There is a train of thought, that love or loathe football (I fall into the latter category) you must submit and glibly accept the World cup... revel in the camaraderie as England triumphantly bring the trophy home, enter into the spirit of things as a mark perhaps of patriotic splendour.
I am ignoring that train of thought and have as yet, not succumbed to sitting on my arse watching endless rounds of men chasing a ball back and forth, forth and back... I have no flags adorning my house, or car, I have neglected to enter into small talk about it, save to mutter in passing 'Germany' when asked 'ere the Fanylion who d'ya reckon will win' this has been met with confusion, I suspect because the 2 main topics of school run talk with the folk I really don't wish to pass the time of day with, will, and forgive my judgemental assumption here, be for the ensuing weeks Football or Big Brother... As I quite enjoy confusing them, I'm sticking with my stock muttered response of Germany for the time being, until such a time as I decide to tell them in hushed tones, promise them to keep schtum... that I am to be entering the Big brother house the week before it ends, and indeed that I am Bookies favourite to win.
Instead of letting my brain ROT, I have taken to finding alternative pursuits, the boys like a round of Monopoly, or Snakes and Ladders...and when they aren't here, I read, I listen to music, unless the Footballian Chavs up the street become to raucous, or too frequent with their god awful aerosol spray horns and I retreat to the safety and isolation of the Hills... to think, to take pictures, and be antisocial and old with a flask of tea.... I'm taking advantage of the deserted wilderness whilst I can.
Of course, I appreciate, yes that not ALL Football fans are Chavs, in fact I *know* some thoroughly pleasant people who just happen to also enjoy the football, interestingly many of these people share the disdain for adorning houses and cars with the English flag, some even act guilty, as though to enjoy watching football is akin to having the clap.... they don't develop an irrational racism towards all other countries more likely to Win the tournament, anymore then I would develop an irrational hatred of the many countries who trounce the England Cricket team... I just happen to enjoy watching, or since Murdoch got his hands on the game, listening to it....
Anyway yes..
as I type, cooking... I have twice this evening had to use an unlikely cooking aid - the hammer... my freezer is WAY too efficient... I have perplexed my children with my culinary racket, and suspect they are soon to be disappointed with a mere mariners pie, rather then something hewn from a tree or involving nails perhaps (anyone who KNOWS of such a dish - answers on a postcard - or comment below, cheers)
And I am pondering.
Wondering in fact..
How long can one play with fire before getting burnt....
Monday 14 June 2010
Sunday 13 June 2010
Well howdy!
Its been a whilst hasn't it, for that I apologise, life has been rather fullsome of late, and time to sit with a head slow enough to scintillate y'all has been alarmingly sparse on the ground.
First we had the almighty wrist injury, caused by ineptitude whilst gardening, a plethora of people instructed me to go have it X-rayed on account a swollen bruised hand isn't normal, nor is being unable to carry anything heavier then say your car keys in said hand... I heeded this advice in my usual manner, assuring one and all it would in fact be 'reet'... it wasn't..I ended up buying various wrist supports to just exist WITHOUT cutting the damn limb off, some weeks later its stopped swelling and hurting, though does have a lumpy faintly misshapen area JUST above my wrist joint on my hand, suggesting everyone who suggested I'd bust it was in fact correct, I expect when I'm old it'll play up like merry hell in an arthritic manner, ah well.
After that, life was going quietly and hectically, the paperwork and transition when moving a child from mainstream education to SEN is formidable, and rather a lot of my free headspace was filled with Ashes to Ashes glee, and adjusting to the new Doctor Who, the latter continues to be a source of glee and is I'd wager far better then the preceding four series, and also features a tall, gawky, geeky youth in the lead role, whom, being a woman of a certain age, I'd rather like to ravage till he's grown eyebrows in defence.
And then, then...May 15th happened.
JUST a nice sunny Saturday.... uh-huh...
and the day, my beautiful, much loved (possibly to an unnatural extent actually) car, the glittering silver metallic finish 207 object of my autophillic lust, was damn near taken from me for always..
and despite the fact there have been times where lack of sleep, lack of food, increasing urge to fuck senseless my passenger and an insane level of anger directed at elderly drivers has caused some alarming (though never actually dangerous) ineptness on my part, in this instance, ones faculties where about one, the M1 on a pleasant sunny May afternoon is NOT the place to let your mind wander, it is focused the kind of driving that makes your head hurt for a whilst afterwards, where actually i run on extreme amounts of adrenalin fuelled awareness of the traffic in front, behind and to either side of myself, because I am gripped by the fear that one false move from a neighbouring car, and I could very realistically be dead...
and so, as it tends to the traffic went from steady moving to STILL with about 20 seconds notice... I tried to move over to buy extra time before applying the brakes with more gusto then Gusto McGusto, Mayor of Gustotown, Gustoania and joining in with the bumper to bumper crawling tailbacks.. thank to Mr McPillock in a 4x4 that wasn't possible, so I gave up on that as a bad idea, and BRAKED, like, largely on account that it DID, my very life depended on it.. I hit stationary in seconds, I missed a small car in front of me by mere feet at best, I was in still stood on the brake when my car went BANG
being, as I am, a girl and a pessimist, my natural assumption was I had just single handedly blown up my cars engine, it was when out of curiosity I turned the ignition and the engine still wored (which ended a brief realisation I was now STUCK in a fucked up car in the fast lane and doubtless about to DIE horribly) and given all this happened in a fraction of a second, the sudden realisation flooding into my head that the VERY close car behind me, was in fact embedded IN my car, hit me and I got a wee bit of a wobble on.
