Good stuff though. Prize winning I reckon, Hilary Mantel should watch out. x

Thursday, 21 February 2013

There in the distance...........

is the faint beginnings of a lifeline.

I just need to wait until the counselling service find rooms in my town.

Thank you, God.

Thursday, 14 February 2013

It's stupid o' clock in the morning.....

but I need to get this out of my head so that I can sleep.

The Girl's cardiac clinic appointment:

After 3 days online research for buses and bus stops and street view walking from the outpatient clinic in Fulham Road to the main hospital in Sydney Street so that I feel comfortable being the grown up in control; when you get off the train at Victoria (which from our town now is just the slow train once an hour), Terminus Place is a complete jumble of construction work.

The main entrance is shut and the bus stop we need (G) is not in use.  So, we trot back through the hustle and bustle, get info from a random bloke in an official looking coat and go wandering to (I think) Buckingham Palace Road to find a bus (211 and not the C1 as last time) and a bus stop.  I buy a ticket from the machine and wait, the bus comes (it is friggin' cold too) but is going in the wrong direction, sigh.  We manage to find our way back across the street and up the road a little (with the bustling people, crazy traffic and assorted street furniture) to a bus stop and eventually a bus going in the right direction.  We get on and I feel dizzy with cold and anticipation and relief that we still have time.

So, the bus stops not outside the Outpatients Clinic in Fulham road as I expected but in Sydney Street but it's ok because I virtually walked it so it's familiar.  We walk and I chat about Lady Diana (this was her stomping ground I think) and we find our way to the Children's Clinic.  I remember to ask for the travel reimbursement form and all is well.

It is 11 o/c and we sit and wait then I realise all was not well.  We are in the noisy, baby-screamy waiting area - I crochet - then I feel something - she is crying. 

What, wait - she hates this place, "well after this we never need to come back, you will be in the adult clinic,", I try to reassure her.  She doesn't want to take her clothes off, "we will ask for a gown, or do you want me to stay outside", no that's fine she's just scared.  Ok, we sit and wait.  Through the din we hear her name and off we go with a sweet looking young lady (not English but we are used to that).  She sees the tears and smiles and tries to chat.  This is an ECG, something we have not had for a long time.  I can't see that they will get an accurate reading because of distress. 

We go back to waiting room where musicians have set up.  The tension between us is palpable.  She sits facing away from me with her hair down.  I don't know what to say or do.  I am not used to this as I can usually reassure others in whatever situation we are in.  I can chat, counsel, amuse and deal with anything.  Not this time, not this kid.  We are called again after half an hour of a sweet voice and plinky plonky violins and dithery young blokes that I want to turn to and say, "just play a damn tune that we can lose ourselves in and let the sweet voice sing".

It is a male doctor/technician (there are no uniforms or stethoscopes to point this out).  He says his name is Manjit but not what his job is.  He says sorry there are no ladies, I can do the ultrasound or you can come back at 2pm.  Yes please she says and he writes on our appointment letter.  We have to go back the main hospital and Rose Ward. (oh dear).

So, it is 1215 and we trot back past Amanda Wakeley and Catherine Walker, and I small talk about The King's Road etc and I point out the spot in the car park where we met Phillip Schofield (she remembers) and we get to the cafeteria and eat.  She relaxes a little and we reminisce about what else she remembers (not much I am happy to say).  I mention Rose Ward.  What's that.  "The ward you had the surgery in" wincing inside, though it is better to have a conniption fit out here rather than in front of the little children I think.  She seems ok.

We decide to walk to the King's Road and look at the posh shops.  We go in a lovely Antiques Arcade (dead posh) and look at the beautifuly shinys and chat and she seems more relaxed.  We go in art shops and print shops and wander.  It is time and we go back, passing the cashiers office and up to the 4th floor.  As we buzz the doors she remembers the smell and the bays, but it is ok.  We end up in the Play Room to wait.  She remembers and we chat and laugh and talk to the Playroom Assistant.  All seems well.  An hour later we are still waiting, square arsed from the chairs.  Then Manjit appears, the lady technician is here and off we go.  She can keep her bra on and he will sit with his back to her.  Ok then.  The ultrasound is painful but she endures, fascinated, twisting her head to see the images and hear the sounds, the whooshing and thwupping noises.  And then back to the Play Room to wait for a registrar. 

