The memo has gone out.
The sun arrived this morning and approximately 47 seconds later the entire street emerged from their homes and began either washing their car or cutting the grass. It’s a phenomenon that’s normally only witnessed at weekends in most streets but, we’re lucky, we live amongst pensioners who have no need to conform to traditional weekend activities. They can literally do what they want when they want and this crowd flaunt it. Some of them even had short sleeved shirts on, as well as their vest underneath obvs. It was positively BUZZING in the metropolis of the nearly dead.
It’ll not surprise you that I had no intention of washing our cars, or cutting the grass. Now that we have Eli I can get away with saying we’re growing a “wilderness garden” so he can play with bugs, and I’m riding that train until he’s left home and the cars… well they’re daily targets for Davie and Agnes, it’s just not worth it at the minute.
Honestly though, it’s not that we want to be the slobs of the street it’s just that there’s so much do INSIDE that we never get round to the outside. This house needs more work done than Mary Berry. It’s been sorely neglected and bodged by it’s previous owners and everything we start ends up as a massive project. Ceiling vag is just the latest in a long line of “projects” we’ve had to work on since we moved in and we’re probably only a third of the way through. Next in line is replacing the sky light which is a lovely shade of “falling fucking in” and the boiler which appears to have been installed by the Chuckle Brothers. I mean it’s safe but fuck me does it take a long road for a short cut to get to the THREE water tanks up the loft. Yep three. Not big tanks mind, small fucking stupid useless blocked in tanks. If we sprung a problem up there and needed to drain the water we’d be fucked because we can’t actually access them – they are literally blocking each other. I mean it adds an extra element of jeopardy whenever a plumber arrives to do owt but it’s really dull sitting through the tuts, and the sighs and the “pffffffft’s” . I dunno what to say to them. We appear to have bought a house that has “character” but it wasn’t fucking us that did it! Anyway the boiler, along with ceiling vag will be sorted in the next couple of weeks hopefully.
We’ve sorted about 60% of the inside now, the main bathroom has been replaced, the utility room has been replaced, the secondary glazing that was left in some rooms (but not others) has been replaced, the front porch which held a toilet for reasons unknown has been replaced with a coat hanging area, the sinks that were in EVERY bedroom have been ripped out, and the bedrooms as well as Christiaan’s office and my office have been decorated and carpeted. It’s been a busy few years and we’ve still loads to do. I need some sort of get rich quick scheme because the roof has to be next and fuck me are they expensive. I mean I guess they’re important, but why does it cost so much when everyone needs one? Surely supply and demand would mean they should be cheap as chips? I don’t understand economy! It’s all bullshit. As well as the roof, the outside of the house needs painting and the driveway needs sorting and the gardens are shite. That’s before you get to the cosmetics that are left inside like the 70’s doors, the kitchen that’s built for giants (filthy giants at that) annnnnnnnd the hallway. Ahhh the hallway. My fucking nemesis and the one obvious place you can see the sheer arseholery of the people who decorated it.
Looks alright on the face of it doesn’t it? Look again, picture 1 that’s a fleur-de-lis, an upside down fleur-de-lis. The whole hallway has the wallpaper hung upside down. Who does that? Actually I say the WHOLE hallway but see picture 2 – bottom right hand corner… all of a sudden we have one, tiny patch of promise in a land of misery. The wallpaper is the right way round! If I could just focus on that bit when I was walking through I’d be fine but….picture 3. Picture 3 is taken upstairs and has a very special feature; now it’s discreet so I’ll explain what you’re looking at. The beige patch is where they had 2 book shelves next to the wall when we came to view the house, and they were clearly there when they were decorating. They were small book shelves, not overly full and not attached to the wall. THEY’VE PAPERED AROUND THEM. What the fuck is wrong with people?? Surely to fuck if you were papering such a massive fucking room you’d find the extra 4% energy needed to move the book shelves? I have M.E. and I’D have moved the fucking book shelves! The wallpaper isn’t the only horror story mind, its rivalled by the carpet; there are so many stains on that carpet that we’re going to have to start giving them names. Something terrifying and mysterious; Medusa, Bogeyman… Grace Jones. That sort of thing. It’s the one room that makes my teeth actually itch because it’s the first thing I see when I walk in and I need to pass through it to get everywhere in the fucking house. It’s also the one room in the house I don’t want to touch until all the other big stuff inside is sorted because it would get wrecked during the other renovations; which we can’t afford to do just yet. Fuck my life and fuck you hallway of gore and illusion.
So anyway, I wasn’t out mowing the grass or cleaning the cars but I did manage to get some washing hung out, and as we all know, when you get to a certain point in life this becomes the pinnacle of contentment. So my big, baggy, titty hugging pants are blowing about in the wind and I cannot WAIT to smell them later and express in wonder just HOW MUCH FRESHER they smell for having been outside. I don’t normally sniff pants mind and I’m not saying that my pants normally stink, but… oh fuck it. You know what I mean.
In days gone by I’d have sat out in the garden on days like today but Davie and Agnes are being really fucking tetchy and I didn’t want to get shat on or bombed. Also my eyeballs were on fire, but when I was hanging the washing out it was just long enough to appreciate that Spring is definitely here. There’s something hugely satisfying about breathing in air that doesn’t freeze your lungs, although the impending seagull attacks kind of spoiled it.
