Wednesday, 1 August 2012

My Head Hurts

Woo - blogging fail. Managed to get through the whole of July without posting.  


Will do better. Promise. 

It's not a case of nothing happening - it's a case of too much happening.  I wrote it all down for someone the other day and nearly blew their mind. So I'll give you it bit by bit.  The words 'you couldn't make it up' tend to some up my daily existence. But anyway I am back and it hit me today that it's: 

a. August 


b. I only have a matter of days left until I hit my mid-thirties.  Gulp.  

Obviously as soon as I hit my 'mid-thirties' I will magically transform into a mature and sensible adult woman who doesn't forget she's stored the cat food in the oven and accidentally ignite it (true story - don't ever do it.  The smell is something nobody living in a world with refrigerators and far far removed from apocalyptic genocide should ever have to suffer). 

I will also be able to source matching bed linen and keep socks together.  And remember to send people birthday cards.  And not have a car interior that resembles the bottom of a budgerigar's cage.  

But don't hold your breath or anything.  Just in case you know, it takes another year or something to properly grow up....

Anyway, so it's August which mean school's out for the summer.  It also means I'm mainly home with my kids because I walked out one of my jobs (the very dull one involving 2000 pieces of paper a day) in order to spend 'quality time' with them before I go off on my new venture in September.  Conveniently enough for them I also acquired some kind of throat problem which limits my shouting abilities.  Which is probably how I ended up in bed with a migraine for the last two days....  

Yesterday was the pinnacle of the pain so I lay in a darkened room going in and out of sleep while they came and went informing me of gem like facts such as... 'I've done a giant poo' or 'my brother keeps looking at me'.  I was highly grateful for this information.  

No really.  I was.  

I'm not sure what they did all day other than fight over whether to watch Kung Fu Panda or 'Freight Trains Around Crewe' (a real DVD - one of many supplied by Dave's Railway Films - I note his top seller is "A cab ride from Hull to Leeds". Get it while you still can.....) and recreate Narnia using rice crispies but full credit to them for not drawing blood or setting fire to anything.  

Anyway after making them suffer the kind of school holiday Monday I remember (being shut in a living room for long periods of time watching strange daytime TV which always seemed to include Saved by the Bell and something involving Jacque Cousteau's underwater world - with maybe a touch of Colombo post lunch) I  promised that today I would take them out. 

I am frankly in no fit condition to even face daylight - let alone drive a car - so the only activity I could consider needed to involve being seated and being in the dark - so that meant the cinema. 

So this morning I managed to get dressed and get them in the car.  For reasons only known to me (and actually not even known to me) I decided to forgo my standard flip flops and put on a really high pair of heels.  I can't fathom why? Maybe because I looked so shocking I thought raising myself up to the height of Lily Savage and staggering slightly would stop people clutching their children to their chests as I approached.   

Anyway, somehow we got to the Odeon and found ourselves waiting in the foyer with several dozen other families.  Only they all looked kind of 'subdued' -  my children NEVER look subdued.  Particularly in large open spaces.  They rolled up and down the disabled ramp and ran around shrieking whilst I  slumped against a pillar with bed hair and stupid shoes on pretending they weren't mine. 

Then the small one stopped and proclaimed, loudly, 'When I grow up I'm going to find David Cameron and kill him'. 


Oh god. 

Now I need to put this into context. He's not actually plotting an assassination and I don't want to find the police at my door arresting me for 'hate blogging' or whatever.  It's like this... There's a place near here that they used to like to go and play and it's been shut and they are building houses, more bloody houses, all over  it.  Houses that will be 4 bed executive homes - so not actually do anything for the people that are trying to bring up families in tiny little flats or still having to live with their mums until they are 48 even though they work hard etc etc.  Anyway the kids were pretty peed off about this and asked why it was allowed to happen so we had this big conversation about councils and back handers and how the economy works and growth and all that kind of stuff and I said the government likes to keep houses being built as it provides jobs yadda yadda yadda and he asked who is in charge of the government. So I said David Cameron. And now he wants to kill him. 


He's 4. 

He might grow out of it. 

He might not.  

Up the revolution.  

But I digress.  Anyway I told him not to say that (quite so loudly) and gave him a ball of blu-tac that was in my pocket. 

He promptly stuck it on his forehead and proclaimed 'I AM IN AN INDIAN LADY'. 

I confiscated the blu-tac and turned his attention back to over-throwing the government. 

Then we went to watch the film - which for the record was The Lorax.  Which there is no point in me reviewing because: 

a) I have a severe aversion to Dr Seuss and all that sail with him.  Ever since I was a small child The Cat in the Hat et al have given me 'The Fear'.  This is no doubt a vastly unpopular school of thought but there we go. I remember hiding Green Eggs and Ham at nursery school in an attempt to remove it from my psyche.  I preferred those stories about a dirty dog called Harry who did stuff like dug holes.  He was the real deal.  

b) I have an even more severe aversion to musicals (with the exception of West Side Story - which is dramatic and involves passion, drama and people getting stabbed).  

This turned out to be a Dr Seuss musical.  

But anyway I got to sit in the dark for two hours - it was shame to have to  pay £18 to sit in the dark for two hours (EIGHTEEN QUID!!) and cringe but there you go.  At least nobody is trying to build a housing estate on me. 

And then I suffered the ironic torture of having to take both kids to Sainsbury's in order to purchase more migraine medication from the pharmacy.  

As I queued at the counter one child hung to the underside of the trolley emitting a high pitched beeping noise and the other swooped a large pack of Canesten Combi Thrush Treatment from the end-of-aisle discount display (that's right ladies! Suffering the joy of a summer time vaginal yeast explosion? Well you can pay slightly less for the joy of having soggy chalk in your knickers for the next few days if you get down to Sainsbury's!) and shouted to anyone who would listen 'LOOK THIS IS SECURITY PROTECTED! SO DON'T STEAL IT'.  He's very into security protection at the moment. Sadly.  

The pharmacist handed me the brain-pain pills and chuckled 'and I wonder why you need these?'.  

I stared back with glassy eyes filled with echoing depths of agony. 

Another lady came over and said 'this is the hardest job in the world and nobody ever says well done - now  YOU BOYS GET OFF THE FLOOR AND LISTEN TO WHAT YOUR MUM SAYS'. 

And that's not a migraine hallucination, she really did exist and she really did say that. 

Jeez. I really must look like shit......