An another hour later I am anxious, the cashiers office closes at 4 and we will be out of the off peak travel time.  I go to the staff area right by 'our' Oasis Bay to ask what is going on and where is the Consultant we are used to - he has had to leave early and they are short staffed and didn't really know we where there at all.  They will find someone.  I leave the kid with the nice lady in the Play Room and trot downstairs and the nice lady in the cashiers office reassures me and I am reimbursed, thank goodness as we may have to increase our ticket at Victoria.  I go back and we wait.  Eventually a very young lady (Greek this time I think and very soft voiced, we can barely hear her) takes us wandering to find a private place in the day ward (where we slept our first night pre op. She remembers) to have our consultation. 

No Change.  That's it.  This is good and the expected news, but all that stress and worry for 3 brief minutes is exhausting.  The kid asks her question - the one that has been on her mind since the last appointment 18mths ago.  Is what she had genetic, can she pass it on.  (I could have answered that, but she would not ask me).   The answer is no, and later when we leave the ward she asks me why and how.  I explain about congenital heart defects and that a tiny message in the developing foetus didn't get through.  Her dad had a huge hole and he had emergency life saving surgery in 1959 aged 5, which was brutal (you should see his scarring) and his hospital experience has traumatised him, he was in hospital 2 months and his mother did not visit once as she did not want to be upset!!

Off and out in a rush to find a bus stop in the right direction and a bus.  The afternoon is darker and we say 'it's ok, it's not dark yet, we are fine'.  I think we get off the bus one stop early but it is better to be sure and we dash straight into the station and luckily straight on to a crowded train, no time to eat or get a desperately needed cup of tea.  Looong journey with a space stealing mouth breather. yuk.

Her dad was waiting and we got a quick MaccieD's (eye roll) and home where son made me tea (I told him later that was the first time in all these years I have had tea made for me when I have got home from one of these long exhausting days).  I then clean the kitchen of all the cups and glasses and plates built up all day and hear about The FW deciding he couldn't find the frozen curry in freezer and bought himself fish and chips instead.  (A perfect end to his day I feel).

The FW is dropping heavy hints about petrol for tomorrow's (today's) visit to college for interview, despite tripping about many miles on the motorway for his railway model shop and pub visits today, having a lovely time while we are hospitalling.  (It is these times that I hate him the most).

I was in bed by 9 and woke at 2.50am and needed to write, so here we are.  Again.  It is 3.48am.  Good night, I will blab less next time, folks.


Sunday, 10 February 2013

What I'm not doing

I am not watching Dancing on Ice.......pissed off that the better skaters are voted off and the crap ones are still on, and the adverts drive me crackers.

I am not completing  the WIPs as I should be, dithering I suspect.

I am not scraping off the unsuccessful paper on the fugly desk and I am not looking for new even though I desperately want it finished and operational.  Obviously not desperate enough. *sigh*.

I am not ordering more yarn as I am afraid to spend money because the car tax is due, the insurance is due and there are mortgage monsters on the horizon.  (interesting words have been spoken to the FW about selling the van, and NOT buying another, because, quite frankly we can't afford to run two vehicles and maybe not even one..... he is not impressed). 

I am not writing any posts ('cept this one har-de-har) because I am reading too many and not being polite enough to leave a comment.  A little bit like coming to your house and peering in your living room window, then buggering off without saying hello.  sorry.

There is a post in the pipeline, it's a bit unwieldy at the moment, I will try to trim it and make it behave, I can't promise anything as it might have to be what it is - a big long blurty load of 'getting it off my chest' type of thing. Ho hum.

My laptop battery is quite exhausted, I must look for a new cheapy one.


Friday, 8 February 2013

The Blog Of Two Parts

I haven't forgotten the other titles, I will get to them I promise.

So, where was I,

Part One

This is for Carrie -
The FW (as he shall always be known) used to have a beard a la Noel Edmonds, without the bad dye job, and used to trim it every week.  How nice, except it was always on the day I beautifully polished the lovely old 1930s dressing table I had.  I thought it a coincidence at first, and decided to change the day I cleaned the bedroom and, yep you guessed it,  he then trimmed his beard.  I puzzled for a while and realised that, like Pavlov's dogs, the smell of the lavender polish reminded him to beautify himself.  I changed the polish.   I should have changed the husband.

