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How to confuse an old bird

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So, on Friday I eventually got home from work after having to be rescued from a bus shelter on a council estate by my pal. Don’t ask! Fucking buses! Bloody 508 disappearing into a black hole somewhere between Leeds Headrow and my stop as usual.

So I got in, despondent and a bit hacked off, to find an Amazon parcel addressed to Kit Kit Kit.  Bemused I opened it to find this…

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I double checked my Amazon account to be sure that I hadn’t made an accidental purchase whilst under the influence. But no. Not guilty on this occasion. (Because let’s face it, we all have at some stage!)

Was someone trying to tell me they thought I was on old witch? Who could it be?  A disgruntled ex pupil still bearing a grudge since Year 6? My husband trying to be funny? My kids sharing their true feelings about their mother? A friend sending me a gift of love or alternatively, an unpleasant prank? The mafia sending a message 2019 style instead of a horses head to the pillow? Could it have been Rosemary, the telephone operator?

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Not being sure of its origins I kept it in the bag lest it be coated within with a toxic substance that might melt my face. Or some kind of ticking timebomb making my brain explode, like those Silver Shamrock pumpkin head masks from ‘Halloween 3’.

 

 

 

Yes. didn’t overthink it at all…

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It turns out to have been a Halloween love token from a very good friend who had wanted to send me a severed head, but thought it might freak me out too much so sent the mask instead. 

What could my overactive imagination possibly have made of that do you think?

I don’t have a huge number of friends, but the ones I do have are all awesome.  Mostly as fucked up and weird as me and that’s why I love them. But awesome nonetheless.

😀

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LOL

Next weekend I’m attending another horror film convention in Manchester so expect a full review of our antics at trying to trap Alex Winter in a lift or pin Kiefer Sutherland up against a toilet door.

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Noodles anyone?

Thank you for being a friend

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Spent a pleasant weekend down south last weekend, visiting old school friends. Not as many as I would have hoped to meet, but the ones I did see made up for the lack of enthusiasm from the rest.

Balls to them.

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We caught up on who works where and with who. How our kids are. Where we’ve all been on holiday etc. We discussed Star Wars and crammed as much ‘plego’ as we could into a tub in Wilkinsons, using a plant pot to keep the lid in place.  There was loose threat of giving me a makeover as I scoured the shops for a hoodie (because I don’t have enough already).  I kyboshed that idea, fearing some kind of Pretty Woman/Sweetest Thing Movie Montage Scenario.  We had a decent dinner and had accidental espresso martinis and all got home in one piece, without hangovers the next day.

Bonus.

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Tomorrow is GCSE results day.  Eldest offspring is quietly optimistic. I am sure she will do fine, probably better than fine.  Certainly better than me and Bman did at that age.  She is going into school first thing to collect them and then meeting us at the train station, for tomorrow is also Shambala day.  4 days of what could go either way for me.  Could be a glitter laden cider fest of joy and dancing. Or… feeling morose and pondering the meaning of it all from within my sleeping bag, whilst muttering “Man I hate camping”.

I’ll let you know… Xx

 

Serendipitous times

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Today I couldn’t go for my usual Friday pre-work brew & chat with one of my (remaining) friends. Consequently, I was home when the lovely local Avon lady knocked on with my order so I got to talk to her about her upcoming house move. And it meant I was home to a brief random flying visit from my baby bro and my sister from another mister.  They had a cuppa and dropped off some chocolate giftage.  Because he’d popped by, I couldn’t walk as usual to work, so he dropped me off near the bus stop.  While at the bus stop I met an old friend not seen for months and months, complete with her little babba and birthday boy of an eldest son (an ex pupil of mine).  Wouldn’t have seen her if I’d gone my usual way to work.

Successful evening at work and this old song came on my mp3, Sun is Shining putting a grin on my face, reminding me of a corking night (this one time) in Liverpool with my sister and her Uni pals. When sofas were danced upon and may have fallen over in the process. We shouted at a tramp out of the window. I forget why – something to do with a stolen wallet.

🙂

Then I came home to see a rainbow, with its end firmly planted above my house.

Tonight I had a conversation with Bman about a Latvian family buying a local property and then spent 5 minutes explaining that this didn’t mean a family of tiny toy squirrels in waistcoats or dresses would be moving in round the corner.

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And sometimes the lords and ladies of the universe just let you know that you’re alright.

RAINBOW

Keeping my own company & not needing a black dog for company thanks

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So what’s been occurring? 

I’ve been feeling a bit like a dinosaur this week and a sad solitary one at that. There’s a lot going on in the world that I don’t understand and at this stage, can’t be bothered to learn about.

Why do people talk on their mobiles so loud? and so constantly? Not everyone in the street wants to know your business. Be quiet y’all!
Why is my life ruled by sodding passwords and memorable words?  Don’t have the same password for everything they say? Yet I’m meant to remember 50 different passwords when I can’t remember what day it is most of the time?  Couldn’t read a bloody email yesterday because I had to log in with a username, password and memorable word just to read a flipping text from Scottish Widows.  FFS!

