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.
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!
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.
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.
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!
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