Where have you been? I’ve been waiting!


Thursday the 27th of September 2018

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd just like that I’m back in the room. Like a bad fart at a party eh? can’t keep me away from the action forever!

So, it’s been a while aint it? How you doing? Got rid of that itchy snatch yet? Our Keith dumped Debbie? No? Needs to get a move on, Big Tits Tonya won’t wait around forever will she?

Me? Acht well, I’ve just been plodding on aint I? I’ve been trying, as the blog and Facebook page suggests “to do it all” and to be honest, I’ve only been partially succeeding but there’s no fucker keeping a score so I reckon it looks like I’m doing all of the everything. It’s been a right busy time over these last few weeks, too busy to be fair, and I can’t say that I’m walking with a spring in my step, in fact I’m mostly not walking at all but… well I’m not dead yet so that’s a huge plus point. Mostly for me, granted but you’ll get used to having me round again, I KNOWS IT.

Despite my body’s best endeavours to shut down I’m STILL working, not as in heart still beating, (although I suspect it is) but as in doing a Dolly Parton, except with less hours, and hairier norks. I’m up to working 5 hours a day at the mo and I’m not going to be a tit and say it’s easy because, well, it’s not. This morning for instance I woke up looking like Captain Caveman with a cocaine problem, look;DSC_3887.JPG

I am making it through the days though. I’m rocking up and doing the things I’ve been asked to do and then I’m stopping. That in itself is a massive change for me compared to days gone by. I’d always be looking for stuff to do see. I love/d being busy and any time sat down on my lardy arse doing nowt was non value add for me, it was a waste, so I’d see if I could try and do something industrious instead…. like strip a bedroom, or solve the deep rooted issues at the heart of world peace etc. Sometimes I’d just make a lasagne to be fair. Anyway the point is, I’m trying to be less of a dick about down time and am instead trying to see it as a vehicle to being able to do more. Which is backwards I know but if I stop doing shit that doesn’t need done then I have more energy to do shit that does need done… make sense? No? Me either. Why the fuck won’t my batteries work like yours?

So I’m trying and it does mean that my approach to everthing, including work has changed slightly. I’m more focussed on being able to achieve the basics of my day than changing the entire corporate world and I know that it’s a lot to take in both for me, and for the people I work with/for. In fact, I think this new me is a bit shit. It must be because no one really knows what to say; they leave me alone for the most part, which is both welcome and a bit odd… I’ve clearly become the “one with the illness”. You know the one. They tend to corner you when you’re minding your own business at the vendo deciding whether it would be hugely anti-social to eat 3 bags of cheese and onion under your desk without offering any fucker a snifter. They tend to put their hand on your shoulder from behind and make you shit yourself by booming your name “AHHHH SARAH, HOW ARE YOU… I’VE NOT SEEN YOU IN AGES?”. Then you’re a bit trapped aren’t you? Because, you KNOW why they’ve not seen in you in ages, it’s because they were off sick and also they’ve asked how you are so you’ve got no choice but to say “I’m alright ta, how are you?”… and just like that, you’re in their web and they’re banging on and fucking on about their sore or broken bits. It’s tedious and it happens in offices alllllllll over the country.

I’m trying so hard NOT to be that person. Not to be the person that lets their illness steal the centre stage of every conversation. It’s easy in most respects because I work remotely at home so in reality, the only other person who has to actually listen to my shite is Christiaan when we meet in the hallway on the way from our respective offices to the kitchen for a cuppa and to be fair, he’s very good at telling me to shut the fuck up without saying  “shut the fuck up” so we’ve got that bit sussed. I do work “virtually” with hundreds of people though which basically means that we have a flavour of instant messaging which allows you to see people are online and pull them into calls etc. so although I can’t sneak up on them at the vendo I could just jump onto their screen in the form of words and demand attention I guess?.

Anyway, in a bid to answer some of the questions I knew would be flying around I sent a few lines to my crowd explaining what may be difficult while I bed back into working but that I would ultimately manage it myself…  because I’m a stubborn cow. I also told them that, I’d prefer if we laughed at me being a bit of a physical and mental liability rather than being all concerned and shit… I just don’t well with sincerity when I’m at a low ebb. I think that maybe frightened them a bit more though, because, actually, what can they say when we DO have to talk? “Sorry you’re a bit fucked but get a grip and sort me this engagement battle plan will you”? YES! Exactly that but people tend to feel v uncomfy around us broken crowd I’ve found. I know this will be a shock to you, but I have a very warped sense of humour, so actually what someone else who was entirely normal would find really offensive would likely make me snort with laughter. Its a tricky gamble for people to take though because what if I took it the wrong way? All sorts of shit could explode. So instead, people are leaving me to it, probably for all the right reasons. Or it could also be that they have absolutely no reason to be talking to me at all right enough; I could be an utter wank bag to talk to or I could just not be needed just yet… who knows, but it all feels a bit weird at the minute and I suspect that will be the case for a wee while until I prove that I’m not going to break or disintegrate into tears.