My kids tolerate my ‘mumness’ with love, but often make me feel like a clueless fuck-up because I don’t understand what they’re saying half the time. My husband tolerates my ‘wifeness’ most days, but also sometimes makes me feel like a clueless fuck-up. (Or maybe that’s just me listening to the inner demons).

I’ve realised that the only human beings I have actual face to face conversations with regularly are my children and my husband. Not that there’s anything wrong in that of course.
I do have the occasional conversation with swim parents but mostly the sum total of my weekly conversations are more like instructions, along the lines of;
“Kick” “Blow bubbles through your nose” “push and glide”  “front crawl, let’s go!” – that sort of thing.  Also not complaining about that, because it sure as hell beats the old me of the permanently strained voice and grumpy face and getting cross at unruly children.

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My old teacher face

So, no, I am not missing the school teaching.  Had a nightmare about being back in school the other day. The children were wild and one kept punching me in the nose.  Senior leaders were telling me “It’s fine, just ignore it, there’s no point telling him off” while I was going apoplectic with rage at the injustice of it all.  I woke up in a sweat.

😦

I had a niggling feeling earlier on this week whilst in the midst of sorting swim certificates, medals and timetables (if people could stop changing their mind about bookings or timeslots – that’d be great!) that I was forgetting something important.  I realised that due to the date being so close to the end of term, I was thinking I should be practising leavers assemblies, planning French story assemblies – ‘Le Chennile qui fait de trous’, ‘Les oeufs vert au jambon’ etc. Buying bottles of wine and other miscellaneous thank you gifts and all that sort of thing. But nope, not for me that stress this year.  Just my certificates to award and swim school insurance to renew next month. **and breathe**

🙂

One bonus of abandoning ship and going solo is leaving behind the stresses of having to deal with children who perhaps, shall we say, might have benefited from a little more discipline.  A downside is that I have no work friends. Just me, myself and I.
Unfortunately most of my work friends while I worked in school turned out to be my only  local friends (for local people).  This is what happen when you live and breathe school.  Out of sight out of mind though and not for the first time, I realised this week that I’m not as likeable as I thought.  Always considered myself a bit of an irritating cunt and it turns out I was right. (Possibly because I use words like ‘cunt’)

😀 

Definitely feeling rather surplus to anybody’s requirements this week. Perhaps that could be my epitaph? “Here lies Kit. She was good…But annoying”.

These thoughts brought on by the kind of petulant teenage behaviour I’m always talking to my eldest about – I got the huff for about 2 seconds when I saw pics on FB of some pals all gussied up for a night out. I let it slide, thinking, fair play to them, enjoy! Until the next day when I realised that even more of them had met up and gone out than I first thought. I was now looking like Malificent,  left out of Aurora’s christening.

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So then I felt somewhat ostracised from the group and I tried to brush it off because I’m a 47 years old and not a 15 year old girl, but I won’t lie, it still stung.  Particularly as this wasn’t the first time this had happened.  Felt marginally better when I found out that I wasn’t the only one who didn’t have the requisite requirements to warrant an invite Still a bit miffed TBH.

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Meanwhile, I had a CT scan* this week too. That was fun. If your idea of fun consists of wearing hospital gowns, getting dye fed into your veins through a cannula which leaves a bad taste in your mouth and makes you feel as though you’re weeing, all whilst lying inside a noisy Stargate type machine while a bunch of nurses loom over you, asking if you could manage to keep your heart rate down a bit please.

*routine test booked by GP family dudes.  Don’t start planning my wake just yet (nobody would turn up anyway I expect)

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Just checking if anyone likes you – it’s a negatory I’m afraid 

You’ve got a friend in me

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I was contemplating my friends list yesterday. Not the Facebook friends list. Everyone on my FB friends list has merit, don’t get me wrong,  but sometimes I wonder if I would recognize them in the line at Morrisons or if they would know me. (I’m not always underwater for a start).

There are about 5 names I can list (but won’t) who I used to consider a really good friend.

But now…  not so much.

And I’m not even sure what happened.

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What did I do to have them blow me out like that?  I must’ve become boring, or annoying or hacked them off somehow.

Pardon about that.

Their loss though.

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Who wouldn’t want to be friends with this?

 

 

 

 

Sometimes it can be a bit weird, I won’t lie.  As the following screenshots from a messenger conversation last night will testify:-

It started with this newspaper article in yesterday’s Metro.

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 Poor Lennie Peters. Sod’s Law that he was bricked in his good eye!

😂
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Fairly standard TBH.

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Big-up to the crazy people who have stuck by me since the get-go and welcome aboard to all new passengers.  Buckle up MoFos and keep your limbs inside the vehicle at all times. To those who jumped ship – what’s up with that? Where did you go? You’re missing a trick. Come back aboard the love train. Unless you think you’re better than me, or I’m not good enough for you – in which case, fuck off then.

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in need of something but not sure what

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I was meant to be heading south this weekend to visit some pals and have a curry and some drinks.  There was even loose talk of getting hold of a “hot tug” and sailing it to Harlow, but I don’t think that came off.  Maybe next time, when it’s warmer.

