DECEMBER

And read this first if you haven't already.

Friday 1

Okay, today is the day Girls Go Mad in the German market. 

15 girlies were supposed to be coming, but 7 suddenly had urgent appointments  elsewhere (wimps).  8 of us gathered around the helter skelter (all screaming, “Oh my God, its so big”), 4 bought tickets and grabbed straw mats.

Yep, four.

As I had arranged it, I was made to go first.  So up the steps I went, followed by the brave 3.  Up we climbed.  And up.  And up.

The structure felt a bit wobbly.  As I hauled myself up the steps, heart pounding, mouth dry, brain crying ‘what the fark d’you think you’re doing?!’, I remembered when they’d built the helter skelter, levelling it up on wooden blocks. 

It suddenly didn’t seem terribly safe.  It suddenly didn’t seem like a terribly good idea.

Got to top, gasping, heart three times it normal size and pumping like a revved up piston.  The 4 of us stood nervously on the platform, staring wide eyed at each other.  A couple of teenagers came tearing up the stairs and we all yelled as one, “No, really, you go first, we insist.”  The teenagers threw down their mats and, the next instant, they were gone.

“I’m scared,” I said.

“Get on there,” they demanded.

So I did.  Petrified.  Utterly convinced I was about to die. 

I put down my mat.  It didn’t whiz off down the slide (and I could’ve said, “Oh bugger, my mat’s gone, what a shame I can’t do it.”).  I sat on the mat, which was roughly the size of a postage stamp.  Legs up or down? 

Oh God. 

I was like a terrified foetus as I pushed off.  I moved an inch.  Ooooh, a glimmer of hope, it wasn’t going to be the slippery rocket jet I’d imagined.  I even managed a casual smile at the brave 3 as I gave another little push.

And suddenly the mat took off.  And the screaming started.  And the screaming got louder as the mat gained speed and whizzed round and round.  I was going to fly straight over the edge like a catapulted rag dog.  I was going to shoot off the end and crash straight through the candy stall opposite, felling people like skittles.

I was definitely going to die.

The matt came to a sudden stop (like hitting a wall) and I struggled to stand up whilst laughing and crying at the same time.  Promptly fell over, to the delight of the small crowd that had gathered to see the hysterical women in suits.  Oh yeah, I was elegance personified - not!

But I’d done it.  I was still alive with no broken bones or spurting blood.

But where were the other 3?

One came speeding round the final corner with her eyes firmly closed and her body rigid.  We waited for the other 2.  They didn’t appear.  We looked up, and a pair of eyeballs were peering over the outside barrier, crying, “I’m stuck!”  Behind her, the last brave one laughed and shrugged down at us.  They eventually got going again and came sliding down. 

We were all massively exhilarated and hugely relieved.  “Let’s do it again?” I squealed, jumping up and down with adrenaline.  The others quickly moved off towards the Gluhwein stall.

It was bloody great. 

Next week we’re doing the carousel!

Saturday 2

Some kind of virus.  Pulsating head, aching limbs, hardly enough strength to breathe let alone move.

Spent most of day asleep on sofa, groaning quite a bit, whilst Partner administered drugs and did all the chores (star!).

This close to Christmas when you're a temp (no sick pay) is so not the time to be ill.

Monday 4

Friday *blink* Monday (sigh).

Have you ever had that feeling when you wake up feeling really, really dreadful and think, “Argh, I can’t do this.”  When you’re a temp, the next thought is, “Get up, you cow, and go earn some money.”  So I got up, whining like a miserable puppy, and took some super-strong painkillers for the headache, the aches and the general feeling of yukkiness.

Shuffle to the bus stop, fall asleep on bus.  Wake up, recognise my stop, and practically threw myself down the stairs just as the bus was pulling away.  “Sorry,” I croak at the driver, “I’m supposed to get off here, I fell asleep.”  He stops the bus and I fall off like a sack of potatoes.

Shuffle into work, croak at people, fall asleep in toilet with my head on my knees (not for long as it’s not very comfortable).

Then, just when I think things can’t possibly get any worse, my agency informed me that I have accrued 0.69 days holiday, not even a full day.  This for working 9 weeks since my last holiday!  That means I have to work for 13 weeks to earn 1 day’s holiday, which equates to 4 days holiday a year?!  If I work for 65 weeks I get a whole week off! 

I queried this, in a croaky, grotty kind of way.  The super-chirpy agency woman said it was correct.  I told her about the 65 weeks theory, adding something about slave labour, and she went off to check.  Yep, a mistake – phew!  I’m due almost 4 days, so I won’t become destitute over Christmas, which is nice.