So, I feel a wee bit isolated truth be told. I don’t even have my In The Night Garden crew with me anymore because I’ve eventually given in and admitted that there is just no room for me in “my office” anymore. This means that Eli now has a fully dedicated playroom for his shite, as well as  bedroom – which at 3 years old is madness. In some ways it was good timing though, he needed a bigger boy bed thanks to his recent growth spurt so we were looking to buy him a small single anyway, but then I had a wee bit of a brainwave; the very low double bed in the spare room has been slept in maybe three times by guests over the last 4 years? He could have that! So, he’ll be a three year old with a double bed, a massive bedroom and a playroom; he sounds spoiled. He maybe IS spoiled but I don’t give a fuck… I now have a lovely “new” office as a result. Which is basically the spare room with the bed and furniture out and my desk etc moved in. LOOK THOUGH>>>>


No, you’re not seeing things…. that’s bollockchops trying to move in with his Marshall balloon and his doctors set. He’s an utter fucking chancer is that kid. Both he and the tat were swiftly removed. From my office, not the house… lucky for him.

He has now started saying he has “Eli’s office” though which is all kinds of funny. He seems to have come on leaps and bounds these last few weeks and I’ll be honest, the cheekier he gets, the harder it is not to piss myself laughing. We’ve started getting a lot of lies now, like “Daddy bit me” or “Bear pushed me in a bush” and I’m struggling to get my game face on explain to him that Social Services would take a dim view if they thought Daddy was biting, or that we had a cat big enough to push him into a bush… if we even had a bush. Never a dull day with our Eli though, his wee imagination has gone metal and he’ll often tell you he’s being Andy off of CBeebies and he’s going on an adventure to find dinosaurs, or that he’s off to work as a doctor. Fucked if I know where the money from that goes. Not on digs I can tell you that.

In amongst my “time off” from writing we’ve had his birthday. He’s the big 3 now ladies and gents and he celebrated it by having a shite in the potty on his own. Unfortunately it was in the bathroom and he hadn’t told anyone so it sat there stewing for a good few hours until the air was chewy enough to gag on when I walked in for a piss. Ahhh, I love being a mum. Anyway, he had a ball at his wee family party. His cousins and Aunts and Uncles and grandparents on both sides were there and that’s when this wee man is at his happiest. Look:


Yes, I made that cake. Can you not tell? Its a fucking mess but he wanted rainbow dinosaurs so that’s what he got. Also, it was a chocolatey bastard which basically means I walked a fine line between indulging my guests and putting them in a diabetic coma. It was probably a wee bit too rich on hindsight for a kids party but have you any idea HOW long it’s been since I had a decent bit of cake? Too fucking long, that’s how long. In fact, that entire birthday buffet was for me really. I made my sticky onion quiche thing, had sandwiches and crisps and the dips I liked. I even had some sausage rolls and chicken nuggets. Eli ate fuck all of it obviously (shocker)… I, on the other hand had a lovely time eating, so we’ll see what the damage is when I go to fat club next week. The scales should be petrified.

In other news, Charlie fucking Chick went back “home” yesterday after his stay with us. It was shite. It went EXACTLY how I knew it would…so I wrote the truth. Minus the swear words, because, well, I need Eli to have a nursery space next year to be fair. I’m fucked if I’m looking after him 7 days a week. Here’s the write up that is now pride of place in the Charlie Chick Folder at nursery… about to be handed to some unsuspecting parent. Probably today to be fair.


I’m not even sure you’ll be able to read that to be fair but if you can’t you’ve not missed much. Here’s the text without the pics:

When Charlie came to Kinghorn… 

So I’ll be 100% honest and say that when Charlie, or Chuck as he’s called here was handed to me my heart sank.  In fact I think my exact words to Chloe were “Bucks cake, what am I meant to do with it?”, to be fair to her, her smile never waivered as she told me I was to take pictures of Chuck having           adventures.  Adventures? He’d be lucky, I spend more time cosied under a blanket shouting at             politicians on telly that going out, but Eli was clearly so excited he nearly wet himself so the chick came home.

Our “adventure” started on the way home;  we discussed whether we should have organic  quinoa or freshly squeezed unicorn tears for tea… surprisingly Chuck was the voice of reason and we decided on pasta with a tomato sauce from the freezer, maybe he was our kind of chicken after all?

