Magic, scones and grey fucking hairs

Wednesday the 23rd of May 2018

I’m just going to put it out there; this Yanny/Laurel thing? Bag of shite.

I keep seeing it plastered all over Facebook, but I just don’t get it. Why is it creating a stir? I can literally tell Christiaan something one day and he’ll swear I said something different; we don’t get the whole fucking internet involved, we sort that shit out ourselves. If it was our Mary Berry giving us a lovely scone recipe; I’d totally get the excitement. In fact I’d listen over and over again because I’m yet to find the ultimate scone recipe and I fucking love a scone. I’ve tried plenty of recipes over the years and some are better than others but I’ve never found “the one” (no not even the one using sour cream). Now that is a mystery worth solving, I’d listen to ALL sides of the argument on that one. Whether a computerised voice is saying one irrelevant fucking word or another is not going to solve my scone dilemma, and OK so it might be a little bit weird that some people hear something different but it’s not a life changer is it? Not like a decent scone recipe. Actually, in true Sarah style it makes me wonder what sort of mutants I’m sharing the planet with if they think the robot bloke says Laurel, because CLEARLY it’s Yanny. AH SEE, YOU THOUGHT I HADN’T LISTENED. I have, fuck you, and therefore, I am entitled to say that; firstly –  I’m right and if you differ from my opinion you’re wrong and, secondly – it’s never going to get me as excited as a beautifully risen cherry scone the size of my fist, drowning in inches of butter. Oh fuck me, I’d destroy that right now…

I’m not a fan of weird stuff by rights, especially not acts of fake or manufactured mystery – they just fuck me off generally (SHOCKER… what doesn’t?). Where’s Wally scenes piss me off,  I don’t care with the stripey little bastard is, I play enough hide and seek with my own smug little fucker to start playing it with someone elses. Magic Eye things are the worlds biggest lie, there’s fuck all hiding in those things, I don’t care what you say. If you see a hedgehog riding a unicorn while eating a pie then you’re high. End of.  I also absolutely detest magic, as in it makes my blood boil. I have no interest in finding out how you conned me into thinking there was a rabbit in your ear – the fact you’re trying to pretend there was and make ME out to be the silly cunt tells me all I need to know; You sir/madam, are a manipulative lying bastard.  I’ve got up and walked away from several people over the years who wanted to show me a “magic trick”. Jog on Magic Martintholomew, I’d rather relive that time I pissed myself in the kitchen after a particularly violent sneeze than guess what card you have in your hand. In fact, take your “magic card” and ram it right up your arse and then fuck off. If I wanted to be tricked for fun I’d go into a “end of season sale” at DFS; the ones where they try and convince you that £4 off the £3000 sofa is an epic deal, not to be missed. MUST END SOON.

I fell for that once you know, the DFS sale, which is possibly why I’m so bitter now (bitter me?) but I’d fallen in love with this red sofa and I saw marketing EVERYWHERE telling me about this sale to end all sales. Gonna have me some of that I thought and off I went with an air of excitement and freedom. See, I’d just moved out of what was the marital home into my own “single girl” lady castle after separating from the trial husband. Trial husband would NEVER have let me buy a red sofa, in fact, I was lucky if he let me buy a fucking ice cream. Anyway, I bought a miniature castle. Well, that’s not what it ACTUALLY was, it was a converted Doocot, which for you Englanders is a Dovecot, a place where people used to store doves in the olden days before they baked them in pies. Anyway, it looks like a castle, with a turret and everything. It was a 3 storey, 1 bedroom, open plan castle and after I had been in it a year and a half Christiaan moved in and we decided it was too small and impractical for future use. The castle was where the sofas were for and fuck me did I love them, one end swivels you know, it’s fucking great. So I waited until they were on sale and BOOM drove nearly an hour to my nearest DFS where they offered me £40 off. Forty fucking quid. I’d spent more on fuel getting there and back. Still bought it though and actually, we still have both sofas now, albeit they’re on their last legs and I now need to share the swivelly bit with both my furry children and my bald one. Here’s the castle and the sofa by the way….just in case you couldn’t picture what I was explaining. The view looking down at the sofas was from the bedroom above which was a mezzanine.

 

I loved that place. It was quirky and original but highly fucking impractical. The toilet was on the ground floor, the bedroom on the third and you could only get between the two by going down three sets of stairs, which curved and were pretty much like staged death traps…. I ended up on my arse more than once. We kept it for a year or so after we moved because I was still attached but we had it rented it out. In the end though it was too much of a worry on my brain and we sold it when I was pregnant with Eli to give us a maternity buffer. You never really know what kind of tenants you’ll land up with and I was always concerned that if someone didn’t trash it that it’d come crashing down, or blow up, and I’d be held responsible. It was absolutely FREEZING living there mind, even in the summer. The walls were only single skinned with no insulation and because the building was listed we weren’t allowed to do anything to it – no gas central heating or owt, so we were reliant on electric heaters which for that kind of open plane space were fucking useless. All the heat would rise to the top and seep through the roof. I was literally paying to heat the town. How Christiaan and I didn’t get hypothermia is beyond me.

So anyway, Yanny/Laurel, I’ve no idea how I got here but the sentiment is; no fucks are given…. I like cherry scones instead.

