To all my readers I wish you the very best of everything in 2011

To all my readers who no longer read, I wish you the same, but I wish you'd come back. Blogville is surely at its lowest and most apathetic right now.

I've tried Facebook and Open Salon, but nowhere seems to have the feel this place used to have.

Sad indeed, and as I start this new year with a cold I'm not feeling too optimistic about it. Still, when you've spent the whole of humbug surrounded by nasty bugs I suppose it's only to be expected. But you know me - never one to complain.

Actually, I have nothing, zero, zilch, nada to report but just wanted to secure a post on this auspicious date..

1-1-11 Weird or what? Ominous even, but I cling to the hope things have to improve one day...

Even if it's not this one. After all, tomorrow is another day...

Even if it means a trip to the supermarket. Maybe the price of carrots will inspire me.
 

After a great deal of debate and heart-searching, it was decided Paul and family would join us for Humbug and we'd take the consequences whatever. Besides, what would we have done with all those sprouts?

I can honestly say I have never felt more exhausted, stressed, irritated or ready to murder in my life. Family sure bring out the best in me.

Both the grandmonsters were suffering from bugs, runny noses, coughs and loss of appetite, but still managed to rise giggling at unearthly hours after broken nights. They enjoyed themselves however and caused a few laughs, although they've somehow managed to lock me out of my iTunes account while playing with talking cats, robots and santas on my iPad. Bless their little cotton socks.

Mey Ling coughed and spluttered through two days while lolling on the sofa with her laptop permanently playing Khmer movies. She did manage to open all her presents however.

Paul coughed and spluttered less than the others, but is exhausted after work, house hunting, shopping and seeing to the kids. We didn't get the chance to share a few Baileys and a late night chat as hubby insisted on staying up as late as possible to watch the damned cricket. Or maybe that was just an excuse.

Aforementioned hubby has annoyed me on more fronts than I could possibly list here and if I'm stuck indoors with him much longer I swear my kitchen knives may all need disinfecting. You may think I'm cruel, but if you knew all the details you might understand. I'm not sure I can stand it much longer, though no doubt I will.

My humbug dinner wasn't too bad, but I think I overdid the port and lemons while cooking, resulting in the pig's blankets being rather black and not even the birds will eat the leftover Yorkshire puds.

Oh well, at least that's it for another year, my Dad managed to stay upright and I can escape for a day out with my friend tomorrow all being well.

As for the new year, I daren't even think about it. Maybe I need to make a resolution to stop being so damned positive about everything.



 

After baking mince pies, rearranging bedrooms, humping sacks of heavy pressies downstairs, making stuffing and peeling five million sprouts . it seems son and family have gone down with some sort of novavirus and may not be able to join us for the day I love to hate. Sobr />

Scarlett has decided to get well and truly toxed before contemplating a post humbug detox.

HAPPY HUMBUG TO YOU AND YOURS.

My sis has been planning to visit since early this month, but severe weather conditions has meant several cancellations. She finally arrived last Wednesday.

It was such a novelty to get out and so good to see her, we went to the pub to celebrate. We raised our glasses to the trains and temporary thaw which had allowed us to meet.

Later we met one our lovely cousins for lunch. It's not too often we get together, so we raised our glasses to that and our dearly departed Mums.

Much later my friend Big Pam joined us, so we raised our glasses to celebrate and toast absent friends. Much later we caught the train home and settled down with a wee drink or five and I think we must have gone to bed at some stage because there I was when I woke up. Sort of.

On Thursday we battled into my local town against more severe snow storms. It was so cold and miserable we headed for the pub and raised our glasses to the thought of next spring. We sorted out our Dad, who seems to have more problems by the day, then struggled home. Of course we needed a few tipples to help thaw us out.

On Friday we caught the train to Newark to see our friend Jane. She's not been too well lately, but is picking up a little now, so we raised a glass or five to that. Later our friend June arrived so that meant forcing another bottle to open and empty itself.

Sis went home from there and I felt very tired last night for some reason. Had a hell of a day today with my Dad's drains, loo blockages and too-much-information health problems, but will spare the details of all that. Left me in need of a glass or five though.

I am not looking forward to next week in any way, shape or form. Horrendous weather, manic supermarkets, prediction of doctor/hospital as regards my Dad, empty bank account, son and family staying and still no house to move to, another week of no golf and wall-to-wall hubby, crap TV, all those sprouts, no escape and general mayhem. But, this time next week it will nearly all be over thank God - I'll drink to that. Cheers...hic.





