Name that tune: “Been a long time. I shouldn’t have left you. Without a strong rhyme to step to” – I know you got soul, Eric B & Rakim
Move Quote of the Day: “I’m waiting for her head to start spinning round” – Parenthood
Since I last wrote. I am now half-way to 82.
Birthday last day at work. Busy busy, Christmas jumpers, yadayada. No party bag AGAIN from the dinner ladies, even though I added my name to the list and mentioned it twice.
I think we all now know where I stand on that score…
Uneventful journey to Chester Y’s. World supposedly was ending at 1713 GMT, at which point the childerbeast and I were on board the Arriva Trains Wales, Manc Piccadilly to Chester, sharing a chocolate orange. I could think of worse ways to go if I’m honest. The sacred time came and went and unless you count passing through Newton le Willows, nothing sinister or untoward occurred.
The World moved on…. pretty much in the same shit way as before
Apparently 2012 Apocalyptic end of days is so last year darling (well, technically, as I write, it’s still this year).
2018 is the all new end of days.
By then, unless I come a cropper in a freak washing-up accident, I will be 47 and about done for I should imagine, so bring it on I say.
Note to Self: train childerbeast, Sarah Connors style, to survive all-out Nuclear holocaust/zombie invasion/breakdown of civilised society.
Birthday money – Very nice thank you very much all. May treat self to new mattress and I have just realised Thing1 needs new passport for July trip to France so £46 of it will go on that!
23rd Dec, we were back on train to Boro. Christmassy feeling now kicking in. Very nice. About time too. Then on Christmas Eve very early morning as karmic punishment to my annual “Don’t like it Christmas” munterings, I was rudely awoken by a poorly Thing1 who only just made it to the bathroom for a Chunderbirds are Go situation. Cue rest of night/wee small hours spent holding back her hair while she continued to barf and between barfs, begged me to make it stop.
Christmas Eve visit to Santa’s Grotto at the magical Boyes; lunch at The Hut and some last minute gift purchasing and casual retail therapy on self, now kiboshed and just another pipe dream.
TV in spare room at Grandma’s also bolloxed, so no festive telly to watch while I sat at my wee one’s sickly bedside.
She began to rally towards the end of the day and managed to make it downstairs. Colour returning to her cheeks just as it began to drain from Thing 2’s.
Ding Ding. Round 2! Older child = bigger insides = lots more hurlage!
This time, for added “Fuck You and your Christmas sucks attitude!” This one was firing from both ends.
“Nurse! The Screens please” and “Grandma where do you keep the Vim?”
Bejeebus. Someone somewhere was laughing at me good style, let me tell you!
Rest of evening not spent inhaling Quality Street and drinking self into acute liver failure, which is as it should be. Instead it was buckets and bowls, showering children clean, changing bed linen and hoping against hope that they would both settle down and get to sleep and feel better for Santa…
Fortunately, they both did sleep and feel better. We were up at a respectable 7am. Santa HAD been, although some of his choices were a little bizarre.
I know what’s on Santa’s mind
An odd gift but much appreciated
It’s as big as my face!
Loved my Jenny Lawson book and Gil Elvgren calender though – well done the Bman!Xx
For the children… he may have underestimated the height of Thing2 because when she opened up her new scooter & hopped aboard, it looked like a remake of Gulliver’s Travels or perhaps Santa mistook her gifts for Warwick Davis’s.
I would have loved to have inserted an amusing picture here of her hunched over the handlebars, but she refused to let me take a photo.
She eventually saw the funny side once she stopped beefing and of course mummy dearest promised to make good Santa’s ineptitude, so a scooter more suitable for someone of her height, for the princely sum of £35 is on its way, in the early new year.
One year, I will spend my birthday money on myself.
Boxing Day, as I may have mentioned, is a day of drinking and catching up with (or hiding from) old school pals and exes in the bars and saloons of Scarborough. A tradition dating back to when Fisherman’s Wives invented binge drinking in the days before alcopops.
I was looking forward to it.
In usual circumstances I would write an entirely separate blog entry about my adventures on this day. Painting a picture of hedonistic, debauched rumbunctiousness of a Bacchanalian nature. Photographic evidence and possible video footage would be uploaded. Names would be altered to protect the innocent and those of a professional standing.
However…instead I stayed in my dressing gown all day, didn’t eat or drink a thing. Fell asleep on MiL’s bed at 3pm and woke up again at 7:30pm – drained and weak from the shits!
Karma – clearly a big fan of Christmas and all it entails, was very much laughing his ass off at me this year.
I even had an overnight pass out and a free room at a hotel in town so I didn’t have to shamble back to Grandma’s in a state. I was going to help my friend who recently had a 40th birthday celebrate it, belatedly but in style and disgracefulness.
I had the shits instead.
Back home now. Ready to see in the New Year with The Ludewig Posse tomorrow. May 2013 bring peace, joy, happiness and possibly my being able to spend my birthday money on myself.
The DHW pictoral run down of 2012 will be in your face within the next few days.
Until then have a safe New Year whatever you may be up to. May the force 9 gales and midnight hailstorms not keep you awake or blow the tiles off your roof!
And remember… don’t fuck with Karma, or that Mother will Noro-Virus your ass when you least expect it!
Ciao for now peeps