Part Two

This morning the mortgage people phoned me, did I want to pay the mortgages (we have two, not my idea) as they were in arrears.  The FW took over the call and the upshot is I think the paperwork that was put into the bank possibly was not passed on therefore the benefit agency are not paying the interest even on the main one.  This is very upsetting and there will be another issue to deal with.  We already have an ongoing financial ombudsman situation going on.

Then the daughter text me saying she wanted to come home as she had a lot of (monthly) pain.  I phoned school who said she had to talk to the 'Welfare Assistant', who probably comes from the same box of crappy job titles as 'Learning Leader', give me strength.  Daughter's phone not working for phone calls and I had to pass this on to her dad as I was stressed from the mortgage shit and needed to do an urgent shop as well.   

I phoned the 'Welfare Assistant'  (school nurse in old money) and said my child did not need a lecture about responsibility etc as she worked hard and often went to school ill despite her medical history.  She got the lecture anyway and apparently will get another on Monday.  Not on my watch honey.  The Welfare/Nurse was very interested when I told her some of her history and would have liked to chat more but I needed to get the kid home and get on with my stuff.  I am counting the days, my friends.

Later, whilst trudging through the high street wearing my old lady coat and carrying two very heavy bags of cat litter - oh the glamour -  I realised that I had forgotten my beloved sister's anniversary (40 years on 3 Feb) and was distressed by this.  The last time I forgot was 15 years ago when mum was alive and we had chatted on the phone, both puzzled why we had felt odd all that day, then I remembered and we were upset as it was her 25th.  Unfortunately mum passed away 3 months later after a very long and drawn out illness.

Not sure about Alfie, he had trouble standing up after a long night's sleep this morning, but later on had a jolly walk.  We are still keeping an eye on him.

Well, it's nearly tomorrow so I better be off.

See you later,

Thursday, 7 February 2013

Just a quickie.....

Let's see if I can do this in 10 minutes -

The day started early with the dog having a fit on the kitchen floor, terrifying daughter who screamed for us.  We rushed to her in the sitting room (which has the stairs in it) while she told us what was happening the dog trotted in looking completely normal.   I heard the hideous knocking sound he was making on the kitchen floor, but only she saw and then described to us.  He recovered on his own.  There were no other symptoms except the falling and shaking.  He has been fine since (I sought advice).

Had stressful time trying to sort out travel for next week to Royal Brompton and Harefield hospital in Kensington for daughter's possibly last outpatients appt in the paediatric cardiac care clinic.  Will probably be the normal (grown up clinic) next time.  She is 16 (what!!) in April.  Does The FW come too, possibly not as it is a long day with travel etc.  I am scared of London but will do my best.

Had long phone chats with Best Friend, we have decided to try and spend more time with our girls this year.  I think she has realised what has happened.  The new boy/man friend relationship is good and she will still take every opportunity to see him etc but maybe has realised that there are other people in the universe.

I think she is arranging a 'street photography' mini course for the girls, which we will have to accompany them on (this is in Soho).  She is very London savvy so I can relax and we will laugh a lot and embarrass our daughters.

More financial worries ie car tax and mot.  I have to let him deal with it.  I have to.

Am trying not to be stressed about various things, house not being cleaned (by me) am very aware of my failings at this, it bothers me and yet this house is too big for me to deal with.  I have too many crochet and sewing projects on the go and end up not doing any of them and wasting another day.

Getting fed up with cooking, being burnt twice (once on face) by spitting fat.

Being very obvious that I am not coping, not being the efficient mum/housewife I used to be, it is very noticeable.  I don't like it.

The stress on the news about the Baccalaureate being abandoned for GCSEs.  This is what our girls are doing and have had to give up their treasured favourite subjects to do it.  Dance for H and Art for my girl.  No wonder they can't wait to leave school and cannot be persuaded (by the school) to stay on for Sixth Form.

I have to go out and shop again tomorrow.  Despite doing online shop (which I mistakenly put on the cleared credit card that I had balance transferred only 10 days ago bugger) we still need cat litter and fresh food for the weekend.  I don't want to go out.  It is too much effort.  And too much money.  I am trying to stay in budget despite the 'Vera Legacy'.  I must not blow it.