Tuesday 5

So I get off the bus tonight, which has deposited me 20 minutes from home, and start walking.  Its dark, its bucketing down with rain and blowing a gale - I’m in danger of being whipped to death by my own clothes and hair.  I do some kind of wind dance with my umbrella for a bit before shoving the shredded remnants into my bag.

I struggle on, rain lashing my face, my ears tingling from the cold, my hair now wet and heavy and slapping against my dripping eyeballs.  I’m frozen to the core, drenched and determined to get home before succumbing to pneumonia.

My teeth start chattering.  I walk into the wind for 20 minutes, absolutely knackered, worried I might not make it and they’d find my sodden body in a gutter somewhere.

I’m 35 steps from home.  I can see my own house.  I fight against the appalling weather towards sanctuary.  I think I can make it.

And then a car pulls up next to me and Partner throws open the passenger door and shouts, “Get in!”  And I slosh wetly into the seat and hiss, “You couldn’t have just driven passed half a mile down the road when I was close to death, could you!!!!”  He just looked at me, sitting there like a sodden sponge, and drove for a full 3 seconds into our driveway.

[I'm not quite there yet, but I will be if I don't stop eating soon!]

Wednesday 6

Christmas Shopping, Birmingham

Armed with my Christmas shopping list, I venture out into the battle zone that is Birmingham city centre at lunch time.  Worse still, I have to go to The Pound Shop.

Yep, T’Pound Shop.  It’s had a bit of a refit, but it’s still packed to the rafters and, forcing yourself towards the back of the shop, you get the eerie sense that you may never see daylight again.  Got to check out and said, “Where’s yer batteries?”  The check-out girl pointed behind me and I moved to grab some - by the time I turned back again there were three people who looked like extras from Shawn of the Dead standing in the 6” space I’d vacated. 

But it had to be done.  I needed Christmas decorations.  We're supposed to have a clear desk policy at work, so instead of buying acres of tinsel I bought a small, battery-powered fibre optic tree and some dangly crimbo figures.  I’ve put them on my partition shelf so technically my desk is still clear, though flashing quite a bit.  One of my bosses came over and said, “Don’t we have a clear desk policy?” and I was able to look him dead in the eye and say, “They’re not on my desk.” 

Think I've covered myself by giving other boss and a mate a dangly crimbo figure each, so hopefully they'll protect me if the CEO comes storming over to complain. 

[This is interesting.  I listen to BRMB radio every morning and they've had a long-running story about a woman who suspected her husband of having an affair - they've been doing updates almost every day, addictive stuff (sometimes I’ve stood outside my office building even though I was late, listening to the updates).  The woman, Jane Doe, found out her husband WAS having an affair with her best friend, and threw him out.  She also put this up by the Bull Ring ... http://www.myspace.com/janesrevenge (scroll down the page a bit for the pic).]

Thursday 7

My Partner gave me an early Christmas present last night, said he had to give it to me straight away (!) so he did.  He’s been saying for ages that now my sons had all gone (sob) and the dog had died (sob) I needed something to look after.  I was hoping for a puppy, or a house bunny, or a chinchilla; just something soft and furry and chunky.  Guess what I got. 

A budgie. 

Yep, a budgie!  What on earth am I supposed to do with it?  It hasn't actually moved since we got it out of its little box, it just sits immobile in its cage so it could be stuffed for all I know.  Partner says he's going to teach it to speak and it can fly around the living room - so I'll have poo all over the house from a bird screaming "Piss off!" which will really impress my mother at Christmas.  I tried to look suitably grateful and not scream "What the f**k?!", just kept staring at it and saying "How weird!"  He's thinking of hanging it from the ceiling - the cage, that is, not the bird. 

He wanted to call it Joey.  I mean, just shoot me now why don’t you.  I decided on Jack, after Jack Bauer in 24 – I’m teaching it to shout, “Do it NOW!” and “Trust me Chloe.”

I just hope it’s cheered up by the time I get home, it looked a right miserable bugger when I left this morning (kept fluttering every time I went near its cage, I thought Hey mate, this is my house, I'll walk where I damn well like).

A budgie!  Tsk.  Emailed Middle Son with the news.  He replied, “It’s is 2 years old?  Where did he get it from, a car boot?”

It's Partner’s birthday next Tuesday.  I was going to get him something for his computer, but now I might get him a tarantula or a python.