I’d forgotten this morning that I had to have bloods done today, honestly, my memory is utterly shite at the minute. Brain fog makes you feel like you’ve missed the punch lines to a million jokes; I’m constantly trying to catch up with myself or whats going on around me. Anyway, I drove to the top of the road to go and get my blood tests done. I drove a distance it would take you 4 minutes to walk, and it’s a really lovely wee walk but that’s just where I am today. I reckon I’d only convince the neighbours further that I’m a vampire what with my curtains being closed during the day, up in the night and burning eyeballs in the sun. So I chose to take the car and salvage what I could of my dignity. I fucking hate it but I. SHALL.NOT.WHINGE.
I always feel I need to apologise when I show up for bloods, firstly because they have enough of my blood there to clone me (what a fucking thought) and secondly my veins are a nightmare to get to. They take one look at the nurse and start cowering under my bones, hiding like where’s Wally in an Aquafresh factory. Cowards. The nurse, bless her, knows what she’s got ahead of her when I walk through the door and I can see her face visibly drop, not like she’s had a stroke or owt, but her mental dialogue is very visible “oh for fucks sake, not again”. So I felt instantly guilty, I always do, I hate bothering medical professionals because they’re busy people…. but I’m ALWAYS fucking there because I have no choice. Today though, I had an extra apology to make because after the nurse got over her disappointment and we had our normal friendly exchange she asked me what I was in for, I said “more bloods” and she said “Aye, I was worried you’d say that, I’ve got no idea what we’re testing for”. Marvellous. Well there’s no point asking me lovely, I forgot the word for glass earlier and only remembered that I had to come here at all because there was summit stuck to the fridge! Extreme fatigue is like that; you’re so knackered that normal cognitive ability can be all over the place; it’s a bit like trying to play ping pong with a chop stick instead of a bat…. you might get lucky and hit the ball once in a blue moon but mostly you’re just waving your arms around trying to catch something that’s faster than you are.
Anyway off the nurse went to see the doc, who gave her a whacking long list of what we were testing THIS time and when she came back my veins had gone to Barbados. They were literally nowhere to be seen. I’m sat there whacking my left arm trying to get something to pop, she’s got some sort of torture device round the top of my other arm and is doing the same and then one of the crafty wee fuckers pokes its head up and BOOM she stabs it and it gushes. It was like a more sinister version of Whack A Mole but we were both chuffed it hadn’t taken as long as we thought it would.
So that’s that, the results will be in next week. I expect them to find absolutely nothing at all so I won’t be chasing for them, they’ll call me if they find anything funky.
By now you’ll have gathered it’s not UNusual for me to tell you I’m knackered, today’s no different but I’ve an extra layer of lethargy about me thanks to a 2am free for all between the bones in my legs and the bones in my arms. I was sound asleep. Literally out cold then someone must have come in with a sledge hammer and battered me senseless (it was probably Christiaan, I am a fucker to live with to be fair). I was up for 2 hours because I had to wait for the painkillers to kick in and the indigestion caused by the painkillers to fuck off. I crawled back into bed at 4, closely followed by Bonnie who wanted to paw my face and then Bear who wanted me to chuck the ball. I’m convinced they’re both trying to kill me. It was near on five when I fell asleep, and I was up again at just after 6 with Eli.
It was alright though because it’s been a slow day really, which was just what I was after. No drama’s, nothing cataclysmic has happened. It was just what I needed and I’ve ordered another day the same tomorrow.
The wee man came home from nursery having had a cracking day playing, he was covered in sun cream and hadn’t napped so was naturally a sticky wee psycho but he fell asleep in no time after his bath so we’ve have a very civilised evening but now…. now I must go and sleep.
Just a quick note before I go though – we’re almost at 500 likes on the Facebook page which is incredible seeing as I’ve only been writing for around 3 weeks and the first week or so was hit or miss. I have no idea why this excites me so much, there’s no financial gain but fuck me I’d love to get to 500 people by the end of the week. If you can think of anyone who’d enjoy reading my drivel please invite them along; don’t badger people mind, I hate when I get plagued over and over again to read summit I’m just not interested in; I want the people reading this to be the kind of people that enjoy reading it if that makes sense? Anyway, if you know anyone who would be interested, or you feel like sharing on your Facebook I’d be really grateful. If not, I’m alright with that.
I had signed up to a few bloggers Facebook pages today but fuck me they’re soulless places. I thought they’d exist to support other bloggers with hints and tips, but no, it’s basically about farming numbers. They demand as a new joiner you go off and “like” or “follow” 5 other blogs and in return people will like or follow yours….. that’s not what it’s all about though is it? Surely bloggers want people to be reading because they’re interested? Surely the pleasure is in writing something people enjoy, not saying I have 39489857934875947539 followers…. and no actual readers. I can’t get my head round it really, how does farming numbers prove you’re doing something of interest? Nah, I’d rather just keep it to us; those who want to read and me, the big fucking ego, spouting off about her day.
Right, I’ve gone off on one again.
- Nothing dramatic has happened at all
- I’ve been able to rest
- GoT neck has gone down a bit
- Sore, tired, blah blah fucking blah
- What’s on the menu Mellars?
- Breakfast – a yoghurt (shocker)
- Lunch – A BFree pitta with heck sausages and onions
- Dinner – Pasta bolognaise with balsamic onions and mushrooms