This website has now been up and running for a whole twelve months, and boy, have I enjoyed doing it!  Its expanded beyond my wildest expectations - this site is HUGE and Brummie Blogs has been very well received!  I'm well chuffed.  Thanks to everyone who visited and who keep coming back.

Saturday 1

Day 5 of life as a non-smoker and I feel okay, gotten over the worst, just wish I could stop eating!  For updates on One Woman's Battle Against Nicotine Addiction, see here.  I'm hoping Steven Speilberg might be interested in doing the film version, with Catherine Zeta Jones playing me (although, at the rate I’m eating, Dawn French might be a more likely candidate).

Booked yesterday off work to make for a Long Bank Holiday Weekend.  Friday, did shopping, slobbed, ate, slept for four hours in the middle of the afternoon, ate some more, and had a fabulous home-made curry followed by copious amounts of Ben & Jerry's ice-cream. The diet's going well!

Worried my work suits won't fit me come Tuesday - may have to dash to Merry Hell Shopping Centre in search of Pavarotti sized Kaftans.  Considered weighing myself, but decide the walk passed the fridge to get to the scales was just too dangerous. 

In another mad fit of retail therapy (and in an effort to spend some of the money he's saving by not smoking), my partner again went to a hardware store, this time purchasing a hedge trimmer.  We already have a hedge trimmer but, apparently, its not a very good one.  As a mere woman surrounded by tall men of the well-muscled variety, I don't use the hedge trimmer so I'm not at liberty to pass comment on its goodness or otherwise.  The new trimmer, it has to be said, is MASSIVE (or, as they say in Brummieland, MOSSIVE).  People who say size doesn't matter obviously don't have four miles of hedges to trim on a regular basis. 

So, my partner rushes outside with the massive new hedge trimmer, turns it on, marvels at its enormity some more, slices through a couple of branches and promptly cuts through the electric chord.  £50, two sliced leaves, and it’s all over. 

My partner spends the next three hours fixing it, muttering his usual mantra of "If some Chinaman put it together, so can I."  Suspect Electrolux isn't a Chinese company, but I don't mention this.  After much pinging of springs and popping of screws, it does eventually work again, but by this time it’s started to rain and the Massive Trimmer is consigned to the shed.

My partner's in Yorkshire all day today, visiting his family.  I decided to stay at home and catch up on a few things (i.e. eating, cleaning yawn, laptopping ... its now 3pm and I've got as far as the eating and the laptopping).  The upstairs computer (The Mother Ship to which the laptop is networked) is obviously suffering from some microchip PMT and keeps crashing.  Surfing the internet is like wading through treacle wearing concrete boots and dragging chains, and my patience is just a hair's breadth away from a psychotic episode. 

And, for possibly the first time ever, there's not a single man around to help me, not even my dad across the road (who knows nothing about computers but is apt to cheer the soul with a potted geranium).  I've also run through my entire vocabulary of expletives and have been reduced to making Neanderthal type grunts instead.  Resisting the urge to ring Middle 'Computer Guru' Son at Uni for a whinge or Big 'Peace Man' Son in Yorkshire for a new expletive repertoire. (Small Son would say "Dump it, buy another", whilst Partner would doubtless reformat ... again!).

And I'd kill for a fag right now, but might 'make do' with a can of beer instead (cue instant bloat like the blow fish in Finding Nemo - one sip two sip and inflate).

Sunday 2

Partner once again takes out Mossive Hedge Trimmer.  Twenty minutes of intense hedge cutting and then he slices clean through the cable again!  As he takes it apart, I tell him the thing's been opened more times than the fridge.  He gets it working again, then clonks it against a metal post.  The trimmer seizes.  It’s broke.  And the hedge isn't even finished yet.

Despite the fact that the cable was now at least three feet shorter than it ought to be, he takes the trimmer back to the hardware store.  "Its gone funny," he said, slapping it down on the customer services counter, "I had to use the old trimmers to finish cutting my hedge." 

Using a mixture of charm, indignation and copious use of his irresistible Yorkshire accent, he actually managed to elicit a new trimmer.  He even insisted on checking out the new trimmer in the shop to make sure that one wasn't "faulty" either!

