Movie Quote of the Day: (so OK it’s a TV show quote) “It’s like I hit an oil patch at 35 and now I’m just skidding towards the grave darling” – Absolutely Fabulous
What the hell have I been doing for 2 weeks?
I hadn’t realised my last post was on March 1st.
I am still alive, (barely). Well – bodily I am still here but I think spiritually and mentally I am somewhere in an alternate universe, riding a pink unicorn and eating a coconut glitter candyfloss bigger than my own head!
Nurse Ratchett – my meds if you please!
Enjoyed a good weekend last weekend in the Boro. I had a most pleasant Saturday afternoon drifting aimlessly round the Motherland, people-watching with my eldest.
I almost bought a taxidermied albino rabbit with wings but decided that as we were travelling by rail, I couldn’t justify carrying it home as well as mine and the childerbeast’s bags. We are also trying the de-clutter the house in our (so far fruitless) attempt to move, and I am pretty sure that taxidermied chimera probably comes under the heading of ‘clutter’.
I wanted to take a photo of it in the store, as it was a sight to behold, but I was afraid of the 98 year old chain-smoking lady behind the counter and her entourage of henchmen.
Still, Mother’s Day is approaching so you never know… (Second time Around, on Victoria Road)
Bman and I then spent Saturday evening with some pals in their hidden-away house in the woods in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t even tell you where it was. I just know that we had to follow a breadcrumb trail to get there and when we did it was all made of gingerbread and candycanes and there was no WiFi or mobile network and they had an over-sexed dog! (Note to self: do not get an all fours to try to retrieve a pop bottle lid from under the couch because that, my friend, is asking for it!)
They also had sloe gin and rhubarb wine and great tunes though (and I’d gone old school and taken a bottle of Martini Rosso and some lemonade) so we were all good.
Truth be told, some of us were probably a little too ‘good’… I turned in just after 2am after Bman got lairy and threw a fag packet in my eye and only apologised when his mates told him he should. Then he started knocking lamps over with his flamboyant dance moves, so I figured I’d be safer in bed at the other side of the house.
After about 10 minutes he came lumbering into the room, switching the big light on. Great big booming voice, drunkenly telling me I had to make sure to turn off the electric blanket (which natch, I had already done… and unplugged). He then caught his foot on the bed leg and fell on top of me, laid there laughing and patting my face whilst telling me he loved me for 5 minutes before lumbering back down stairs again to join his mates.
For goodness sake!
When I got up at about 0930 and went downstairs, him and V were still up, having never gone to bed! They were having an in-depth conversation about whether Meatloaf had ever worn crotchless fishnets and whether or not V’s dog looked like Gail Tilsley! This, alone, convinced me I had made the right choice about leaving them to it and going to bed when I did.
Anyway, after the great weekend, I have had a strange working week. I have felt physically dizzy at times, like I was on a roundabout and couldn’t get off. On occasion I’ve felt like I had to hold on to something for support. I’ve also had major terrors about going to work. Hyperventilation times about teaching. Think I managed to get away with it. Outwardly showing no fear and seemingly being my usual businesslike self. In my head though I felt like that chick from ‘The Host’ (great book, shit movie). Screaming to get out. All the sorts of things that have professional people coming round and measuring you up for the old extra-long-sleeeved jacket, while you sit in the corner rocking – like Arthur Fowler after he stole the ‘christmas money’ for Michelle & Lofty’s aborted wedding.
It’s all gone Pete Tong Pauline
I feel so much more human today but I’m not convinced that’s not just because it’s the weekend again and I’ve been on a cleaning spree whilst listening to Prince Fatty and Jamiroquai (and treated myself to a new shower curtain – cos that’s how I fuckin’ roll on a Saturday!).
I figure that if I can just hold onto enough sanity to get me through the next 8 years when the childerbeast will be almost done with school and I’ll be 50. It could be time to bail on the real world and just go and live in the rainforest somewhere, or hit the open road in a refurbished ambulance or something. As long as there’s money for gin and something to play tunes on I think we’ll be reet.