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.
Thursday, 19 February 2009
Friday, 13 February 2009
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?
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?
Monday, 9 February 2009
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!
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!
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
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.
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.
Monday, 2 February 2009
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?
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?
Friday, 30 January 2009
Adult Time
Our House is rubbish. Its official. A week of constant viewings and not a sausage. AND it didn't help that the buggers turned up today with some viewers in the middle of lunch. Me and daughter sitting there stuffing our faces, the clothes horse in full view, my dirty knickers left on the landing! ("Oh, did we not tell you about the viewing?") The main concern was hiding the ashtray and fags. I do not want some bastard sueing me for second hand smoke!
This surprise visit crushed me like a cigarette packet. It somehow really despressed me they had seen my dirty washing like that - not to mention the litter tray. There was only one thing for it - getting on the bus to Richmond and going to a six o'clock film at the Filmhouse - sorry, Curzon cinema. Hadn't had time out like that for ages and threw on my coat the moment Husband walked in the door. Now, the Curzon, formerly the Filmhouse, is a bit special to me because about 5 years ago - or whenever American Beauty was out - my mate saw Trevor McDonald queuing up for sweets at this very cinema. I long to do the same. I would love a glimpse of Trev. I've always been a bit in awe of him. And Son when he was about two, used to point at him on the TV and say "Daddy" (he did that to Jerry Springer too). That made me beam with pride.
Now tips for an unaccompanied older woman on a brief night out:
Not to giggle and blush when the young man at the box office asks you where you want to sit.
This is not 1975 when you flirted with anything that moved. This is 2009 and that boy's mother is probably younger than you!
Not to glare at the bearded man at the ice cream/cappucinno kiosk when he blankly gives you change for £10 in one pound coins. Even tho', when you yourself worked at the supermarket smiled nicely and apologetically for not having any £5.00 notes.
You must not succumb to this surly behaviour even if the young man in question was a bit "up himself"
And definitely not to say to the young girl in the auditorium "are you havin a laugh?" when she flashes her torch for one instant at some seat bang in the middle of a row. Admittedly if she wanted to show your seat properly, she could have held that torch up a bit longer. Was she cutting back on batteries or what?
This is not the correct ettiquette and no way for an older woman to behave.
Saw Rachel Getting Married by Johnathon Demme. Was a bit all over the place - and very noisy. Why do these Americans do this pre-wedding celebration thing? A big dinner the night before or something. Surely the wedding day itself is hard enough - my poor Husband's nerves certainly would never stand that sort of thing. And how many people did they have staying at this house? I know they have bigger houses in America but surely all those guests must have got on the poor Dad's tits. My Husband would have moved out after two days!
Gosh, that Ann Hathaway's a bit of a stunner isnt' she.
Gotta go. There are fags to be smoked. xxxx
This surprise visit crushed me like a cigarette packet. It somehow really despressed me they had seen my dirty washing like that - not to mention the litter tray. There was only one thing for it - getting on the bus to Richmond and going to a six o'clock film at the Filmhouse - sorry, Curzon cinema. Hadn't had time out like that for ages and threw on my coat the moment Husband walked in the door. Now, the Curzon, formerly the Filmhouse, is a bit special to me because about 5 years ago - or whenever American Beauty was out - my mate saw Trevor McDonald queuing up for sweets at this very cinema. I long to do the same. I would love a glimpse of Trev. I've always been a bit in awe of him. And Son when he was about two, used to point at him on the TV and say "Daddy" (he did that to Jerry Springer too). That made me beam with pride.
Now tips for an unaccompanied older woman on a brief night out:
Not to giggle and blush when the young man at the box office asks you where you want to sit.
This is not 1975 when you flirted with anything that moved. This is 2009 and that boy's mother is probably younger than you!
Not to glare at the bearded man at the ice cream/cappucinno kiosk when he blankly gives you change for £10 in one pound coins. Even tho', when you yourself worked at the supermarket smiled nicely and apologetically for not having any £5.00 notes.
You must not succumb to this surly behaviour even if the young man in question was a bit "up himself"
And definitely not to say to the young girl in the auditorium "are you havin a laugh?" when she flashes her torch for one instant at some seat bang in the middle of a row. Admittedly if she wanted to show your seat properly, she could have held that torch up a bit longer. Was she cutting back on batteries or what?
This is not the correct ettiquette and no way for an older woman to behave.
Saw Rachel Getting Married by Johnathon Demme. Was a bit all over the place - and very noisy. Why do these Americans do this pre-wedding celebration thing? A big dinner the night before or something. Surely the wedding day itself is hard enough - my poor Husband's nerves certainly would never stand that sort of thing. And how many people did they have staying at this house? I know they have bigger houses in America but surely all those guests must have got on the poor Dad's tits. My Husband would have moved out after two days!
Gosh, that Ann Hathaway's a bit of a stunner isnt' she.
Gotta go. There are fags to be smoked. xxxx
Thursday, 29 January 2009
On the Streets
What a miserable existence I have at the moment. A life on the streets. The life I have now come to embrace.
I'm basically sodding off out while Estate Agents bring round potential buyers to see our hovel. Everyone hates our house. Its obvious. Their restrained look of horror as they politely look at the overgrown garden. Trying not to itch to get away. I am so embarassed. So I flee. Its better that way.
I pound the streets, lonely and bereft of warmth. I see my haggard reflection in oily puddles. I seek refuge in the slums of Strawberry Hill. My nose pressed up against an abandoned Estate Agent's window. Hoping against hope that a kindly old Jewish man will take me in and teach me how to pick pockets and that. And then i would light the first of 3 matches in the cold and brutal snow... oh, hang on. Never was that strong at the classics. Always did get them mixed up.
There was only one place for people like me on the way down. The only direction down for the likes of us. And that was a cafe near Strawberry Hill station that does Thai food for £4.95 - a choice of rice or egg noodles and an extra topping of cashew nuts. AND a free read of the Daily Mail. Yes, being desolate is not all bad.
Return home through the wind and the rain, coming back for a fag and checking on the cat, before the next viewer comes along. And this time , its the Launderette. They have Hello magazine in there........
I'm basically sodding off out while Estate Agents bring round potential buyers to see our hovel. Everyone hates our house. Its obvious. Their restrained look of horror as they politely look at the overgrown garden. Trying not to itch to get away. I am so embarassed. So I flee. Its better that way.
I pound the streets, lonely and bereft of warmth. I see my haggard reflection in oily puddles. I seek refuge in the slums of Strawberry Hill. My nose pressed up against an abandoned Estate Agent's window. Hoping against hope that a kindly old Jewish man will take me in and teach me how to pick pockets and that. And then i would light the first of 3 matches in the cold and brutal snow... oh, hang on. Never was that strong at the classics. Always did get them mixed up.
There was only one place for people like me on the way down. The only direction down for the likes of us. And that was a cafe near Strawberry Hill station that does Thai food for £4.95 - a choice of rice or egg noodles and an extra topping of cashew nuts. AND a free read of the Daily Mail. Yes, being desolate is not all bad.
Return home through the wind and the rain, coming back for a fag and checking on the cat, before the next viewer comes along. And this time , its the Launderette. They have Hello magazine in there........
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