New trimmer came with a cable protector shield which Partner never noticed with the last one (he threw it away with the box), so maybe this one will last a bit longer.

Monday 3 - BANK HOLIDAY

Upstairs computer (aka Mother Ship) has finally gone and blown its microchip and is gasping its last.  It starts up, but that’s about it.  Life without a computer … absolute pits - can’t surf the web, can’t check or send emails, can’t update my website.  I mean, what on earth did we do before computers???  Totally lost without it, feel I’ve been kicked off the information superhighway and am missing out on something terribly important.

Cigs: 0    Alcohol units: probably touching 60 a day   Weight: our scales aren’t accurate anyway

Tuesday 4

Partner dabbled with computer last night, hoping it would just go ping and fix itself.  It didn’t.  It gets worse every time we turn it on … hard drive is in deep distress (aka knackered).  Good job we formatted not long ago and backed up everything.  Not sure which is worse, nicotine withdrawal or computer loss.

Cigs: 0      Alcohol units: around 80 (bored without computer)    Weight: fat is “in” at the moment, isn’t it?

Wednesday 5

Partner and I  ring Middle ‘Computer Guru’ Son to sob about our dying computer.  He offered us his state-of-the-art computer!!!!!!  In exchange for money, of course - which he will use to build himself a new NASA-eat-your-heart-out-I’m-taking-over-the-world system.   Only problem is, we can’t have his until he’s built the new one … 10 days.

Cigs: 0    Alcohol: copious   Weight: who cares!

Friday 7

How come the short weeks (i.e. the weeks with Bank Holidays in them) seem longer than normal weeks?  A strange phenomenon - I think someone ought to research this.

Went to see my Cognitive Behavioural Psychotherapist this morning.  Got to GPs surgery at 8.20am for 8.30 appointment.  8.45, still sitting in waiting room.  9.00am, ask about delay at reception, they tell me appointment for 9.00am (news to me).  9.15am, psychotherapist races through waiting room with his head down, 9.20 get called into room.  He says he sent a letter about the change of times, but suspect he just plain forgot.  Discuss my bus phobia.  He makes me hyperventilate to show me what ‘normal’ faintness feels like as opposed to my panic attacks.  “You don’t look very comfortable doing this,” he said, as I stood in front of him puffing away like an out of control steam engine.  “No,” I puffed, “I feel a complete knob, actually.” 

When I leave, he says I’d make a very good psychotherapist because of my logical intelligence [!] - but, unlike my midwife sister who is the epitome of The Caring Person, I’m not sympathetic about illness and would simply tell sick people to pull themselves together and stop being such wimps.  Which is exactly what I tell myself on the bus … just before I jump off feeling faint.

Saturday 8

Trip into town (aka The City) on the train to visit the Bull Ring Shopping Centre in search of summer coat for me.  Spotted a book called, “Atkins: The Next Step” … imagined the first page read, “Eat Nothing.” 

Couldn’t find a coat I liked, so bought DVDs instead.  The Last Samuri was one of them … although it wasn’t strictly a comedy, I thought it had humorous potential that wasn't fully exploited.  When Tom Cruise (ex-alcoholic) is rolling around on the floor screaming out for “Saki!  SAKI!” his cries echo around the village and I waited for the villagers to shout, “Just give him the bloody saki and shut him up, will ya!  Some of us are trying to sleep!”  They didn’t, Tom didn't get his Saki, and numerous bottles of Saki weren't left on the doorstep the following morning by baggy-eyed sleep-deprived villagers.

Then there was the ‘big battle scene’ (yawn), I pointed at a man charging on a horse and said to my Partner, “Is that Will?” 
“Will?” he said, “Will who?”. 
“I don’t know, just Will.” 
“I don’t know.  Why?” 
“Cos everyone seems to be firing at him.” 
“Yes.  And?” 
“And I just wondered if that was Will, because the bloke in charge of the baddies said to fire at Will.”

See, potential!