Friday 8

Bit of a strange day.  I had a hospital appointment late afternoon, which meant I had to leave work early, but I’d also arranged to have lunch with my mom and sis (organised, eh?).  I thought I’d try and combine the two by working until 2 and having a late lunch.  It didn’t quite go to plan.

Mom was late, Sis was late and (completely out of character) kept asking about the time (!!!!!).  Pizza Hut was a nightmare, full of rowdy teenagers who PHYSICALLY PUSHED US OUT THE WAY when the pizzas came, they were like wild animals!  I nearly slapped one round the back of the head when he elbowed me to get at the pepperoni.  Once they’d piled all the pizzas onto their plates, there were a couple of lone slices left – two young men nodded for us to take them, stark contrast to the ill-mannered gannets. 

The staff weren't much better.  Sis, desperate to leave on time for possibly the first time in her life, was trying to pay and the girl behind the counter kept talking to someone else.  Sis said, really loud, "Don't you think that's rude?" and I said, equally loud, "Yes, I think that’s really rude!" and the girl still didn't stop talking. 

Do you think it's a sign of old age that we start moaning about the Younger Generation?  Not going to Pizza Hut again anyway, they never have clean plates (and the pizzas - what we managed to get - were cold ... again, a sign of old age when you outgrow Pizza Hut!)

Left with that heavy ‘oh God I’ve eaten too much’ feeling, which didn’t stop my sister racing off up the road shouting, “Come on, mother!”  I caught the bus, less stressful that being a passenger in my sister’s car.

Hospital appointment not too bad.  They have a nurse there who's exactly like Kim in How Clean Is Your House, pulls faces behind the doctor's back and rolls her eyes a lot.  Doctor said something about using a camera to 'see what's going on inside' (not a lot - apparently, there isn’t much hope of resurrecting what’s left of my brain, but they’ll inject some brain cells and see what happens).  I asked for some before (empty cavern) and after (empty cavern with some sludgy stuff in a corner) photos.  The doctor thought I was joking but I’ve already bought the picture frames.

Do it yourself brain kit

Partner picked me up from the hospital and we went home, looked at the still paralysed budgie, and went to the pub for a meal.  Having just eaten my own body weight in pizza not 3 hours before, I wasn’t the least bit hungry and picked listlessly at a starter.  Afterwards I felt like the gluttony man from Se7en.
 

[FRIENDS: My bestest mate sent me an email today saying, “You really are a crazy woman and I like you so much - your emails are the only ones I look forward to opening cause I know I'll laugh!”  I was really touched.  Had an email from another friend on Monday saying something about me always getting ill with one thing or another (am I?!) so she’s been crossed off my Crimbo list.]

Saturday 9

Still digesting food.  I may never have to eat again, ever.

This morning Jack, the budgie, sits on my finger inside his cage, and I’m hooked.  Put the radio on and he starts singing along, so I’m now the proud owner of a rather cute bird.

Christmas Story for people having a bad day....

When four of Santa's elves got sick, the trainee elves did not produce toys as fast as the regular ones, and Santa began to feel the pre-Christmas pressure. Then Mrs. Claus told Santa her Mother was coming to visit, which stressed Santa even more.

When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two others had jumped the fence and were out, Heaven knows where. Then when he began to load the sleigh, one of the floorboards cracked, the toy bag fell to the ground and all the toys were scattered. So, frustrated, Santa went in the house for a cup of apple cider and a shot of rum.

When he went to the cupboard, he discovered the elves had drank all the cider and hidden the liquor. In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider jug, and it broke into hundreds of little glass pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the  broom and found the mice had eaten all the straw off the end of the broom.

Just then the doorbell rang, and irritated Santa marched to the door, yanked it open, and there stood a little angel with a great big Christmas tree. The angel said very cheerfully, "Merry Christmas Santa. Isn't this a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to stick it?"

And so began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree. 

Sunday 10

Yay!  Been leaving the budgie cage door open to see if Jack wants to come out, and today he did.  Flew around room for a bit, then happily jumped onto a finger to be put back in his cage.  Later, he came out again, and found his own way back to his cage, where he seemed to eat twice his own body weight in millet.

To keep his spirits up, we actually searched for budgie wav files on the internet, how mad is that. 

Cute little bugger.

Monday 11

Not a good day, all round.  After enduring a really crap week at work last week which caused him enormous stress (a terrible thing), Partner went to docs this morning and was told he had high blood pressure.  They prescribed betablockers!  He’s got the week off to recover.  Dump the stress, dude - I've been there, done that, and, it so isn't worth it ... chiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiill.