 

When I was out shopping with my friend Joy last week, she spent ages trying to find a pair of warm, furry boots. Our weather has been so severe and foul, it's difficult to know what to put on your feet. I commented I wouldn't be tempted to buy any more boots, as I have plenty already.

It was then I mentally calculated exactly how many pairs of boots I have. I was horrified to realise I own over a dozen pairs and even more horrified to think I rarely wear any of them and am hardly likely to.

I have long boots and short boots, leather boots and suede boots, high-heeled boots and flat boots, pink boots, denim boots, burgandy boots, grey boots, beige boots and fringed boots. But, the sad fact is I don't go anywhere to wear them.

As an advocator of minimalism I'm ashamed at my footwear collection. Hubby calls me Imelda and despite the fact I only actually own one pair of shoes, my boots and sandals collection verges on the ridiculous.

The onset of deep snow left me in a quandry. I don't have any wellingtons and looking at the price of these ugly, rubber monstrosities I decided I'll manage without. I've spent three weeks in my hiking boots as they're the only thing to wear to manage staying upright on snow and ice. My extensive range of boots remain pristine in my wardrobe.

It depresses me and makes me intensely aware of my own mortality knowing all these boots I own will not be worn and I'll never go anywhere to wear them. All I do these days is visit my Dad, go to the supermarket and shop locally. Hardly occasions to wear kinky boots. The one day I go shopping with my friend requires comfortable footwear as we tramp all over town,so there's no opportunity to wear fashionable footwear.

Maybe it's time I gave my boots the boot. Sell them on ebay or dump them in a charity bag. But somehow, I cling to the young girl I am in my head and hope, probably unrealistically, that one day my life, my legs, my activities, my opportunities and my future will involve some chances to wear all the damned boots and sandals I own.

Or maybe I can take them with me to the other side where there's no snow and lots of opportunities to party in fancy boots.



 

As many people are already aware, it's at this time of year I frequently feel the desire to move to another planet or at the very least a country that doesn't celebrate Humbug.

Failing that, I think I'd prefer to be in the southern hemisphere, where December is a summer month. Preparing for the season of not-so-goodwill would certainly be easier and slightly more pleasant in warm temperatures and sunshine.

Being mostly housebound due to heavy snowfall doesn't leave you with many excuses not to write Humbug cards, wrap the few presents you've purchased or contemplate climbing the loft ladder to bring down the decorations.

Living where snow is far more likely to fall in July or August would certainly be preferable. Just think of all the things I could do with a clear conscience.

I could catch up on all those films I've never time to watch or spend all day lost in my novel of the moment 'Eat, Pray, Love,' which is rapidly becoming an all time favourite.

I could sit at the computer and write anything and everything that comes into my head. Even my unwritten novel might actually put in an appearance.

I could design and make some lovely jewellery with all the materials and new skills I've acquired. I might even become good enough at it to set up a website and make a fortune from sales.

I could churn out knitted garments on my machine or relax with some hand knitting while watching some of my favourite programmes or those films I mentioned earlier.

I could spread out all my art and craft materials and leisurely make some Humbug cards, in the secure knowledge they wouldn't need to be in the post by next week.

After all, if I was residing in the southern hemisphere, I'd need to make special cards to send to my Dad, my son's family and my hubby to let them know I was thinking about them.

Hell, I'd miss them all and don't know how I'd cope without the anxiety, stress and restrictions they impose upon me. But, martyr that I am, I'm sure I'd find a way.
 

The week so far...

November 27th 2010



November 30th 2010



December 1st 2010

I didn't expect to achieve much housework on Monday as the day just gets swallowed up by supermarket shopping, delivering to my Dad, unloading and then slowly recovering.

I wasn't anticipating doing any housework on Tuesday as that's the day I receive a foot tickle from my reflexologist friend John and an earbashing from my very verbose friend Gillian. Then I have to cook dinner and make exotic cocktails for friends who join us for the evening. I wasn't wrong on the housework front.

I didn't even contemplate any housework on Wednesday as that's my shopping day in Nottingham with my friend Joy. She bought a pair of gloves and I bought a Thomas the Tank Engine DVD. Then we headed for the pub.