Sunday 9

Cleared out the side of garden shed, where ferocious brambles have made themselves at home over winter.  It was like attacking Triffids - I wore thick gloves, motorbike jacket, wetsuit trousers, a cap and sunglasses for protection (nearly died of heat exhaustion).  Came across a hedgehog the size of a football, rolled him out, carried him down to the bottom of the garden and left him on top of the compost heap.  He wandered off a short while later - dead cute.

Trip to tip to dump rubbish (always satisfying).  On way back we drove passed fields of cows and I chanted out the window, “We know what you taste like, we know what you taste like.”  My partner nearly crashed the car into a hedge from laughing.

Watched The Good, The Bad and the Ugly, a directors cut special.  Three hours long.  Three long, endless, agonising, is-it-never-going-to-end hours.  People wailing wah-ye-ah-ye-ah is permanently imprinted on my brain forever more.  I will never watch this film again.

Monday 10

Apparently Birmingham City Council are offering free trials for compost bins for your garden and, if you like them, you get to buy them at a vastly reduced price.  I think it’s a good idea and will be picking mine up at the weekend.  I wonder if anyone returns them after the trial period (“Er, I bought this ‘ere compost bin and I don’t like it … it’s the wrong colour / it just doesn’t go with the garden / it’s a bit boring, isn’t it.”).

Is it just me or does the new Dulux Real Life Paint advert on television have sinister undertones.  I think its very cruel and sad.  Two cartoon children drawn on the wall whisper, “Where is everyone?” before someone wipes them away (thus showing how resilient said paint is) but the kids are screaming as they’re being cleaned off the wall.  Surely this isn’t right!

Thursday 13

PDR- Performance and Development Review - is upon us once more at work.  Deep joy!  What could possibly be more boring than a PDR?  A meeting to prepare you for your PDR! 

Rivetting stuff.  25 bored people in a room struggling to stay awake and all hoping we won’t have to speak or do anything because we’ve just had lunch and could do with a kip.  We’re asked to talk to the person sitting next to us and tell them all about ourselves and our experience of previous PDRs - I turn to my mate and we indulge in a bit of gossip.  Oh sorry, were we supposed to take this seriously? 

The presenter forces us into two groups and we listlessly stand around a scribble board listing stuff (what we want from review, what reviewer expects from review and the reviewee …you get the picture).  Hardly anyone speaks, we’re all embarrassed and verging on brain dead.  We make notes, knowing full well we’re never going to read them again, ever, but it looks good. 

As far as I’m concerned, my bosses can praise me at any time, not just in PDRs.  If I’m not doing my job properly I expect my bosses to tell me immediately (and they should expect to be rugby tackled to the floor in response), not in some annual review.  If I have suggestions or ideas on how to improve things (less hours, more pay, and how about free lunches at Philpotts?) I’m not going to wait until my PDR to mention them. 

A secretarial PDR should consist of the following:

REVIEWER: So, how are things?
ME: Fine.
REVIEWER: Good.  Same time next year then..

Friday 14

Most of the office is completely boxed up.  We’re all moving around to different departments, different desks, different floors.  Or rather, everyone else is moving, except me.  This is both a good and a bad thing; good because I don’t have to box up the zillion ton of files, bad because all my friends are leaving me (wah!). 

I really feel quite sad.  It’s the people you work with who make the job, not the bosses or the job itself.  And the secretaries I work with are the best … funny, intelligent, laid back, helpful and friendly, not a mean bone amongst them.  And today is our last day together.  Next week, I’ll be all alone.  In fact, there will only be me and my two bosses in this corner of the office.

It’s gonna be real quiet!

Saturday 15

We have a new home computer! Yay! Well, its Middle Son’s old computer, which is the bees knees compared to the one we had (which just fell short of having to be cranked up manually on start up). I’ve been a weekend and a half without internet access and I really missed it.

So, went Oop North to pick up Middle Son’s old computer. Tip-toed our way through the festering debris that is Student Accommodation to his room. And there it sat. His new computer … big, gleaming, glows in the dark. It was the kind of momentous event that warranted the music from the film 2001: A Space Oddity to be played at full blast (did ANYONE get that film?). We swapped our old computer for his old computer and everyone seemed happy.