Then the weather was appalling, absolutely bucketing down.  My bus broke down TWICE on the way to work.  We all got off the first time, got drenched, then the bus started up again so we all dribbled back on again.  When it broke down the second time we just refused to move!  Eventually got to work, soaked to the skin. 

Went out at lunch to get birthday card for Partner (it’s his birthday tomorrow, nothing like leaving things to the last minute, is there!).  Card cost £5!  It’s one of those talking ones – for that much I’d expect it to cook him a meal and have sex too! 

Then, having already suffered the trauma of commuting, drenching and shopping, I found Jack, the budgie, sitting miserably at the bottom of his cage when I staggered home.  Whisked him off to the vet, but he died before we got there!  Vet said he’d been unwell for a long time (so it wasn’t us that killed it!). 

Really upset.  Partner refuses to take it back to pet shop where he bought it and do a Monty Python (“This budgie is dead.  It is no more.  It is a deceased budgie!”).

RIP Jack (sniff).

Tuesday 12

Partner’s birthday.  The pressie I’d ordered for him hadn’t come (tsk) so I gave him a couple of emergency pressies (a book and a Toblerone, should keep him happy for a bit).  His brother rang just before I left for work this morning and, even before I’d reached the front door, I heard him say, “It’s okay, she’s gone now.”  How quickly I’m forgotten!”

Lunch with a mate to exchange crimbo pressies and we indulged in some wild shrieking of  “Oh I won’t see you til after Christmas now” in the street whilst waving our hands and hugging a lot – very girly.

Got home.  Walked into living room.  Stopped dead in my tracks.  There was a budgie in the previously empty cage.  Was Jack resurrected?  Had he not died after all?  Had he come back to haunt us? (he did look a lot paler).

But no.  It’s a new budgie.  A replacement.  Young.  Healthy.  Might last longer than 5 days.

Possibly.

Called him Jack II but he doesn’t look like a Jack, so we renamed him Puff, because he looks just like a fat, green powder puff.

More worryingly, Partner is starting to look a bit lethargic now he’s not at work.  Suspect he has cabin fever and is lacking in motivation.  I think he’s turning into Couch Potatoe Man (ARGH!).

Something needed to be done.  Something drastic.  I immediately emptied the cupboard under the stairs and said, “There you go, you can paint in there tomorrow.”

He did look pleased.

Wednesday 13

The budgie still lives, which is nice, but it does not stop eating.  Peck peck peck all day and all night.  Even when we try to get him out of his cage he fights, not to stay in his cage but to keep his head in the seed pot. 

Partner painted the cupboard under the stairs.  I had hoped he’d be gripped by wild enthusiasm and maybe do the living room too, but it wasn’t to be.  He has, however, lost that just-about-to-be-hit-by-a-truck look, which is a relief.

Thursday 14

Made the mistake of ringing Partner and saying, “I’m going to Thorntons at lunchtime, do you want anything?”

5 boxes of chocolates.  Five!  On top of the 3 I intended to get.  That’s 8 boxes of chocolates.  Except they had a special offer on at Thorntons, 3 for 2, so I ended up buying and hauling back to the office 9 boxes of chocolates, which were surprisingly heavy.  And the Christmas presents my boss had given me were heavy.  So I rang Partner again and said, “You’re picking me up from work.”  A real treat.

Hauled Puff the budgie away from his seed tonight and dragged him out of his cage.  He fell off my Partner’s finger and dropped to the floor like a bag of putty.  The bird can’t fly, he just waddles around the floor like a startled penguin!  Put him back after a while and he immediately started eating again.

I think we’re gonna need a bigger cage.

Friday 15

Last day yay!  Break up for Crimbo yay!  Felt as excited as a child on Christmas morning, which must have been hugely annoying for all my poor work colleagues who are in the office next week.  Tried to get people to wear Father Christmas hats but they weren’t having none of it.  Christmas seems to be a very muted affair at this place, but hey ho (or ho ho), you can't have everything (although a permanent job would be nice!)

The company email system crashed.  All day!  Major for business, but even more major when you’re trying to keep in touch with friends in other companies and NEED those emails.  Severe withdrawal symptoms.  Restorted to sending text messages instead, which is an expensive (and achingly slow) way to stay in touch.

And then, finally, it was over and the hols stretched out before me all gleaming and crisp and fabulous.  There is nothing more exquisite than leaving work knowing that you won’t be returning again for 17 whole days.

