Of Dodgy Domino Effects July 7, 2010
Posted by Jen in : Allergic to Children, General Shame , 23 commentsSon 1’s new scootery motorbike was delivered last week. ‘Ooooh,’ he cooed manfully down the phone, ‘now that it’s here I hardly know what to do with it. I’m just going to look at it for a bit.’
Half an hour later, he phoned again to let me know he was going out on his maiden voyage. Ten minutes after that, he phoned again.
‘Yeah, it’s me again. Er… I was just wondering if you could get some plasters? And maybe some bandages? Quite a lot of bandages, yeah?’
The bike has, for the last week, been parked in the garden. Its rear view mirror thingy is all deformed. The indicator lies shattered on the ground. Its body is gouged and split in despair. I know just how it feels.
Lurching about bad-temperedly in the cupboard under the stairs looking for my first aid box, I hit my face on an upturned chair leg. I have a hint of black eye – not enough to make me look proper tough though. The other eye, after an immensely dusty, dirty day at Goodwood’s Festival of Speed on Saturday is splendidly swollen and bloodshot as if I’m sporting a removable eyeball following a rock bit of grit vs. contact lens incident. Also, in my bid to get thin, I have stepped up the running and am now hobbling about like an old crone. I swear to God, I burn more calories wrestling myself into my sports bra than I do *actually* running. Nevertheless, I hurt everywhere but my hair.
To top things off, as I groped blindly about the house with my falling-out eyes, I happened upon a beautiful piece of modern art.
‘OI!!’ I bellowed in a ladylike fashion befitting a bird with black eyes. ‘What’s happened to my specs?’
‘Ah. Yes. Um… I’m afraid they’ve accidentally been baked in the oven,’ explained Son 2.
Plastic framed specs should not be cooked at 200 degrees for 20 mins. At least I wasn’t wearing them at the time, I s’pose.
Do excuse me. I’m off to bandage myself up from top to toe like the invisible man. I shall smoke a pipe so that people know it’s me. Hmmm. Actually, perhaps sticking plasters over my mouth would help in the dieting department. Why did I agree to go on a beach holiday with a beautiful, blue-eyed body-building beach bum? WHY?
I’d shake my head in woeful despair but suspect another bit of me may drop off. I shall simply sigh instead whilst embracing my inner spaz. Clumsy? Useless? Me? Hell yeah. You betcha.
Of Ooh and Aaaarrrgghhh April 28, 2010
Posted by Jen in : Allergic to Children, Bit of a Mid-Life Crisis , 26 commentsIt’s that time again. That joyous occasion looming next week on which I become another year wider wiser.
‘Don’t forget, Horrid Teens, that I’ll be expecting luxurious treats to demonstrate your love for me,’ I hinted helpfully over the weekend. ‘That means presents. Ok?’
‘Oh, I’m sure I can sort something out,’ No. 2 Son smiled confidently. ‘Is there anything you’d particularly like that I can find around the house?’
Why yes, actually. There’s nothing I’ve yearned for more than than some pre-worn rubber gloves and an out-of-date lime jelly.
Somehow, the conversation quickly turned to my being dead.
Son No. 1 looked grave. ‘Your headstone will have to bear the words “In her short life…”
‘A short life? How do you know I won’t live to be a hundred?’
He gave me that look. You know the one. The look that says How I despise you for your stupidity, Mother…
‘Even if you live forever, dear mama, you’ll still have had a short life on account of the fact that your legs’ (demonstrates approx. 2 inches with his chewed grubby fingers) ‘are only this long…’
Rotten sods. Here, have a fine joke:
What do you call a mother with very short legs?
.
.
.
A minimum.
Oh yeah. I’ve still got it. Just not very much of it. Thank God for my tall thoughts. Jelly and ice cream, anyone?
Of Existential Excuses February 3, 2010
Posted by Jen in : Allergic to Children, Bit of a Mid-Life Crisis , 14 commentsI had an email yesterday. ‘You blog needs updating, Honey,’ it nudged. Another last night asked ‘Have you dropped off the edge of the planet or just the edge of reality?’. Hmmm.
I’d like to inform you, dear reader, that I have spent the last month immersed in my writing. Sadly, I can’t do that, ‘cos it’s not true. Bugger.
I don’t think it’s *actually* possible to drop off the edge of reality. Reality isn’t flat, for a start – if it is, you’re doing it wrong. My reality, it seems, is a deep, dark well. The drips of real life are fermenting, becoming viscous in the gloom. The droplets stick to me and smell a little bit manky. I can’t describe the smell. It’s sort of the opposite of Jelly Tots, if that helps?
There has been children stuff to contend with, amongst other things. Son No. 2 must choose his GCSE preferences by Friday. ‘I’ll have to take the higher level ICT course if I’m gonna be a games designer,’ he informed me wisely. ‘But if I’m no good at that, I might be an archaeologist instead.’ Er… what? Yes, that’s great, Son 2. I’d like to be a lion tamer and a hot air balloonist. I’m not though. Here, have a go in the Well of Reality. I do realise, of course, that lobbing your offspring into the pit of dashed dreams isn’t in the parental job description. Hmmm again.
Son 1 is choosing his A Levels. He is being very sensible, drawing up lists and combinations of amazing academic cleverness. In between these moments, he is studying hard for his GCSE’s. People of Sussex, if you hear the demented screams of ‘You’re not going to get an A-star in MSN chatting you know,’ that might be me. Oh, good God. When did I become that person?
Novel 2 is… well, I like the idea so much, I actually want to live the main character’s life. That’s a bit sad, isn’t it? This means one of two things: I’m just terribly excited about writing Novel 2 OR I’m sooooooo on the verge of a mid-life crisis.
*Goes off to weave daisies into her plaited hair…*
Yes, my brain is in a pickle. Oh dear. So long as the good and exciting bits at least manage to make a dent in the ‘reality’ and ‘plain daft’, it’s probably going ok though. Isn’t it?