Then on to Big Son’s place (yep, he also lives Oop North). His girlfriend moved in with him last weekend and she’s transformed both him and the house. They were blissfully happy.

On the way back to Birmingham my Partner read out the mileage on the car. He does this every time we leave Yorkshire, I don’t know why. He doesn’t get any response from me because, basically, I’m not the least bit interested, but he feels compelled to tell me anyway.

“139,969 miles,” he said proudly.

"Oh," said I, struggling to find something to say, “That’s roughly the same number of insects splattered on the front of the car."

Sunday 16

Oh, have to tell you about yesterday morning.  Now that I’ve given up smoking, I’m positively bursting with energy these days.  Cannot believe how much vigour I’ve got now.  I wake up early in the morning feeling hugely refreshed and positively bounce through the day like some mad old bat on a pogo stick.  I still come home from work tired at night, but it’s a different kind of tired - I dash out to the garden to water my plants, or wash up, or dust, whereas previously I just slobbed, knackered, in front of the television.

My normal Saturday morning routine used to be to get up and lounge on the sofa sorting out my paperwork/laptopping for about three hours, smoking the entire time.  Yesterday I got up at 7am and, because I don’t have to sit down for a fag any more, I washed up after the Friday Night Feeding Frenzy, cleaned the kitchen windows, hung out two loads of washing, dried up, swept kitchen floor, made breakfast (egg on toast x 2), whizzed round with the vacuum downstairs and upstairs, dusted, showered and tidied the bedroom.  All before 9.30am.  I was hyper!  I was literally running from one task to another shrieking, “I can’t stop!” at my wide-eyed (and somewhat alarmed) Partner. 

S’great.

Monday 17

Dreaded coming into work this morning.  All my fellow secretaries had been taken away from me in The Great Departmental Shake Up and I was left all alone - abandoned and unwanted in my empty corner.  It was awful.  So quiet.  No-one to talk to.  Even my bosses seemed stunned at the sudden absence of people. 

Hate it.

Tuesday 18

Visited my fellow secretaries at their various desks around the company.  Whilst I’m indulging in spacious silence downstairs, they’re squashed into tiny, noisy spaces upstairs.  They hate it too.  We all had a good whinge before I returned to my lonely corner.  Even my breathing echoed.

As an aside, aren’t we cruel to feet.  All winter we bundle them up in socks and boots and then, at the first sign of summer/sunshine we shove them, naked and soft, into sandals stiffened by nine months of neglect.  I walked into work yesterday morning (down Broad Street - part of my must-lose-weight-before-I-explode regime).  By the time I hobbled to my desk my feet were shredded.  I mummified them with plasters this morning - very attractive.

Splurged at lunchtime (despite there being Absolutely Nothing in the bank apart from dust and a fluff covered mint) and bought some self-tanning cream for my milk bottle legs (now exposed and newly shaven).  Tried it on the back of my hand yesterday afternoon.  Four hours later, when I got home from work, there was no change so slapped on another layer.  Woke up this morning, back of hand bright orange.  Not sure if I have any clothes to match orange legs, and doubt I have the courage to use it ‘all over my body’ as planned - I’ll look like I’ve been Tangoed.

Wednesday 19

I’ve walked down Broad Street in the morning many times before, but I’ve never seen so many people walking into work before.  There were hundreds of em!  Then I realised why I was fighting for pavement space - everyone’s doing this Walk 10,000 Steps to a Healthier Life thang.  They line up en masse along the kerbside, waiting to cross the road, all marching on the spot to clock up the pedometers.  Amazing.  (As I’m ambling along admiring the scenery and dreaming of winning the lottery, they’re all whizzing passed me in their designer trainers - I try to keep up, but they all seemed to have legs like Jack in The Nightmare Before Christmas ).

Moisturised today.   This isn’t normally an event I’d post in Brummie Blogs, but I moisturised at work (yeah, and?).  Well, they have this great hand cream from Moulton Brown (i.e. expensive) in the downstairs toilets for use by visitors.  Dashed in there today after my mega-walk down Broad Street and thought I’d treat my hands.  Then did my neck.  And some of my face.  Slapped it on my arms.  And decided I might as well do my legs whilst I was there.  Felt really slithery and shiny all day.