It took him a wee while settle in and I dunno what silver words he whispered in their ears but he’d soon made friends with Bonnie and Bear—Eli’s cats. Now I KNOW it looks like he’s been dumped next to them, but honestly, he climbed up there        himself. Look at that smug  stare on his chops, that’s the face of a bird who can     sneak up on two terrifying cats without them even realising. I was beginning to    realise he was an edgy kind of bird. I was going to have to watch him…. I moved the Baileys to a higher shelf.

It wasn’t bad timing for chuck to visit to be fair, it was coming up for Eli’s birthday and has Nan and Grandad were coming up to visit from Chesterfield. They’d be going out and about doing stuff and when you lot looked at the pictures it would look like I was one of those parents who did loads of great stuff with their kids—an InstaMum. I was all over this.

Things started well. At first Eli and Chuck were inseparable, they did everything together.  We went to Ardross Farm Shop (I’m not posh, we shop at Tesco, I just wanted fresh lamb… there wasn’t any, wrong season or something, I dunno) where I sent him and Eli outside to play with some fake ducks while I bought chicken breasts… well I could hardly let him see me doing it could I?  Then we came home and had a nice family wee.

This, my friends, is the peak of their relationship—this pee, after this….well the honeymoon period was over and we spent more time dragging Chuck around trying to get pictures where everyone looked like they were having fun (“yay!”) than actually doing enjoyable stuff.

Here’s us trying to convince Eli that Chuck wasn’t a Russian Spy at the swimming pool … he literally would not look at him. Don’t even get me started on those tiles in the changing room by the way, they need a good going over with some bleach. Or something else that isn’t corrosive and deadly… whatever… they’re filthy.

Just after this picture was taken Eli wanted to fling Chuck in the pool. That theme continued for the rest of the day and as a result of my little cherub launching Chick off the sofa, we had to send it to “hospital” in the spare room, where it could recover and be a bit less starey and judgemental looking until Eli was ready to say sorry.

He clearly felt we’d failed him and I can’t say I blame him but, well, whirlwind romances rarely last do they? Especially not when you have a toddler in the mix—they’re fickle.

Then Christiaan’s folks arrived, aka Nan and Grandad and we could start looking like we were doing stuff. Except… I kept  forgetting to pack Chuck in the car so he missed out on quite a few wholesome looking walks that would have made me look better. As it was he was still in spare room hospital and Eli still wasn’t that bothered about saying sorry so we were at a bit of a stand off; a bit like Brexit I guess.

Then they went to the safari park, while I made cake for Eli’s upcoming birthday party. So here, here’s some pics of the final days of Chuck and Eli’s relationship.

I have no idea what they’re looking at in the middle picture by the way – I was up to my eyes in chocolate ganache and M & M’s for his cake at the point. You should have all had a bit home, but, well, it was too crumbly and it looked like I’d taken it dancing when I tried to cut it up … so you have no cake soz.

Now I had intended on taking pics of Chuck at Eli’s birthday “party”, which consisted of his grandparents, cousins and Aunts and Uncles but to be honest, it was already mental in the house with kids charging around in dinosaur outfits and I was counting down till I could get rid of people so …. I’ve just ready badly photoshopped him in.  Lets just pretend we’re all having a lovely time while ignoring the stray leg in the picture.

So, at the very least you’ll know that your “adventures” won’t be as rubbish as this.

Also, I’m chuffed toddlers can’t read – you’ll need to make up stories to alongside the pictures. It’s more fun that way           anyway — i.e. “Look there’s Eli and Chuck in jail after streaking through Kirkcaldy Highstreet to the Venga Boys on Thursday night after one too many Haribo” etc.

You’re welcome.

You’ll not be surprised to hear that our adventures with Charlie are written very differently to everyone else’s but fuck it, I’m not a gushy mum so why should I pretend? I suspect our party invites are limited going forward… which is a shame because I enjoy a nice buffet but I am not a pretender.

I tell you what though, it’s been struggle not mine sweeping the rest of OUR party grub into my face. I did what I said I would a few weeks back and enjoyed the social eating aspect of a special occasion…. I ate fucking loads of stuff that would set our Terrahawk Mags at fat club up in flames. Not a syn was counted. I gave none of the fucks and it was great but it lasted from Friday until Tuesday because, well, once a fat greedy bastard, always a fat greedy bastard innit? So yesterday I gave myself a kick to flaps and got back to clean eating; there’s a big difference between enjoying a birthday party and putting on 11 stone on an eating binge.