Is this garbled? Choppy?  I am sorry if it is, but this is how my brain is working.

I never ask about you do I?  How are you, you look well, I like your top, is it new?

So tired............

g'night all.

PS We are keeping a good eye on Alfie, he seems as perky as ever.  Bless his smelly little bod.

Tuesday, 5 February 2013

Bits and Pieces

I phoned Best Friend today as she is having some procedure/injection thingies on her back and neck tomorrow.  She is nervous.  I though it only polite to phone as she had come round on the way back from town last Weds.  It is a long walk that hurts her.  I made her tea and then The FW came in, so I decided to walk the dog part of the way to her house.  That was after a 2 week gap since I last spoke when I took round the crochet hot water bottle and cover I made her and took some jelly desserts as she had the Norovirus (I didn't go in).  We are chatting ok and not mentioning the long gaps.  We shall see.

I have done some more housework and walked the dog in the freeeezing cold.  I am very good but my legs and back hurt.

We have a court summons for non-payment (£93) of council tax. wtf.  I thought he had paid it and we had not received any final demand style letter, because if we had I would have made sure it was paid. bugger.

It is The FW's 59th birthday tomorrow - i do not care but will buy a cake.  Apparently my brother phoned (out of the blue -  really?) and as we are not doing anything they are going to go out for a curry.  Good, then I don't have to cook dinner, yaay.  Me and the kids are giving him some cash to buy a new office chair.  It is the least we can do lol.

I cannot see A Beautiful Life blog, it says 'permission denied'  I don't know what that means or how to change it.

Sorry this is a choppy post, I have a choppy brain with lots of rubbish floating around.   I have been feeling a little better but the above mentioned letter is pissing me off.

It has been five years this week since I stopped having sex with The FW.  This is a long time, and I don't care.  It was mostly horrid anyway.  Which is sad.  (Was that too much information?)


Monday, 4 February 2013

So, the bedroom smells of vinegar......

which is vastly better than the smell of dog p*ss!!

I have a little doggie, he used to be cute - now he is a stinky, bad tempered old geezer.  Unfortunately due to life's rich tapestry we did not get around to having him castrated.  Something I bitterly regret, especially today as I have decided to spring clean the Back Bedroom.  Which used to be called 'our bedroom' and that I resist calling 'my bedroom', although the kids do.

Ain't I cute in my giftwrap coat?

Don't breathe in too deep Mollie! (Note the fugly chair)

This little doggie, we shall call him Alfie, for that is his name, has decided that I belong to him and I am his for ever and ever.  So he literally pisses rings around me and circles me all the live long day.  And then lays, exhausted, by my side all evening.

So, then, this bedroom was dusty and untidy with all my yarn boxes and the ironing board and indeed pile, a chair (that you dare not sit on for fear of falling through) that is covered with half worn clothes, the cubby thing for the fugly desk etc etc.

Whilst on me 'ands 'n' knees (oooerr missus) vaccing the skirting I did smell and knelt on a drying suspect patch.  shit, bum, bugger and balls says I.  Then off to the web magician to find a method and recipe for said removal. 

hydrogen peroxide (ie laundry whitening stuff from Wilkinsons will do I decide)
stiff brush and much scrubbing and carpet burn of elbows.

The ginormous bed has had to be moved and the carpet around the foot posts is ruined.  Just as the little darling ruined the previous delicious cream carpet.

I do mostly keep the door shut (which also keeps the dear little black cat from sleepun' in my bed but, this means the bedroom is fuh fuh fucking cold freezing.

Now there are two large wet patches (and not for any good reason either larf), but the room has been hoovered and tidied a fair bit and the bed changed and the frickin' windows are open else we should all pass out.

It has taken most of the day due to an Asda delivery and several (damn and blast it) interruptions that make me stop and get off me knees to say "no we do not have any elastic bands" and general shit like that.

If this method works then I will do Middle Son's bedroom (again around the footboard) and the doorway of Eldest Son's bedroom.  

Anyway I am dead pleased with myself for adding pics and captions (even though I couldn't find a puppy pic because those are on my ancient steam driven camera), but I will try not to go on about it.

I must go and tidy up and also I must try and remember to tell you about last week's Best Friend visit (which is not that interesting really, just that it happened).