Thursday 20

Interesting article in the free Metro newspaper the other day.  Apparently, when you eat something, the taste is 90% aroma.  As I’ve never had a sense of smell, does that mean I only ‘taste’ 10% of food?  “Can’t you taste food the same as me then?” my partner asked.  “How would I know?” I said, “I have nothing to compare it to.”  I doubt this claim is true, however - I wouldn’t be eating food in such vast quantities if it was lacking 90% of its taste.  I don’t think.  But it would account for my deep love of sprouts.

Friday 21

I pretty much have everything I need in life – three gorgeous sons, a fabulous partner, a nice house and a pretty decent job (basks in contentment for a moment).  The perfection of my life is marred by only one thing -  a bath.  I haven’t had a bath for 21 years and I’m beginning to pong a bit.  Actually, I just have a shower and, in my old age, I’m hankering after a bath to soak in.  We’ve rang plumbers.  Most weren’t in (and didn’t have answering machines!).  Some said they’d ring back, but didn’t.  A few just weren’t interested.  And then a plumber turned up.

Nice man.  From Yorkshire.  A yakky Yorkshireman who talked loudly to my loud yakky Yorkshireman, both of them yelling to each other about t’paypes and t’boiler - it was dead funny. 

To keep costs down, we’re clearing out the bathroom and removing and disposing of old boiler and tank ourselves.  We’re also buying all the replacements (boiler, bath etc).  Plumber just needs to install new boiler and tank, check pipework and fit new bath and sink.  Two days work, he said.  Quote: £900.  Will repeat for effect, £900! That’s £450 per day just for labour!  I’m now considering an Open University course to become a plumber and urging my Partner and all three sons to change careers … this time next year we’ll all be millionaires!

Saturday 22

Have you seen the ads on tv (cable channel I think) advertising The Readers Digest “How to Do Just About Anything on a Computer” ?  Its not a very thick book (although the price is a hefty £29.99) and, in the fast changing world of computers, it will probably be obsolete before it’s delivered to your door.  I’m considering publishing my own tome entitled, “The Answer to Absolutely Every Question You Ever Wanted To Know About Computers, Life, the Universe etc etc” (catchy title, eh?)   On the first page would be detailed instructions:

1. Log on to the internet.
2. Type www.google.com into address bar
3. Ask it anything and all will be revealed.

And that’s it.  I’d make a fortune.

Sunday 23

My Partner and I have become fitness fanatics.  Well, okay, that may be a slight exaggeration …“We’ve become aware that we’re getting fat” would be more accurate.  We’ve given up smoking and ballooned, we are like twin teletubbies, we almost have to lean forward over our protruding bellies to kiss each other now!  So we’re cutting down on the copious tons of food we’ve been consuming and yesterday we … got the pushbikes out of the shed!  It’s the first time in two years I’ve actually seen my pushbike.  To me it is the epitome of masochism.

“I’m not doing a 20 mile marathon or anything,” I told my Partner firmly.  He agreed.  “I’m not pushing myself too hard.”  Again, he nodded.  “If I break into a sweat, it’s over.”   We set off, me pedalling slowly, nervously, waiting for the pain to begin.  We went down the local park, we ‘played’ around like children, cycling round tennis courts and doing a bit of mad sprinting.  It was bloody great.  I was 10 years old again.

This morning, I positively leapt out of bed bursting with enthusiasm and raced to the shed.  We did another hour on the pushbikes, riding down our local (dried up) canal in the glorious sunshine, having a laugh, acting like kids.  An hour after we got back, I wanted to go out again … but we’re ‘pacing’ ourselves. 

Instead, we took my dad and his wife out to lunch at the fabulous White Swan in Harborne, then came back and drank beer in the back garden - terrible for the diet, but fabulous for the soul.