I thought I might catch up with a bit of housework on Thursday, but my head was a bit delicate and I kept getting interrupted by telephone calls, doorbell ringers and essential things I needed to do on the computer,

I knew I wouldn't get any housework done on Friday as I had a duck day planned in Derby with my sister. And very pleasant it was too, although I swear time passes at double its normal rate on these occasions.

Housework wasn't on the agenda today. I was so looking forward to my monthly hike with my walking group and was such a good girl going to bed early in order to be prepared. I jumped out of bed when the alarm went off only to discover six inches of the white stuff had fallen overnight, rendering it impossible to drive the twenty-five miles to the starting point.

I'm going to sulk all day tomorrow, so housework can go to blazes. I wonder if anyone ever suffered death by dust?


 

I went shopping with my friend Joy yesterday. She bought a kettle and I bought an umbrella. You can’t say we’re not the last of the big spenders or that we don’t live life in the fast lane.

As there are only FORTY days left until my favourite time of year we decided after lunch to force ourselves into some serious humbug shopping. After being subjected to the glitter, tinsel, trees, music, grottos, queues and general mayhem we decided to sod it and head for the pub.

We settled into an alcove with our drinks, perused the menu and ordered our meals. While we waited we decided to inspect our purchases. All two of them.

Joy took her kettle from its box.

‘It’s nice,’ I commented. ‘Much more compact than mine and I love the colour.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Joy. ‘And it turns red when it’s hot,’

'I need one like that. Mine's not functioning too well lately.'

My new umbrella was next up for inspection.

‘It’s heavy,’ I said as I took it from my bag.

‘It’s bigger than the average one though isn’t it?’ Joy observed.

‘Yes and I didn’t realise how thick it is either.’

‘Well, do you want to swap it for another?’ Joy asked.

‘No, it’s fine and black is always best don’t you think?’

It was at this point we heard some serious sniggering from the alcove adjoining ours.

Eavesdroppers should be careful how they interpret the conversation of others. Of course we had no idea what they were laughing at.


 

I'm not a big television watcher, partly though choice and partly because my other half has complete control of the remote and never leaves his armchair of an evening. There are a few things we watch together, but his obsession with sport means I spend a lot of time elsewhere or doing other things.

I recently discovered a programme on BBC called QI. It's a sort of comedy quiz show, where the questions are very off the wall and the panel of celebrity contestants extremely witty. I've always liked Stephen Fry, the question master, so all in all it's right up my street. Hubby's not too keen, but condescends to allow me to watch it, although he frequently disappears into the kitchen to make his model railway engines.

Last week when my sis was here and we were watching the programme I happened to mention to her that in the previous episode it was revealed hippopotamii can't actually swim, which was news to me. Strange how when hubby is sitting right next to me he rarely hears what I say first time round, but when he's in the kitchen he can pick up on my every word if I'm involved in a conversation with someone else.

'Don't be so stupid. Of course they can,' assaulted our ears from the kitchen, swiftly followed by the arrival of Mr Right himself.

'I'm only quoting what was on the programme,' I say in self defence.

'I have a video of them swimming at St Louis zoo. I can prove it if you like.'

Not wanting to encourage him or enter into heavy debates, sis and I decided to escape upstairs and leave him to his precious football.

Much later, encouraged by alcohol, sis and I decided to visit Wikipedia and research the hippopotamus. Sure enough, it confirmed that adult hippo's don't swim, but propel themselves from the bottom of deep water and only surface to breathe. Feeling brave I printed the evidence and came down to give it to hubby.

'Have you got nothing better to do?' He asks from his seat in front of the television. 'You sad people.'

If I keep biting my tongue at this rate I'll sever it completely. Not a bad idea some might say.

Later in the week, long after sis has departed for home and out of nowhere I'm confronted by hubby's conviction that he is correct on the hippo front yet again.

'I'll find the video footage and prove it,' he declares.

I tell him in the great scheme of things it's hardly of any importance and concerns about geriatric parents, homeless sons and tax demands are a little higher on my list of priorities.

He humphs. 'Just because you like Stephen Fry and he says it's true, you believe it. You never believe anything I say.'

Oh dear. It seems even television personalities are subject to his massive jealous streak and I'll have to be careful who I laugh at or admit to liking.

The phrase 'I didn't realise when I married Mr Right, his first name was Always,' springs to mind, but sadly in my case I definitely married Mr Wrong in more ways than one.

I'd contemplate escape, but lately I think I'm starting to resemble a hippopotamus myself. But at least I can swim.