Thank you

Lovies, Treasures, I am honoured to accept this award from my dear pal Suburbia. Bless you and thank you.

Oh no, the eyes are welling up already , the emotions are sitting tight in my throat. I am choked with kindness and love, excuse me a moment.........

Phew! Much better after that fag - I mean breath of fresh air.

This pancake day business. What a load of old shite. Now, no-one likes a bit of a pancake flip more than i do. But when the frackin' thing splashes everywhere and that eggy batter stuff lands in the neighbouring carrots ......! AND on my Laura Ashley dress....!

And then - everybody pigs out on them with sugar and lemon - and do i get one? Do i shite! The greedy buggers! I'm lucky if i get a bit of squirty cream! Common and souless I know but I love it!

Have been amazed at the number of people (husband included) who is full of wonderment that I make my own pancakes "from scratch" and not buy the ready made mixture. What a reflection of our times. I mean its only an omlette with flour in really isn't it. Why do you need to buy that shit for?

For all my swearing and smoking, i do try to serve as fresh as food as i can and cook from "scratch". At the moment I hate Tescos and them 'cos they sealed the sad fate of Woolworths so have sent them to coventry. And i've been traipsing up the local shops for eggs and bacon and fruit and veg and that. But i feel sadly alone in this venture.

There's the local grocer , I shall call him "Fatso" because he's a useless gormless lazy git but say what you like about him, he does come up with the goods. Actually he looks exactly like that fat policemen in Slumdog Millioniare. I asked him the other day if he went to the BAFTAs and what was Danny Boyle like and do you know, he just looked at me blankly. I mean the modesty of the man!

Now when i go in there , i give him a conspirital wink. He looks scared and gets his wife to serve me. Why?

Darlings....!

Bless and thank my lovely pal French Fancy for giving me this super award. And this time I was able to cut and paste the alma mater thing that goes with it. This is an achievement in itself.

"This award acknowledges the values that every Blogger displays in their effort to transmit cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values with each message they write. Awards like this have been created with the intention of promoting community among Bloggers. It’s a way to show appreciation and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web.”

This is a super award and a great honour and - yes, you know whats coming - I am going to pass it on to five lucky loves out there:

(By the way, this could not be done in Hollywood or BAFTA style like last time because of all the mobs and that. They had to call the army in and everything last time. I tell you, the flak I got! So it has to be "in camera" on this occasion.

And anyway, we don't want Kate Winslett muscling in with her "Oh God, i'm so sorry" ramblings and embarassing everyone do we. This is a classy place):

The Dotterell - for being a great read and no doubt, i will be pestering him with a technical question very soon

Suburbia - my lovely lovely friend

Mean, Moody, Middle-aged Mom - What can I say? She's great

(Getting hankerchief out)

Confused Take That Fan - classy or what?

and

Liebfraumilch and Lipstick - for being a good friend and to give her something for her new home

(Breaks down - shoulders shaking, has to led out by bouncers and medical staff and everything)

(A Hits of the '70s CD is hastily put on )

Lost it! Again!

Well, its day 4 in the Big Brother house and housemate Jenny has "lost it" with housemate Daughter demanding this and demanding that. The Diary Room has called for Jenny to talk to them but she has told them to Frack off.

What a load of old rubbish this half term business is. What a waste of space!

Son and Daughter so popular. "Can Son come over to us..." "Can Daughter have a sleepover..." And guess who has to ferry them about in the car - yes, Moi. I mean sod my broken toe, that doesn't matter does it. Just get in the car with sweets and sleeping bags and Wii games.

Gawd, when i had half-term as a kid, i was lucky if i got one knock on the door to play out in the street. And that was only if no-one else was in. And what was wrong with that? I loved just being with my Bunty comics and Sindy dolls. Not that i had any friends anyway but thats irrelevant. What is it with this playdate nonsense. Am tempted to buy them each a palmtop so they can arrange their own bloody social life.

And when they're home, its "can i have this..." and "Can i have that...." And have i spent a fortune up the local shops or what?
Why can't they go into a dark room all week and do their homework - thats what i'd like to know.

And now i have to go up the park to meet god knows who. (have lost track). And where's this nice day we were supposed to have eh? Tell me that!

The Cat bit me.

Get on with it......!

Am in a right state. Limping around the high street, my coat stinking of fags, and winking at people (got shampoo in my eye this morning). And not even good shampoo obviously as my hair was doing an impersonation of Wurzel Gummage. I should have stuck with my Olive from On The Buses image. Anyway, no-one wanted to talk to me, I don't know why. In fact, they looked scared. Am I unlovable or what?

Sadly not as unlovable as my poor Daughter. She really is at a stage where only a Mother would go near her. Despite trying everything in the book, her knotted hair is crawlin with nits, her scalp dry and bleeding and an infection around her ears and neck. My poor little sweet. My irritation at her intense clinginess fades and I protect my little baby once again. Its dreadful being 12 - and 13 (in a few months) I am quite sure will be even worse.

So I go limping with her to the GP for a 9.30 appointment. By 20 past 10, we are still sitting there. I waited less time in Casualty last Saturday, I say loudly to anyone who will listen. No-one comments, they've heard it all before.

We are eventually shown in. This Doctor, I dimly recall, went on my Bastard List a few years ago. I contemplate erasing him, after all it had been about 7 years ago. But decide against it. Some people are very bitter and twisted. They see the world through murkey eyes. And I am no exception.

I show him her ears and neck. "Oh My God," he exclaims. A good bedside manner he has! He lists about every treatment he can, including a hair cut. I am all for that one. I can see those horrible nit eggs in the knots of her hair. Then we sit there while he tap tap taps on his computer. Get on with it , Man. Why can't they go back to writing on those pads? The ones drug addicts used to steal. We could have been out of there in half the time!