Love it.

Saturday 16

Dashed up to Yorkshire to visit partner’s family.  It was the first time I’d been on a long journey in the ‘new’ car and partner was keen to show me how good the brakes are.  “See, would stop on a sixpence,” he kept saying, as I kept peeling my face off the windscreen.

We passed a road sign reading, ‘Christmas Trees 5 metres’.  “Who’s want a Christmas tree that big?” Partner said.  Tsk.

Arrived at small people’s house.  I waited in the car for half an hour while they got ready (oooh, the hours I’ve spent sitting outside that house … sigh).  On to big person’s cottage, where we encountered a television roughly the size of a cinema screen.  They were watching football.  “Nice picture,” said Partner, “But would look better with John Wayne on it.”  We have so got to get one of those.

Two cars t’nearest pub for a meal, a drink and a yak.  Small daughter enthralled us with a perfect rendition of Catherine Tate’s ‘bovvered?’, which had me in stitches.  Small son, when I whined that I was going to be the last person eating again, promptly picked up his fork and stabbed at his peas to keep me company (star!).  Tiny tots were incredibly well behaved and ate their own body weight in ice-cream, which was pretty impressive.

Afterwards, took small people back (another half hour wait in the car, but this time entertained by ‘bovvered’, which was nice).

Drove off with Partner’s eyes drooping like melting wax, he was that tired.  Suddenly came to an abrupt stop when we drove into a T-junction without stopping, narrowly avoiding a crash only because of the veering reactions of the other car and our superb brakes.  I peeled my face off the windscreen and we both pounded our chests to get our hearts started again.

Booked into hotel.  No smoking room.  Bugger that for a game of soldiers.  I waited in the corridor for eons while Partner negotiated a smoking room.  Finally fell into it totally exhausted.  My catatonia was enthused by sight of a bath.  I hauled myself into it and lay there until I was prune-like.  We both struggled to stay awake, eventually forcing ourselves outside to nearest pub, where we lethargically lifted glasses muttering, “Is it too early to go to bed yet?”  It was 8pm.

Sunday 17

Woke up 1,365 times during the night gasping, “What was that?” followed by, “Where are we?”

Hotel breakfast, £8.  Morrison’s mountainous fry-up, £3.69.  Guess where we went.

Partner went to see his mom at the nursing home, I waited outside in the car reading the Sunday paper.  Then off to Leeds to see Middle Son.  Did the usual thing of hugging him and asking if he was eating enough (I’m sure there’s a mommy gene that forces us to say things like this against our will).  Took him out for Sunday lunch, which was just what we wanted after consuming a mammoth breakfast not two hours before.

As we sat at our table, Middle Son kept nodding at a bloke sitting at the table next to us.  “It’s him,” he hissed excitedly.  “Who?” I hissed back, praying he didn’t personally know someone who looked like he’d spent the last six months on the streets with only a crate of whisky for company.  “Him, the bloke from Emmerdale.”  He was appalled at our lack of enthusiasm.  I was appalled that he actually watched Emmerdale.

Back to his house, which appeared filled with an assortment of bodies (most of them of the femme variety which was heartening J).  He and Partner packed up the car with his belongings (for when he comes down on the train after work on Friday), another hug and a suggestion that he eat more, and then back on the motorway, me threatening Partner with certain death if he demonstrated the splendidnous of his brakes One More Time.

It was so great to be home.  The Budge sulked mercilessly at being left for so long, we promised we wouldn’t do it again.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, flop.

Monday 18

Bit of a recuperation day.  We needed it. 

Tuesday 19

Walked passed calendar hanging in kitchen and screamed, “Berluddy ‘ell!”  Panto I thought we were taking my niece to tomorrow is actually today!  Rang mom, “We’ll pick you up at midday.”  Rang sis, “We’ll be at your house at 1 o’clock, it starts at 2, okay?  Need to be there for two.  That’s 2 o’clock, yeah?”

Raced to Morrisons, tossed things with wild abandon into trolley, including a startling amount of chocolate fingers.  Raced back, dumped umpteen plastic bags on kitchen floor and rushed down to mom’s.

Mom was ready but had to feed her cats.  You would not believe how long it takes someone to pour some dry food onto two dishes and put them on the floor whilst giving a detailed history of each cat (yawn). 

Zoomed over to sis’s house.  Guess what?  She wasn’t there, surprise surprise.  We wait.  Tick tick tick.  Sigh.  She finally arrived in a flustered panic, we gee up niece to get ready without slipping into her mother’s time zone (I tell ya, my sis is gonna kill me if she ever reads this), while sis casually asks if anyone wants a sandwich.