The crazy bit about it all is that I ENJOY what I eat on fat club days but I also LOVE butter and white bread and crisps and cake and everything that’s bad for you. “Everything in moderation” is all well and good when you’re the sort of person who can leave half a packet of crisps because you’re full but that’s not me, I’d bite your fucking fingers off for your bag n all and I’d likely not be sorry. So, I’m trying to be really switched on about WHY I want to eat the shit bits, and it comes back to feeling deprived of “treats”. Since when is bread and fucking butter a treat? They used to eat it in the olden days for fucks sake, with cheese! And wine! Which confirms my biggest fears; I’m clearly a reincarnation from last century. I’m alive at the wrong time. Obviously.

So there you go, you’re up to speed. Thankfully the life of a mostly immobile swearist moves relatively slowly so it’s not taken THAT long has it? Actually… you’ve probably fucked off by now. Can’t say I blame you to be fair.

Here’s some pics to cast your eye over… just because.

See you soon chicken.




  • Highlights
    • I’m getting on with my phased return to work and so far I haven’t blown up which is a bit of a result
    • I’ve move my office to one of the spare rooms and I much prefer it to be fair. No creepy fucking cartoons judging me from behind and no toys going off mid conference call.
    • I’m still mostly sticking to fat club and am heading towards the 4.5 stone mark (off, I don’t weigh 4.5 stone you nutter) – I reckon I should have it nailed by the end of October while still being a bit more relaxed with the approach. This will of course, allow me to put it all back on again at Christmas hooorayyy!!!
    • Eli had such a lovely birthday weekend. His Nan and Grandad being here just made it for him (and for us to be fair) and he even got on telly. Yes, we are now famous. We had a card read out on CBeebies. Eli could not have been less fucking bothered
  •  Low lights
    • Work is a bit… well I can’t go into specifics but it’s an odd place just now and I’m struggling to feel like I’m being any real use to anyone. I’m hungry to be back in the game but I know I’m not firing on all cylinders, which is where they need me to so I feel I’m kind of in no mans land? Sure it’ll settle down but for now its just a bit…. weird.
    • My physical health is shite. The markers of being overly exhausted are here in force again; my necks broken out, my ear has a weird skin infection thing, I have strange bruises on my hands again and I look ill again. Like knackered and pale. I think this is the worst of the illness at times, often I can look in the mirror and say “Acht you may feel rotten tittychops but you look alright” but not right now… right now I look the plague has got me. Meh
    • I’m really missing being able to write – the blog, and the page are on my mind a lot. Not because I feel pressure from you guys but it seems I’ve had to stop yet ANOTHER thing I really enjoy just to maintain the status quo on a day. I’m hoping that as the days and weeks go on I find space to be able to work and write and be a mum and a wife…. but right now, I need to pick my battles and often that means I do the thing that needs doing over the thing I’d LIKE to do.
    • I’m exhausted, with all of it and it’s not very often you’ll hear me moan so blatantly but I’ve trucked through for ages now so I deserve a wee blow out. I’m utterly pissed off with it all. I need this fucking stupid, horrible, illness to fuck off and I need to go back to being the person I was before all this shit started. I want to be able to walk further than the length of my hallway without having to rest, I want to be painfree, and be able to stay awake until 10pm. I want to be able to bake and cook without piling on weight when I demolish it all and I want, more than anything, to be enjoying taking my wee boy out to the park. It’s fucking soul destroying staying at home all the time and I’m sick of it. I blame Theresa May. I have no idea why but she’s an impersonable twat so its her fucking fault…. and Brexit. I’m blaming Brexit.
  • What’s on the menu Mellars? Well an on plan day today.
    • Breakfast – Rasps, Skyr Light and Free yoghurt and a wee 35g of granola thank you very much (yes syn natzi I did count my half a syn for my yoghurt, stand down)
    • Lunch –  A wee bowl of left of pasta from last night. I had my Slaggy Speed Sauce  – click on this link to go to the Two Chubby Cubs page where it was published
    • Dinner  –  Chicken curry I reckon tonight, might turn into a casserole though, or even a biriyani. Who knows… I’m a culinary marvel so whatever happens I’ll be taking perfectly edible food and making it look ugly. It’s kind of my thing.
      • I post pics regularly on my Instagram account if you want pics of some of this grub by the way – you’ll find a link to follow me here: CLICK HERE my pics all look like road kill but if I post a pic it’s because its tasty. OR wank and you should avoid making the mistake. Whatever. There may also be pictures of cats and kids. Not included in the meal… I’m not an animal.

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 #meblogging #mummyblogger #losingweightwithme #losingweightwithcfs


ME Blogger extraordinaire… a bit of a shit one, granted.

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