Perfect, perfect day

Monday 24

My surname begins with a letter at the beginning of the alphabet and, as such, I’ve always been plagued by cold calling telesales (always when I’m either in the shower or eating dinner).  A few months ago, on the brilliant Web User Forum , I discovered the Telephone Preference Service where you can register FOR FREE to stop the sales calls … and by Jove, it works!  Its illegal for sales companies to call me now because I’ve ‘opted out’.  Simple and effective!  (If a company called Telephone PROTECTION Service call and say you should pay them £9.99 a month for the same service, tell them to get stuffed, they’re trying to scam you.  Telephone PREFERENCE Service is totally free).

And so is the Mailing Preference Service that stops junk mail too – just sign up and the junk mail stops, it really does.  I sound like an advertisement, but I didn’t know these options existed and now I want to tell the world.  OI, WORLD!  SIGN UP TO THESE SITES AND STOP BEING HASSLED.

Tuesday 25

I’m starting to get real desperate for a bath now.  On Sunday, driven to the edge of madness by thoughts of bubble bath and hours of soaking in hot water, I feverishly began the Search for a Plumber mission.  I looked at Up My Street for local plumbers and rang every one listed (about 10).  Some didn’t answer, some were just answering machines (well, it was Sunday), one or two vaguely said they’d pop round to give us a quote (but we weren’t holding our breath).  Monday night, two plumbers actually rang back and said they’d come view the ‘plumbing requirements’.  The first one came last night.  An old bloke.  I mean, we’re talking old here.  Real nice, like, but just old.  And he brought what looked like his dad with him.  White haired and crinkly, they viewed our knackered boiler and poky bathroom and made suggestions while we nodded and smile a lot.  And then they went.  A quote is pending.  We can barely wait.

Next lot, tonight, 8.30.  Ah, the excitement of it all.

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Wednesday 26

He came, he had a look at the plumbing, he went away again.  Haven’t had the third plumber’s quote yet, but we’ve had one from the old man and his dad (Methuselah & Son).  £1,400ish, which isn’t too bad considering they’re supplying everything (tank, bath, etc), putting tank in loft, tidying all pipes under floorboards and taking all rubbish away.  I just worry they won’t live to the end of the job!!!!   A decision has not yet been reached, but I figure I should organise a loan before we go any further (might come in handy!)

The bicycle rides continue with enthusiasm.  I am saddle sore like you wouldn’t believe.  My partner said he’d pick up a new saddle from Halfords for me tonight (the sweetie) but, when he got back, he seemed bereft of new saddle and didn’t mention it, so I didn’t either.  A short while later he called me into the garden.  And there was my saddle.  Attached to a brand new pushbike! 

“They’re having a half price sale,” he told my gobsmacked face, “I couldn’t resist.” 

My new bike goes like the wind.  I never knew cycle riding could be so easy!  Its fabulous.

Thursday 27

Last day at work before a long four day bank holiday weekend.  My partner and I had originally planned to go for a meal in Chinatown after work to celebrate this event but, because of the diet and the bike rides (have I mentioned I have a new bike?) we decided against it (are we good or what?!).  That left us with three choices; (1) go to the cinema with our free tickets before they expired; (2) go for a bike ride; or (3) go to the grand opening of a Bingo hall with my mother and sister.  “Roy Orbison’s going to be there,” my mother said, casually adding, “Not the real one of course.”

I gave the Bingo serious consideration until my mother mentioned that my ex-mother-in-law (“The Cow”) would also be coming.  And there was more bad news.  The Cow is moving to a bungalow right opposite my mother, which means she will undoubtedly be in my mothers house all the time.  Is there no escaping her??  

So, anyway, my partner and I went for a brilliant bike ride instead (did I mention my new bike?).  And, of course, because today is ‘The New Friday’, we had a takeaway curry afterwards.

Friday 28

We’ve been doing a lot of improvements to the house and garden now that the mortgage is almost ‘sorted’.  Today, the new garden fences arrived.  We did battle with the Triffid-like ivy at the bottom of the garden, fighting to retrieve the fences on either side of its magnitude but not daring to touch the two it was heavily draped over (we started off gently, easing away its tendrils, me yelling, “Oh! Oh! Don’t hurt it!”  After almost an hour The Enormous Hedge Trimmer was brought in to beat it into submission).  The garden now looks even fabber than before and, to celebrate, we went out for a bike ride.