Partner slips into a semi-coma surrounded by chirping women, one talking about a recent date, one chirruping about sandwiches, one on the verge of a nervous breakdown hissing, “Come on!  We’re going to be late!”

Partner couldn't smoke in a car full of coughing women so he gets a bit tetchy driving from Halesowen to Wolverhampton, especially when sis, when we hit city centre traffic, mentions that she’s not really sure of the way to the theatre.  By the time we eventually stumble across it, Partner almost catapults us from the car.  Mom and sis look a bit traumatised by it all.

It’s 2.05pm.  “We’re late,” sis says, like it’s never happened to her before.

“Fear not,” says I, lighting up a fag (gotta give up!), “It doesn’t really start until 2.30 phnar phnar.”

Mom and sis decide they’re hungry.  There’s a pub across the road.  “Do we have time?” I gasp, horrified.  They assured me they did.  Ha!  I’m asking people who have Absolutely No Concept of Time if we have time … I’m only surprised my sister didn’t suggest we all go Christmas shopping first.

It took 10 minutes for them to decide on a table and peruse the menu, while I hopped from one foot to the other, glancing repeatedly at my watch (I only behave like this with my laid-back, wading through treacle, time is of no consequence family).  They wanted hamburgers!  “No time!” I snapped, “Let’s order baguettes instead.” 

We waited at the bar to be served.  And waited.  And waited.  There were only three other customers in the pub, but the waitresses looked hugely harassed and overwhelmed (God knows what they’re like when the place is full).  It was now 2.15pm.  “How long will it take if we order the special turkey and cranberry baguettes?” I snapped at a passing barmaid.  “15 to 20 minutes,” she replied (did they have to kill the turkey themselves?).  We ended up getting two muffins and a packet of crisps.

2.25.  “Drink up, we have to go,” I insisted, bustling them out of their chairs.

Finally herded them into the theatre, where they all decided they needed the toilet.

ARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!  I went outside for a fag.  I came back and waited.  I bought a couple of bags of sweets.  Waited.  The final call came to take our seats, the panto was about to start.  I lost the will to live.  I’ll never understood how women can spend so long in the toilet, I’ve given birth to children in less time.

Eventually they reappeared and I herded them up the stairs.  As the theatre was half empty, we moved to better seats.

Brilliant panto, thoroughly enjoyed it.  Lesley Joseph was fabulous as the evil queen, but I could have quite happily flicked bonbons at Snow White and the look-at-me-aren’t-I-gorgeous prince (wickedness is so much more interesting). 

As we walk back down the stairs afterwards, I called Partner to say we’re on our way (he’d been Crimbo shopping in Wolverhampton for my Crimbo pressies).  He says he’ll wait for us at the top of the road and walk us to the car park.  Before we got to the bottom of the stairs mom decided she needed the loo again.  The entire theatre empties as we wait for her.  Finally, we get to the foyer, and niece announces that she’s lost her purse.

AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!  They go back to toilet to look for it, I ask staff if they’ve seen it, they send me off to the box office, which has a queue of one, a woman, asking about productions for the next six months.  The fam reappears, I stand them in the box office queue and dash outside to see how frozen and furious Partner is.  “It’s like having toenails pulled!” I screech.

Eventually we all gather together in a group and Partner, he-man of the mini mob, leads us back to the car where my Crimbo pressies are stashed.  “Watcha get?” I ask him, but he refuses to answer.  “Watcha get watcha get watcha get watcha get watcha get watcha get watcha get watcha get?”  I try to put my handbag in the boot but he throws himself across it shouting, “DON’T OPEN THAT!”  So they’re in there.  My pressies.   Oooooh, excitement.

Fog on way back.  Thick fog.  And oozing traffic – “It’s just like coming home from work on the bus,” I tell everyone as we inch forward.  Niece is hot, niece is cold, niece is hungry, niece feels sick.  I open up all the windows and offer Partner a lit fag before he spontaneously combusts.

Wednesday 20

Right, we’ve been talking about it for months.  It has to be done.  We can’t put it off any longer.

We must paint the living room.  It’s supposed to be white, not burnt sienna (must give up the fags).  Start emptying room – so much stuff!  So much dust.  I scream when I move the corner unit and find what looks like a dead mouse lying on the floor.  I hop from one foot to the other, pointing and gibbering, before realising it’s actually a toy I bought ages ago to frighten people into thinking it’s a dead mouse – daft cow.