Blimey, I’ve not even begun to tell you what I’ve been up to today, which is just as well really because it won’t take fucking long hah! It’s been a quiet day really. Wednesdays, as you know if you’ve been reading for a while, generally always are. I spend the day recovering from being “switched on” for a few days with Eli by just zoning out and turning into some sort of human marshmallow. I’ve struggled a lot with the daylight today so yet again Kinghorn will be up in arms to find that my curtains have remained closed for majority of the day – hopefully they all think I’m a ravenous sex pest who is having her wicked way with Christiaan and that’s why they are closed, sadly though I think they’ll just think I’m a lazy bitch. Which of course, I am but I might tell Christiaan to walk like he’s had a good seeing to just in case someone spots him.

I did have a smashin visit from our Dot today though. She’s a lovely lovely lady is our Dot, and I’m not just saying that because I know she’ll be reading. She just is. She cares and she’s genuinely just wants to be there for you and that, my friends, is a rare find when things are going down shit mountain on a sledge. She knows I’m shit at keeping in touch but she  forgives me that and brings me round presents that make me look like I’ve got something in both my eyes. *emotional sobbing*

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I dunno about brave our Dot but I know I looks like a hillbilly having a Meth breakdown with that hair and those bags under my eyes. I’m sorry I wasn’t more presentable when you came round but just be grateful I didn’t have my sunglasses on too.

Other than Dot visiting it’s been a long dull day if I’m honest. Wednesdays are always both a blessing and a curse; it’s great to have a break from Eli but it’s also a reminder I should be at work. Never fucking happy am I?

I’m knackered though, both in the think tank and and the body. I literally ran out of steam about 10 minutes after I got up which was wank because it set the pace for the rest of the day, which was somewhere between roadkill and sloth migration. I forced myself out into the front garden and did some weeding though, well I say some weeding, I did a tiny patch – two foot maybe? I wanted to do a bit more but my arms were having none of it, there’s just no strength in me at the minute and anyway, the brown bin where all the garden waste goes is fit to bursting so I’ve nowhere to put weeds anyway. I’m sure that bin is 99% snails though, if they all just moved out I’d have more fucking room.

So the sum total of my day in terms of activity has been a tiny bit of weeding – I’ve not made it out otherwise which is depressing.  I guess it means I’ve not pushed myself and *may* cope with this trip to the hairdressers tomorrow though; which I’m dreading. I can think of nothing worse than someone fucking around with my hair when everything hurts like this and all my senses are out of kilter but I really do feel shit about the way I look at the minute; I guess it’s which is the worse of the two evils? I can’t explain why it’s important to get it done even, it’s just hair and I’m not the vain kind (as demonstrated by the awful fucking pics I post here). Even if I was, it’ll not make a massive difference to my overall appearance but not going would be ANOTHER thing I’ve given up on, and as much as I can tell myself it’s short term and I’ll be through the other side soon, it’s not something I want to gamble on. If I’m going to look like a knackered cave woman, I at least want to look like one without split ends and grey hairs.

Grey fucking hairs… honestly.. ANOTHER thing that makes my tits itch –  what’s the point of them? Why the fuck does your body just all of a sudden decide to change the colour of your hair? What is mother nature trying to prepare us for that we’re going to need grey hair? Camouflage in a blizzard? What we hiding from? I’m genuinely aggrieved that along with my lady chin beard (that’s coming on nicely) and hairy nips I now have a smattering of grey. I know, I KNOW I’m lucky to have got to this age without many, yes I appreciate you may have found your first hair at 16 but – WHAT DO WE NEED THEM FOR? Does any fucker actually know? See –  if magicians were worth their weight they’d come and do something fucking useful like cure biology of all it’s quirks. There’s never a wizard around when you need one though; freeloading bastards.

The end

  • Highlights
    • Our Dot came and it was lovely
    • Eli slept in till half six and seems like he’s really enjoying nursery at the minute which is cracking news
  • Lowlights
    • My remaining energy seems to have gone out for a bit, possibly to get milk and as a result I’ve mostly stayed in the living room today
    • Not looking forward to the hair appointment tomorrow but I’m not giving in. I want to give it a go. If I don’t make an appearance tomorrow, you’ll know it’s been too much. No, I won’t be dead… I’ll be sleepin peepin.
  • What’s on the menu Mellars? Bit of a mixed bag today
    • Breakfast…. a yoghurt with apple and raspberries through again – I’m nothing but a bit dull with my choices these days
    • Lunch – I had the same lunch from yesterday too – more of that Scotch broth. It’s a hearty bastard so it is
    • Dinner – Heck sausage casserole and “squedges” as Eli now calls them (wedges). He ate an entire sausage tonight hoooray!!

Are you new round here?

If you’ve just stumbled across TryingToDoItAll and have no bastarding idea what’s going on you should probably go back and read a few blogs from the beginning. Don’t panic, I won’t ask you to read them all, but these few posts will help explain. Oh stop sighing, it’ll only take you a few minutes. Fucks sake.

  1. Well you’re here, so you may as well get comfy
  2. Can’t stop M.E. now…. ahmm having such a good time, ahmm tickling your balllssss!
  3. When are the grown ups coming?
  4. Major surgery…again?
  5. You’ve got to be kidding M.E.?

#mecfs #meawarenessuk #mewarrior #silentillness #swearymum

#ThisisME

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