What an amateur. This apologetic tapping on his keyboard. I felt like shoving him out of the way and typing it for him. Didn't this man go to Medical school or what? Didn't he get a typing certificate?

We were finally out of there and I dropped her back at school. Only to return for a powerful dose of antibiotics, cream and nit-busting stuff. The poor thing is a mass of white inside and out. She is not happy.

Valentines day tomorrow. Made Husband a card from Rose (the cat) and I bought one from that Scribbler shop. God! That place is expensive. And we're having a take-away and wine and chocolates and watching BBC2 thats showing a documentary about Iran and its 30th anniversary of the revolution. So romantic thats going to be! Really gonna put us in the mood that is. But don't care, saw last weeks' one and it was great!

Its a shame actually that its a little bit overshadowed by the 50th year of the Cuban Revolution (same age as me!) and by that Black president. So he's black, I mean so what? But Iran and its people's uprising is an important part of history too and it should be acknowledged.

Well, thats about as deep as i'm gonna get this week, i tell you. Now, where's that Viz comic?

A Sad Day

The Cat is on the Bastard List. Its a sad day when one of your own flesh and blood (so to speak) comes onto that list. But it is justified. Tripped over the little cow on Friday and broke my frackin' little toe. Missed a day's work at the rugby match - £ 8.00 an hour! - 'cos I couldn't walk on it! Felt like suing the little mare but she's an empty pocket - as they say in Ally McBeal.

Hobbled to Casualty on Saturday. Doctor said she wasn't even going to x-ray it, she could see I'd broken it. Cow! I would have loved an x-ray. I don't get many pleasures in life, was a little x-ray too much to ask? It seemed it was. Bloody NHS - no wonder they've gone to the dogs!

So it was a shit weekend. Couldn't go out because I couldn't even get my foot in the shoe. And does The Cat show any sign of remorse? Does she hell? Well, thanks for wrecking my life, Rose! You give them the best years of your life and they throw it right back at you....

Husband off sick today. Told me to cancel all viewings with the Estate Agents. Well, what about me on Saturday then? Pale and weak from Casualty but no, they all had to troop round then! I mean Sod Me, that was alright wasn't it. I could lay down when their office closed at 5 o'clock. One off-day for Husband and we close the shutters right down!!

Hacked off. Gonna make a big sandwich!

Withdrawal Symptons

Bit of an unpleasantness yesterday. Schools closed again and son stalks about like a caged beast. He wanted his schoolmate over. The one who lives just up the road. I initially said No. We have had him here about 3 times, including a sleepover, and Son hasn't once been asked back.

But I wore down. And also he was the nearest pal to us and I was damned if i was driving in that icy snow to pick up someone else. I said you can call him, i'm not, so i dialled the number and passed it to son. The Boy obviously agreed to come and then Son passed phone back to me because the mother wanted a word.

I cannot believe what the cheeky cow said. She realised it was her turn to have Son, she said breezily, but HER son had chosen to come to our house instead. The crafty bitch! Of course a kids' gonna choose to come to someone else's house. It was on the tip of my tight lips to say it was for an adult to decide who comes over, not the bloody child! Was furious. Itched for the Bastard List which i was trying to give up.

But it was hard. The withdrawal symptons increased through the next 2 hours. I began to shake and have hallucinations. An inner voice tried to soothe me: Have a fag, it said, it will take your mind off your addiction. I puffed gratefully, trying not to think about the List. But I paced around the house, brittle to the touch. The inner voice tried again: Go for a walk like people trying to give up smoking do. (I've heard there are people who actually try this. What suckers!) . But its cold, I answered back.

Salvation came in the form of an Estate Agent. "Can we bring some viewers?", he asked brightly, desperately even. I told him he certainly could. And then I phoned the old whore back and told her I couldn't have her boy after all because of people looking at the house, and in fact, could she call for Son while they were walking their dog and have him instead?

Well, what could the cheeky cow say? She knew she'd "crossed the line" and could do nothing but wearily agree. So got my own back in the end. But next time, the Bastard List may not be so easy to suspend.

How strange....

So, its been the thickest snow for 18 years has it? Doesn't that sound a long time ago. Yet when you say 1991, it doesn't somehow. Sounds a very recent year. Where does the time go?

I remember that snow like yesterday. At the time i was working in the city at Bishopsgate as a PA. They sent us home at 3 pm as the snow started to fall. Liverpool Street Station had very helpfully shut down and i was left standing there like a lot of other commuters, cold and bewildered. I eventually climbed on a bus goin to Ponders End and i remember sitting upstairs at the front of the bus and reading a Zoe Fairburns novel Daddy's Girls that she had autographed for me a few days before. But tears kept splashing on the pages as the day outside turned quickly into night.

I was in a volatile and passionate relationship at the time and I convinced myself HE wouldn't care i was struggling on a bus, not really knowing how to get home, if i ever would get home. The tears came fast and thick. No mobile phones then of course. just very oversubscribed phone boxes.

Five hours i was on that fracking bus, eventually alighting us at a grotty pub just by the Hertford Road. I went straight in there and phoned HIM from a callbox by the bar - whilst getting chatted up by a scouser, and HE immediately came and got me. isn't it funny how love makes you so sensitive ? so worried about nothing.

We spent the next two days snowed in together. What absolute bliss and happiness. He was a teacher - so no school for him - and my office didn't even open.

Of course, a few months later, after a blissful holiday together, he really started to get on my tits. Not to mention him running off with some former student or another. And there were no more tears on the bus nor anywhere else. But i will never forget that time we had in the snow.

And now, it strikes me as i look out the window how very different my life is now. can anyone else recall that snow in February 1991 and what they were doing?