I hate decorating.  Really hate it.  It’s all upheaval and nowhere to sit and everything looking a mess and freezing cold because we can't put the fire on and white footprints on the carpet.  Partner paints the ceiling while I empty all the kitchen cupboards and clean them out (who knew jelly had an expiry date?).  I wash every glass we own, whilst Partner paints the ceiling.  I make umpteen cups of coffee and inspect my nails and text people and clean out the fridge, whilst Partner paints the ceiling.

Puff, The Budge, sits in the kitchen singing along to the radio – he seems to like Robbie Williams and The Sugarbabes the most, which is a bit worrying.

We start on the walls.  Partner smears on the paint with a pad while I follow him with a roller … I can’t begin to tell you how thrilling it is.  We bicker only once, which is a record for us when decorating.  I prise the lid off the gloss paint and slither round the edge of the room on my side painting the skirting boards.  Then, rather unexpectedly and with very little pain involved, we find we’ve finished.  We’ve decorated the entire living room in a mere six hours without resorting to violence, threats of death or separation.

It’s done.

Phew.

We celebrate with a stiff drink and a good film in our empty, echoing room.

Thursday 21

The clearing up begins.  And the cleaning.  And the polishing. 

It’s while we’re vacuuming places that haven’t seen a vacuum for months that Puff, The Budge, picks his moment to leave his cage.  He launches himself through the open door, skids across the polished dining table and splats onto the floor.  Clearly thinking ‘Wow, isn’t the world big”, he waddles behind the tv set and sits on the wires.  We have to vac and clean and polish around him.

Middle Son ordered some stuff off the internet to be delivered to my workplace (not quite sure why), but of course I’m not there when they finally arrive so we have to make a special journey into town to collect them.  Presents for his dad, my ex-husband!  Or so I thought.  They’re actually presents for my ex-husband’s girlfriend!  Tsk.

Was manically pulling Crimbo decs out of boxes when the phone rang.  It was the ex.  He was at his works do, the end of it by the sounds of it.  He was drunk and a bit hard to understand, with the normal mumbling and the added slurring.  He’d obviously reached that ‘I love everyone’ stage, which was terribly funny.  He’s coming over on Saturday to (hopefully) see the grandchild (don’t hold yer breath, mate).  He’s bringing the girlfriend and cans with him, so its gonna be a long one.

Friday 22

Finally, time to relax and chill and slob around a bit.  Haven’t had chance to do the Jack Bauer thang as promised (but we will), so watch this instead. 

The living room looks fab, all the presents are bought AND wrapped, the Crimbo decs are up, and I’m ready for Christmas.

Bring it on.

I’ve had problems accessing my website, not helped by the fact that I can’t remember who my web provider is.  Hence the delay – well that’s my excuse anyway.

Saturday 30

Highlights of Christmas 2006:

• Coming back from a weekend in Yorkshire with Driving Home For Christmas playing full blast on the radio.
• Getting flu (yeah, we both got it, sniff sniff cough splutter groan)
• Middle Son coming home for Crimbo – I’d forgotten the joy of tripping over discarded shoes and clothing and being unable to find a single clean glass because they’re ALL in his bedroom
• My mom goes to sis’s for Crimbo … this was their pre-Crimbo discussion which I was, alas, witness to:

MOM: Shall I buy the turkey for Christmas dinner?

SIS: I’m not sure I want a turkey, do you want turkey?

MOM: I don’t mind.

SIS: I’m not that keen on turkey.

MOM: What shall I get instead, then?

SIS: I don’t know.

MOM: How about a chicken?

[NEPHEW, IN OTHER ROOM, SHOUTING: You can’t have a chicken for Christmas dinner!]

SIS:  Yeah, maybe a chicken.

MOM: Shall I buy it?

SIS: Will you be able to carry it?

MOM: How big do you want it?

SIS: I don’t know

MOM: I’ll get a medium sized one.

SIS: Will that be enough for all of us?

MOM: I think so.  You want me to buy it then?

SIS: When will you get it?

MOM: On Saturday.  I’ll bring it over with me on Christmas day.

SIS: What time are you coming on Christmas day?

MOM: I don’t know.

SIS: If you leave it too late we won’t have time to cook the chicken for Christmas dinner if you get it.

MOM: Oh.  Do you want to get it then?

SIS:  I don’t know if I’ll have time [sis working hospital shifts over Crimbo]

MOM: So shall I get it then?