And, of course, because today is Friday (Part II), we had a takeaway curry.

Saturday 29

We shopped.  I laptopped.  We slobbed.  And then Small Son rang.

On Thursday night my son put petrol in his car and tried to pay with his bank card.  Only he didn’t get paid until Friday so there was nothing in his bank account.  Because he couldn’t pay, the petrol station (BP Petrol Station on Grovely Lane Island, Longbridge) kept his bank card.  The following day, after he’d been paid, Small Son went with cash to retrieve his card.  They said it was locked in the safe, they couldn’t get at it, he should come back the following day.  Today. Which he did.  Only they still wouldn’t give him his card.  So my partner and I went down to the petrol station in Longbridge to ‘sort it out’.  There we were met by two of the most obnoxious people on the planet who ranted and raved at us until we were all on the verge of violence.  My partner rang the police, who said the petrol station was perfectly within their rights to keep the bank card, so no help there.  The obnoxious people said to come back the following day when the manager was there.

[On Sunday we couldn’t accompany Small Son to the petrol station (see below) so he went on his own.  This time he was told that his card had been transferred to a different safe at another petrol station and he should return on Monday.  On Monday, Small Son was told that they’d returned the card to his bank (despite not being paid yet for the petrol).  Small Son rang bank, who said that under no circumstances would the card be returned to them.  Deciding enough was enough, Small Son cancelled bank card claiming it had been lost (which, in effect, it had been).  They’re sending him a new one.  The petrol station will not be paid for their petrol and, quite frankly, I hope they go bankrupt.] 

It’s these little diversions that keep life interesting.

Sunday 30

The Yorkies arrived!  My partner planned to go up to Yorkshire yesterday to see the family, but his ex-wife said she would drop the kidneys at our house instead.  A first!  (She was staying with in-laws in Leicester and wanted to see the new Bull Ring Shopping Centre - suspect she was also curious about where we lived, so made sure the front of the house looked jaw-droppingly fabulous with all the potted plants from the back garden). 

“Four and a half years I’ve sat outside her house waiting for her or the kids,” I said to my partner, “She’s certainly not setting foot in mine.”  He agreed.  When she finally arrived (after many phonecalls for directions and eventually following my partner’s car to the house) she wanted my partner to then guide them into Birmingham city centre and to a suitable parking area near the Bull Ring.  “Better to take the train, like we do,” my partner said.  “I’m not taking the train!” she cried.  Needless to say, he didn’t lead her into the city and I doubt she found a parking space (Birmingham ain’t some small Yorkshire town, girl!).

Partner’s big daughter, husband and grandchild arrived and we all toddled off to Cadbury World.  We had a great time (although the toy train journey through Cocoa Bean World was a bit surreal - like a bad acid trip).  Whilst in the middle of screaming, singing, shuddering chucklebeans, my partners phone rings.  His ex is on her way back to collect the kids.  “We’re at Cadbury World,” he said, “We haven’t finished yet.”  She said she’d pick the kids up outside.  When we got to the chocolate shop she rang again to say she was outside, where were the kids, would we hurry up?  Five minutes later, one of her party entered the shop and told the kids to get a move on (we didn’t know about this until later).  The ex-wife (now known as She Who Must Be Ignored) looked most irate when we got outside.  She’d been waiting a whole 10 minutes.  I resisted the urge to casually saunter over to where she sat seething in the car  and drawl, “So, how do you like waiting around for people then?”  Actually, what I wanted to do was shout across, “Oh stop yer whinging yer miserable cow,” but I didn’t. 

Such restraint!

Monday 31 – BANK HOLIDAY

What with the shopping and the gardening and the fence building and the Triffid-taming and the Small Son incident and the entertaining and the tolerating, we decided that Monday was ours to do whatever we wanted.  I immediately dashed out and bought more plants, more pots (rushing round B&Q waving my hands in the air and screaming, “More!  Must have more!”)

We potted, and relaxed, and took time to sit and stare, talk and drink.

And, just when we’d learned to chill out and enjoy, the tragically brief holiday was over and work beckoned once more.