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Stock Photo from Google Images

 

As it goes, I haven’t gone.  I started with the snots when I got back from Chester over the Easter Weekend, which was awesome by the way (the Easter weekend in Chester – not the snots).
I also had a clairsentient gut feeling that I should stay home & leave it til another time.  I’ve learned it’s best to pay attention to these things, so here I am.  At home. In the rain. Not ever wanting to see another Easter Egg in a long time and feeling rather cross at why people can’t just commit to a long planned arrangement or answer a text from time to time in a civil, unfacetious fashion.

I know everyone has their own little lives and shit but FFS!

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So what have I done instead?

    Ventured to Sadford Town to return a pair of silver Doc Martens.  Not mine I hasten to add.  Seems my eldest wants to go for the Gary Gliiter, Glam Rock aesthetic for her birthday this year.  It’s not ’til June, but these boots she wanted were on offer in Foot Asylum. 

Ordered them. They arrived.  But are neither the right size not the requisite shade of silver apparently.

FML!

Had one lovely spring-like day on Wednesday so ordered some new garden furniture.  Natch it has pissed down ever since.  Furniture currently clogging up the hallway and kitchen ready to be assembled.

Still no washing machine because the fucker needs yet more parts.  Bastarding Hotpoint.  ‘Oh we’ll replace your washer if it can’t be repaired’.  Repair dude just laughed at us and said that almost never happens.  It can be repaired….eventually….when he comes back for a third time on Wednesday.  That’ll be over 3 weeks since it initially broke.  I’m running out of neighbours to impose upon to wash my smalls, my mediums and my larges!

So anyway, the trip into Sadford, usually a cure-all when you’ve got the blues, did not help in any way whatsoever. It was like accidentally stumbling through the set of the Walking Dead.  Normally this type of thing makes me feel less inferior. Better about myself.  It could be worse etc.  Yesterday it just made me feel sad and full of gloom that I was doomed to die here. That I had failed as a mother and I had condemmed my offspring to a miserable life in a miserable place.

“Hello is that the Emergency St John’s Wort & Evening Primrose Oil hotline? I’d like to place an order please!”

The best part of the day was when I smuggled some tech into an allegedly haunted shop in my handbag, for a mini lone investigation, Sadly the recorder failed. Coinicidence? Supernatural? Or operator ineptitude?  You decide.  Either way, it had a most oppressive atmos (but did sell the most amazing bits, bobs, tat and oddments).  There was a man in there talking to the shopkeeper about his imaginary friends as she listened unjudgementally and with sound advice.   I may have found my spiritual home.

🙂

Boyes store however lit up my K2 device like a gay pride parade.  Too many mobiles on in the vicinity? Or it being so full of the elderly and infirm that the veil between this life and the next is ridiculously thin – the afterlife almost tangible through the smell of wee, lavender bags and the scent of decrepitude?  Again – you decide.

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from Google Images

 

I didn’t want to be one of those olds.  Complaining in the cafe upstairs in Boyes that the tomato soup was sold out, or that so and so hadn’t turned up today and did they think she might have died over the weekend.
But I also felt like I was skidding quickly towards being one of those people (but with less friends).

This time last year we were in Orlando, yet it doesn’t seem two minutes since we were only just planning it and it was 18 months away!

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Poss my fave pic from last year’s hol

 

Life is short.  Do stuff.  Fun stuff.  Sometimes wrong stuff.  But stuff. Be kind.  Be nice. Go out. Have fun. Make some memories to keep you warm when you’re waiting for death in a cafe above Boyes in Bradford and the soup is off and your mate hasn’t turned up.

 

                                         Gravitating towards the water, as per

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It’s ok to just be ok

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So.  I’ve had enough of trying to accommodate some people.  If people want to be my friend and be a good friend, then they know where I am. They know how to contact me.  I’m pretty much done with always being the one to make first contact.  People are busy I know. People have their own lives.  Sure. But it doesn’t take a moment to spare someone a thought and drop them a text, whatsapp or messenger or whatever.

With that in mind I know a couple of heads I need to reconnect with and I shall go old school and telephone them at the weekend.

Honest.

Meanwhile, I’ll go to school.  Teach my lessons as per my plans.  Change them as and when I need to.  I’ll mark, I’ll come home. I’ll go to bed. Sleep the sleep of the just – possibly unjustly. Or maybe I’ll lay awake pondering about life, the universe and everything. 

I’ll teach my swim classes on Thursdays and Fridays and hope nobody drowns and the parents don’t think I’m a complete fucktard.  If they rebook the classes then I’ll know I’m doing alright.  If they take their business elsewhere and I end up being asked to leave then I’ll know it’s not for me.

And that’s fine.  It’ll be what it’ll be.

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I’ll cook and clean and keep house and parent as best I can and that’s the way it will go week after week.

Every now and then I’ll do something different. Like on Saturday when I went to Chester and took my mum and sister out for afternoon tea for Mothers’ Day.

 


Nice.

Once in a while the planets will align and the gods and goddesses of all that is mysterious and magical will smile upon me and, after a pointless tiff with Bman,  he will apologise like this.

And that’s okay (although the spelling and grammar is NOT).
It’s okay to just be okay.

Xx