Circus hairs, Harry Piggle and a few home truths


Ceiling vag made it through the night! She’s a saggier, dripper version than she was yesterday but that’s old age innit? It’ll come to us all.

I’ve got to say, today sees me completely nonplussed about the whole “my house might fall on my face” situation, it’s out of my hands, my energy is spent and if the kitchen dies, the kitchen dies… it’s shit anyway. I do wonder if I should start a sweep stake on when it’ll come down though; I mean you’d not win owt, it’s bad enough I have to pay the £750 excess to get the fucking thing fixed without giving you a prize for guessing when it lands the punch, but you’ll get the satisfaction of knowing you took part?


So we’re sat waiting on the crash and the dust. Christiaan keeps pacing back and forward checking that it’s still holding, just in case the sneaky bastard is silent but violent. The cats keep eyeing it suspiciously like they’re expecting a mecca of Dreamies and toy mice to fall down, and me and sad sack? Well we’re mostly doing this.


He had a rotten night poor wee bugger. His temp stayed really high all night, so we were on constant alert just in case it got out of hand. One of his wee pals from nursery passed away just after Christmas and he’s always in my brain – it’s made my hyper aware of any illness Eli has. He was crying and moaning because he was miserable, and my heart went out to him so at 8.30 I decreed enough was enough, I was in bed anyway so he could come in with me. We’ll cuddle in together and it’ll be lovely and wholesome. I really can be a fucking idiot. It was like sharing a bed with a really talkative punching octopus on amphetamines – he was all over the bastard place and wouldn’t stop talking about fucking monkeys. I should say that any attempt to co-sleep with Eli ends like this – he’s shit at it but I always think it’ll be different this time. It wasn’t. Eventually I lost my shit at 10pm, took him through to his own room and bear hugged him on the sofa in there until he fell asleep… victory was mine. Except it wasn’t because he was really unsettled most of the night so I didn’t get much in the way of sleep and he’s poorly and I feel rotten for him.

So this morning rolls round; he’s pale and he’s sad and he wasn’t eating (at this point, he’s since had a few morsels) so we sat and watched some more of those soul destroying nursery rhyme things and discussed the important things in life – like does Eli prefer normal Soreen loaf to the chocolate one, or why monkey doesn’t have beeboo’s (boobies) and is Iggle Piggle related to Harry Redknap?


It’s been in my brain for over 2 years now, trust me, you’ll never unsee that now.

Selfishly I’m really grateful for the slower pace today, it’s Wednesday and I was supposed to be at work but, well, you know by now if you’ve been reading the rest of the blogs that I’m shit. I’m struggling with ALL of the guilt today, I hate not working, I hate giving in and I’ve got to say; this being open and honest about how I’m actually doing malarkey is the hardest bit of the blog for me. I’ve spent such a long telling everyone I’m “plodding along” that it’s a real shift in my approach to not cover up what’s going on. My Facebook page is growing and the amount of traffic to and from the blog has gone mental though now, and although I KNOW that the thing that attracts the majority of people is the sweary funny bits, I also feel I have a huge responsibility to paint a picture of what M.E. looks like (for me) because there’s not too many of us out there with an audience. So here is what M.E. looks like today:


I took this pic this morning and I HATE it. I hate the fact that for the second week running I haven’t been able to dry my hair because the hairdryer feels too heavy and my skull feels like it’s going to cave in when the heat hits it. I hate the fact I have no make up on because it feels too heavy sitting on my face. I hate the bags and dark circles round my eyes and above all, I hate that I was sat on the sofa when I took this and it took me ages to work up the energy to get up again. The serious side to this blog is this picture; it’s about remembering that behind the humour or the smiles on someone’s face that life can be a huge challenge. I don’t want, or need, sympathy. I don’t say that to be an arsehole; I’m genuinely touched by the people who have got in contact and offered me support through all of this, but it’s not why I’m doing writing this blog. I’m doing it so that you begin to understand what M.E. can look like for someone who appears, on the outside, to have life nailed. I have a nice house, a good job, a lovely wee boy and a husband I adore. It’s only one side of the coin though, and I’m showing you the other side so you can choose whether you believe the preconceived notions about this illness or take it seriously. For those that know me, you know this picture doesn’t represent the version of me you know – normally I look fairly presentable. M.E. does not give a fuck about normal.

I tell you what I don’t give a fuck about though… conforming to standard victim mentality and focusing on what I can’t do – it’s just not me. It’s horseshit and it’s a really pointless, soul sucking way to go through life. I’m not all happy clappy and rainbows about the situation but there’s plenty I can do to enjoy life. I will get back to work, I will continue to be the best mum and wife I can be, I will continue to shed the extra weight and unfortunately for you crowd I will continue to swear and write drivel for as long as you want to read it, even if it takes me all day to write one post…. Like today. I will continue to laugh at this shit state of affairs, because… well why not? What have I got to lose? My pride? Nah that fucked off when I discovered these bad boys a few years back…


This is my arm. My left arm, just below the wrist to be precise. It’s a fairly dull part of my body, not much happens there… except when the circus comes to town and it starts growing pubes. Now I’d not mind so much if the pubes that grew out of my arm were the same colour as my native but no, they’re black. What the fuck is mother nature trying to prepare me for that I’m going to need a single black pube in my arm for? I pluck this bastard out every few weeks but it keeps coming back. Sometimes it’ll hide for a month or so before deciding to start the party again – it never brings a friend, it only ever comes alone. I do wonder if it’s supposed to be with the hairy toe crew and has just showed up at the wrong venue over and over again. So, it’s there and it can stay there because… fuck you but why hasn’t evolution sorted this shit out yet?

I’m almost out of juice so here’s a wee synopsis for the day:

  • Highlights:
    • My electric food chopper is arriving today to save my crampy shit hands. I am much excited. More on this tomoz maybe.
    • I think my new laptop is arriving?
  • Lowlight:
    • Wee Eli-Pie isn’t well 😦
    • That fucking tunic still isn’t sold (click here)
  • Whats on the menu?
    • Melon and yoghurt for breakfast
    • Tagliatelle with mushrooms and onions for lunch
    • Spicy chicken risotto for dinner

I might keep doing these, I might not, I’m a bit like a fart in the wind at the minute, you’ll just need to ride it out with me and hope it falls into place.

I’m hoping tonight will be better, and that Eli will make it into nursery tomorrow so I can spend the ENTIRE day sleeping.

Wish me luck ♥

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