The rest is a bit of a blur now, and has involved 3 weeks of chasing up phonecalls, filling in paperwork, being remarkably SKINT, drawing pictures of the accident, making MORE phonecalls, and not really understanding WHY, when there are Crash repair centres much much closer to home, my car ended up in Beeston.... (no reason for this has ever been forthcoming, will assume its a Peugeot specialist centre)
Against all the odds however, my car has been rebuilt, repaired, resprayed and returned in as was prior to having an Audi RAMMED into it at force from behind, condition, and I salute the good mechanics of NG9 for being able to get her back here in the speed they did, not least because the courtesy car was SHITE and I hated it quite passionately.
So yes, its been something of a hiatus in my being able to think about not terrifying, not grown up and excruciatingly dull things, and indeed being able to comfortably be able to type.
In the intervening weeks, I have become increasingly disillusioned with Politics, the coalition with Govt leaves a very nasty taste in my Mouth, Gordon browns resignation had me in tears for 2 hours, I suspect within 2 months I'll be destitute, bankrupt and facing eviction or something equally Dickensian.
What else,
ach you know...
same old same old.
Its been a whilst hasn't it, for that I apologise, life has been rather fullsome of late, and time to sit with a head slow enough to scintillate y'all has been alarmingly sparse on the ground.
First we had the almighty wrist injury, caused by ineptitude whilst gardening, a plethora of people instructed me to go have it X-rayed on account a swollen bruised hand isn't normal, nor is being unable to carry anything heavier then say your car keys in said hand... I heeded this advice in my usual manner, assuring one and all it would in fact be 'reet'... it wasn't..I ended up buying various wrist supports to just exist WITHOUT cutting the damn limb off, some weeks later its stopped swelling and hurting, though does have a lumpy faintly misshapen area JUST above my wrist joint on my hand, suggesting everyone who suggested I'd bust it was in fact correct, I expect when I'm old it'll play up like merry hell in an arthritic manner, ah well.
After that, life was going quietly and hectically, the paperwork and transition when moving a child from mainstream education to SEN is formidable, and rather a lot of my free headspace was filled with Ashes to Ashes glee, and adjusting to the new Doctor Who, the latter continues to be a source of glee and is I'd wager far better then the preceding four series, and also features a tall, gawky, geeky youth in the lead role, whom, being a woman of a certain age, I'd rather like to ravage till he's grown eyebrows in defence.
And then, then...May 15th happened.
JUST a nice sunny Saturday.... uh-huh...
and the day, my beautiful, much loved (possibly to an unnatural extent actually) car, the glittering silver metallic finish 207 object of my autophillic lust, was damn near taken from me for always..
and despite the fact there have been times where lack of sleep, lack of food, increasing urge to fuck senseless my passenger and an insane level of anger directed at elderly drivers has caused some alarming (though never actually dangerous) ineptness on my part, in this instance, ones faculties where about one, the M1 on a pleasant sunny May afternoon is NOT the place to let your mind wander, it is focused the kind of driving that makes your head hurt for a whilst afterwards, where actually i run on extreme amounts of adrenalin fuelled awareness of the traffic in front, behind and to either side of myself, because I am gripped by the fear that one false move from a neighbouring car, and I could very realistically be dead...
and so, as it tends to the traffic went from steady moving to STILL with about 20 seconds notice... I tried to move over to buy extra time before applying the brakes with more gusto then Gusto McGusto, Mayor of Gustotown, Gustoania and joining in with the bumper to bumper crawling tailbacks.. thank to Mr McPillock in a 4x4 that wasn't possible, so I gave up on that as a bad idea, and BRAKED, like, largely on account that it DID, my very life depended on it.. I hit stationary in seconds, I missed a small car in front of me by mere feet at best, I was in still stood on the brake when my car went BANG
being, as I am, a girl and a pessimist, my natural assumption was I had just single handedly blown up my cars engine, it was when out of curiosity I turned the ignition and the engine still wored (which ended a brief realisation I was now STUCK in a fucked up car in the fast lane and doubtless about to DIE horribly) and given all this happened in a fraction of a second, the sudden realisation flooding into my head that the VERY close car behind me, was in fact embedded IN my car, hit me and I got a wee bit of a wobble on.
The rest is a bit of a blur now, and has involved 3 weeks of chasing up phonecalls, filling in paperwork, being remarkably SKINT, drawing pictures of the accident, making MORE phonecalls, and not really understanding WHY, when there are Crash repair centres much much closer to home, my car ended up in Beeston.... (no reason for this has ever been forthcoming, will assume its a Peugeot specialist centre)
Against all the odds however, my car has been rebuilt, repaired, resprayed and returned in as was prior to having an Audi RAMMED into it at force from behind, condition, and I salute the good mechanics of NG9 for being able to get her back here in the speed they did, not least because the courtesy car was SHITE and I hated it quite passionately.
So yes, its been something of a hiatus in my being able to think about not terrifying, not grown up and excruciatingly dull things, and indeed being able to comfortably be able to type.
In the intervening weeks, I have become increasingly disillusioned with Politics, the coalition with Govt leaves a very nasty taste in my Mouth, Gordon browns resignation had me in tears for 2 hours, I suspect within 2 months I'll be destitute, bankrupt and facing eviction or something equally Dickensian.
What else,
ach you know...
same old same old.
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