SIS: I’ll try and get it, and if I can’t get it, you can get it.

MOM: Well I’m going shopping on Saturday morning.  If you haven’t got it by then, let me know and I’ll get it. 

SIS: Okay.

MOM: What about the veg?

SIS: What about it?

MOM: Shall I buy the veg?

SIS: Will you be able to carry it all?

[PARTNER STARTS BANGING HEAD SLOWLY AGAINST A WALL AT THIS POINT]

MOM: I think so.  What veg shall I get?

SIS: I don’t know.

MOM: Carrots? Parsnips? Potatoes?

SIS:  Yes.  But will you be able to carry all that back from the shops?

MOM: Might be a bit heavy.

SIS: Shall I buy everything then?

MOM: Will you have time?

SIS: I don’t know.

[I START CRYING].

·        An impromptu Christmas gathering at my house includes all three sons, two of their partners, MY GRANDDAUGHTER (yes!), my ex-husband (terribly civilised) and his girlfriend.  The annual Boxing Day gathering had to be cancelled because of ill health (ours – God we were miserable gits).  Consequently left with TONS of food we can’t eat because flu has deprived us of any appetite.

·        The excitement of Christmas morning and all the pressies.  Perfection arrived in the form of Small Son, his girlfriend and my granddaughter (“How did you manage that?” I asked him, to which he replied, “I told her [girlfriend] not to spoil Christmas for anyone.”).

·        Sick Partner struggling to cook Crimbo dinner (refusing all offers of help, its his kitchen and he doesn’t want anyone else in it) and then not being able to taste any of it – which begs the question, if I also had flu like him and the food tasted ‘normal’ to me, how must it taste if I had a sense of smell?)

·        Time, glorious time, to slob and play and talk and drink and eat and just relax.

Sunday 31

Well what a year that was!  Certainly wasn’t boring.

·        Got attacked at work (January)

·        Became a grandmother (February)

·        Left crappy job and started temping (June)

·        Fought to see grandchild (all year)

·        Got engaged (August)

·        Found a job I liked (September)

For the year ahead, I’d like to:

• Win the lottery and give up work altogether (I’m destined to be a slob, I just know it).
• Go to Africa with our neighbour who does a lot of charity work there (March, if I can get out of doing jury service again)
• Get married (if we find the time)
• See Partner find new employment where he’s not lambasted by morons every day for doing a bloody good job
• Not get any older
• Find out how to slow time down because it’s going too bloody fast.
• And, of course, I’d like world peace and happiness.

[I’m clearly suffering from an acute attack of bullet points!]

I’m currently sitting here, in the living room, with my laptop, unable to muster up the enthusiasm for a stress attack because I can’t access my website (hopefully it’s not a permanent thing!).  It’s grey outside, lashing down with rain and blowing a gale – perfect weather for staying indoors and indulging in some major slobbing. 

Partner is upstairs playing on the computer (and I’m annoying him with Winpop messages, which saves me the hassle of getting up and screaming up the stairs to him).  I’m warm, the budgie looks happy (yes, it still lives), and I’m all cosy and comfortable.

Only the thought of Going Back to Work disturbs the contentment.  I suspect the wailing and the chest beating will start in earnest tomorrow. 

Until then, on the very last day of 2006, I wish you all a very Happy New Year.  Come back and see the new Brummie Blogs 2007 website tomorrow … assuming by web provider hasn’t done a bunk with all my pages.

BREAKING NEWS:  Tonight my partner and I had the annual debate, "Shall we go out tonight or stay in?"  We have the same conversation every year, weighing up the pros and cons, when we both know we'd much rather be desperately boring and stay in.  9pm, just as we're watching 101 greatest moments of 2006 on tv, I get a text message from Small Son: "Do you want to babysit?" 

Now, to other people, the idea of babysitting on New Year's Eve might fill them with utter dread.  But I was thrilled.  I've never been asked before!  Not only have I seen my granddaughter twice over Christmas (things are definitely looking up), but now, for the first time ever I've been asked to babysit. 

It was great.  I hugged her for 10 minutes, and then she promptly fell asleep on my sofa and I got to stare at her lying right beside me all night.  Can't think of a more perfect end to the year.

people have been here (spooky!)

DISCLAIMER: This is a personal weblog.  The opinions expressed here represent my own and not those of my employer(s), work colleagues or family.  My experiences are written purely from my point of view and are intended to be a humorous depiction of my somewhat chaotic life.  No malice is intended in any way, it's not in my nature. The names of real people and companies have not been used.
 

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