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Clouds in the Head February 27, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 6 comments

Peace. Tranquility.

Shhhhhhhh…

Both beasts back to school. The house is quiet. Just me. No noise, no Star Wars. Just me. Alone with my friends, the raindrops.

Shhhhhhhh…

Tea. Peace. Tranquility.

Shhhhhhhh…

I like it here, this quiet place. I am drifting, drifting with the clouds.

Shhhhhhhh…

clouds

Proper Poorly and a Bit Doomed February 25, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 14 comments

Woe is me. Not only am I Proper Poorly, I do not even have the joy of a rosy beetroot-like glow. I am, quite frankly, the colour of porridge. The texture of porridge too, quite possibly, if you’d care to give me a prod. A prod. Not a poke though. A poke when I’m Proper Poorly would be a bit rude. Anyway. Am feeling most woeful. Grumpsome, some might say.

But the worst thing? Oh, go on, ask me about the worst thing. Ok, since you ask, the worst thing is that I cannot eat. Nor Drink. And, as regular readers will know, lack of the old falling-over water makes me all itchy.

I’m Proper Poorly and itchy all over. I am cursed. I have ants not only in my pants but in my other parts too. I am itchy everywhere. The sitting room, the bedroom, the kitchen… everywhere I tell you.

When I die of this poorliness, I do not wish to be reincarnated as an ant. Unless I am Ant. Friend of Dec. But I prefer Ant. So that would be rubbish.

See?

Doomed.

*Sigh*

Revenge February 22, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 9 comments

Behold the sounds of the night in the germ ridden paradise that is my home:

Cough cough cough

Eeeeuggghhhh

Cough cough cough

Eeeeuggghhhh

Cough cough cough cough

Eeeeuggghhhh

Do feel free to imagine this repeated approximately every four seconds. All night. Sigh. Number 1 son is overly dramatic even in his sleep. Not sure where he gets it from. Beast. The groaning can best be described as the sound of a persistent ghost, determined to scare the knickers off you before morning. Waaaaiill.  The sound one would hear on a battlefield in the final dying moments of one who had sacrificed himself gallantly. The sound of one teenager who has a bloomin cold. Sigh.

I am exacting my revenge. While we watch The Empire Strikes Back. Again. My revenge is as follows:

Beasts: Blah de blah de blah R2D2.

Vengeful Me: R2D2? Is that the one that looks like a bin or the golden gay android?

Beasts: No, Mitzy. Blah de blah de blah C3PO.

Mean, Mean Me: C3PO? Is that the one that looks like a bin or the golden gay android?

Trust me, it’s really annoying them. It may seem quite a tame method of revenge. But believe me when I proclaim:

When they are better I will make them suffer properly. Oh yes. Mwah ha ha ha. (To be read in the style of Ming the Merciless, if you please.)

Nurse Jenny to the rescue or what.
*Takes a slug of the VodkaCalpol concoction*

Save me, somebody, please.

Return of the Vegetables February 21, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 14 comments

I spot a theme. A scary, scary theme.

After recent worrisome drooling over big, hairy courgettes and the suggestion that a cucumber could be the key to happiness, yet another vegetable-related incident has occurred.

Reader, I am alarmed.

Today, both Number 1 and Number 2 sons have woken up the colour of beetroot. Are you afraid too?? The vegetables are taking over the earth I tell you.  Run awaaaay!!

Do normal people actually eat beetroot? In my search for the answer to this perplexing and life-changing question, I discovered a recipe for Confit of Rabbit with Beetroot Wontons.

Today, then, I shall be cooking Baked Bunnies with Beetroot. If that doesn’t make the boys hurry back to school, nothing will.

It’s going to be a long l..o..n..g day. I wonder whether Calpol would make a suitable substitute for Red Bull with my vodka??

drink

Adoration February 18, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 6 comments

I was listening to Grayson Perry on Desert Island Discs this morning and something he said kind of grabbed me…

Attention is just a form of low-grade love

I think there may be something in that? It’s been gnawing at me all day. It’s making me Think Things.  Analyse Things.
But at the risk of sounding like a bit of a hippy, I would just like to say Bring on this lurve… I’m not fussy which form it takes. Anything from true, can’t-help-yourself love to a tickle under the chin will do me nicely.

Oh, you’ll have to excuse me. I’m a touch hungover vague today. I need squid. Lots and lots of lovely squid. Then I will be perfectly normal again.

Sadly, I have no squid.

Waaaaaah February 16, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 8 comments

I have not the words.

I had planned a minor diversion from my life of pitiful woe last night. The money had been splashed, the hopes had been raised. Mark Watson was on in Tunbridge Wells and he was going to make me laugh. He had to. I had paid him to.

In hindsight, the Universe had been giving me signs since I got up that It Was Not My Day. Taunting me, if you will. I won’t trouble you with the list of miseries. Pick a number, any number, and multiply it by seven million. That’s how bad my day was, on a scale of 1 to 10. Yes, you see now?

So. An innocent question sparked the downfall of doom. I enquired of my Hinge and Brackett colleagues what they suggested I scoff for supper before said evening of hilarity. Courgettes were mentioned. ‘Hmmmm…’ I thought. A little while later, having survived the tortures of Retail Hell and bimbling along in my little car, the thought bubbled to the surface again: ‘Mmmmm. Courgettes.’

I was, as you can imagine, slightly disturbed that my brain had been bamboozled, my mind infiltrated with thoughts of courgette yumminess. Nonetheless, I decided to stop at the Sainsburys emporium of delectable comestibles.

Now, had I not detoured, I would have made it home before the onset of Even More Mechanical Misery in the form of an exploding tyre. The AA man would arrive in one hour. ONE HOUR ?? In the adverts, he arrives really quickly - even before the advert finishes. After three hours, he actually arrived. Three hours of sitting in my car, in the middle of nowhere, freezing and bursting for a wee. At about the same time as Mark Watson would have been wandering onto the stage in his little Welsh way.

And now, I have only a fake wheel on my car which will not get me to work this morning. I missed my yearly evening of fun. And I forgot the courgettes. I am left only the joy of sharing with you this picture of a courgette which, you might agree, looks tittersomely rude.

courgette

I bet Mark Watson didn’t have any rude vegetables. So I probably wouldn’t have laughed anyway.

Everything happens for a reason they say. But why, oh why, is absolutely everything going wrong at once?

Answers on a postcard, if you please.

I Am Truly Tragic February 13, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Writing Bits , 5 comments

Is it just me?

I mean, I know I should get out more and all that. But, well, I just think this is the funniest thing I’ve seen for ages? Oh go on, tell me it’s not just me…

Pass the pen-thils someone. Woo!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v9TzJAbubDM

I Am Free February 12, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Writing Bits , 4 comments

My windscreen-wipers are cured! Hurrah and hurray! And I am cured, for free. I quote:

Feeble Me: ‘Oh, is my poor car really working properly again?’

Grunting Mechanic: ‘Ugh, yeah.’

Effusive Me: ‘Oh, you are such a star - I thought I would have to stay in until summer.’

Grunting Mechanic: ‘Ugh.’ (Smiled a bit at this point. Could have been wind though.)

Penniless Me: ‘Oh, in all the stress, I forgot my purse. Could you possibly add it on to its next service?’

Weak Mechanic: ‘Ugh. Don’t worry. Few quid. Drink in pub. Ugh.’

Result. Joy. Freedom. I am free. Free to… um… yeah. Whatever.