By the way - On Saturday I watched a film called "Mrs Caldicott's Cabbage War" with Pauline Collins and John Alderton.  It was very good and the heroine's late husband was a FuckWit.

See you later, peeps.

Sunday, 3 February 2013

When I woke at 5am............

there were blog posts running through my mind, titles 'n everything.  Then I slept and dreamed busy dreams.  I have just woken (at 8am) and feel I should get up and Be In The Kitchen as a Good Wife Should Be.

To remind myself I thought I would put the titles here so that I have something to come back to, some inspiration when my mind is foggy and overwhelmed.

 - The Thyroid Years
 - Why I Look Like A Bag Lady (and not Marilyn Monroe in a potato sack)
 - Why I Cook Meals Like Those In A Badly Run Care Home
 - i can't remember the 4th one dammit.

Now, let's be absolutely truthful here - I have just added Haken en Meer to my blog reading list and the beauty of her work and photos makes me weep.  I look forward to reading and drooling over her pages.  I cannot imagine for one second that the titles above will make anyone weep (even if I include picture, which I can now you know, *preen*) except with boredom and despair.

Never mind, it will be done because I need to explain who I am and why and how and when.

The doggie is whining and needs his breakfast and the cat will trip me up when I walk by, so kitchen is calling and I will see you later.

Big Kiss

Saturday, 2 February 2013


I just added a picture, look, look, I did it!!!!!!!

Let's hope I remember how for next time lol.



Well that was surprising........

When I opened the post today there was a cheque.  A cheque for £781.07 which was £700 more than I expected and a £1000 less than I need.  But, the relief has made me giddy and I bought some tete a tete and a miniature rose to celebrate.

A couple of days ago I had seen the little daffs and it made me sad because I truly did not think that I could waste money on them (£2.50 is 2.5 loaves of bread).  I know the Happy Bloggers blatantly buy hyacinths and daffodils etc willy nilly, and it is lovely to seem them on their kitchen window sills and dining tables, but our family budget is tighter than a duck's arse.

When I told The FW (I wasn't going to but decided to be honest because I thought my brother who is his best mate or one of my cousins - I am guessing there are other beneficiaries - would probably blab) I said that I was going to make this money last until christmas.  I am wondering when he will try and get his hands on it somehow, like a credit card payment he can't make, or something that is needed for the house etc.  I will be amused and then say no.

This is mine, (except for taking dog to vet and a bit on my darling girl).  The relief of being able to get printer ink when needed, or a pair of sorely needed shoes, or desperately needed bras is huge.

I confess I visited a couple of charity shops after going to the bank and found, much to my surprise two small vintage pyrex (I think) bowls, the like of which we do not get in this town, we seem to get nasty 80s and 90s ghastly stuff and not the lovely 50s/60s/70s gear that other people in the lovely towns get in their charity shops.  I swear we have (and I am counting in my head here) at least 9 charity shops, 3 of which are the large ones that sell furniture etc).  Our high street is quite small, there was a planned shopping centre once upon a time but the Iceland Bank took all our money.  So now they are building flats and a tiny shopping arcade.  What's the betting there will be a costa, starbucks or both!

The family budget will remain as it is, planned and executed to the letter, so that bills can be paid on time and spread out accordingly.  Apart from buying a few treats today that we haven't seen for a year, I will try and keep to the new smaller food budget and shopping plan I have had to work out.  I must not be lazy and stop adding up as I go round with the trolley. I am also writing all expenditure in a notebook (I love notebooks, I do) to keep track of it all.  The flowers, bowls, a storage box and some celebratory doughnuts have cost a sum total of £12.  Hey! Big Spenderrrr.  Spennnnd a little time with me, duh duh daduh diduh!

I hadn't realised that the cheque would turn up immediately or I would have sent the proof of identity sooner.  The letter stayed on the dresser for a week at least before I felt able to search for the required utility bill.  I swear I did not have the energy to turn over a few pieces of paper to find it.

From your slightly happier and much relieved Dolly,

PS There is a post that has ended up as a draft and not published which has pissed me off greatly, I will have to read it and decide whether to tweak and post or discard.  Also, I have tried to add photos but I need to get son to remind/show me how to work it all out.  My old system was fairly easy but this new one (shotwell) is utter shite.  I wanted to add a pic of flowers in the pretty bowls.