DGIAF

My Dead-Granny-In-A-Freezer has been in the news a lot this week, here's one example http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/west_yorkshire/4203361.stm my family are not happy about the outcome.

My doctor has given me a sick note for 2 weeks, that means either a) I don't have to go back to work until the 9th Feb or b) I won't be able to move enough to go back to work until 9th Feb. Eeek! I've never had a 2 week sick note before. I'm bored, I don't like work but I don't like not being able to move either. Can I go back sooner if I feel better sooner?

According to my sick note I have 'A cute back pain' - well my doctor has a cute smile.

Jonathan is cooking dinner, it smells disgusting. The sooner I can move around the better, I think vomitting will be added to the pain in my cute back.

Oh god, dinner is smelling worse and worse. Wish me luck.

Not a lot happens

Not a lot happens when you're unable to move when you have a bad back. It's feeling a little bit better today and I can now get on and off the loo without Jonathan's help, which is pretty good really.

I'm going to the doctor tomorrow, he'll tell me to stop smoking and lose weight, keep warm and drink lots of fluids. Well, I'm guessing he will, that's all they've told me for the last 20+ years whatever's been wrong with me. It's not like I'm there every 5 minutes, I used to go every 6 months when I was on the pill, but this is the first time I will have been for almost a year. In fact, the only time they said it was probably better if I didn't stop smoking was when I was pregnant with Theo. No they did. I was as surprised as you. I did smoke all the way through my pregnancy and he was a very small baby, weighing 10lb 1oz (approx 4.55 kilos) and 24ins long (61cm.) And he had a big head - thank god he was a sun-roof jobby.

I'm now mightily pissed off and frustrated. I never realised how little Jonathan did during the day and it's making me really mad, and he'll probably be glad to see the back of me when I get back to work with all my nag, nag nagging.

Theo, my little angel, kept hitting me with a slipper on Sunday which really hurt me. Not the tapping of the slipper, but the knock-on effect as it jarred (even though it was ever so slight) my back was horrid. I did try to point this out to him, but he continued, until I burst into tears (it did hurt) and he is now apologising every 10 minutes. Do I say 'Aw bless' or 'little twat'? I can't quite work that one out.

Talking of Theo, he was on the telly yesterday. Well his photo of when he was about 1 year old was. Do you remember dead-granny-in-a-freezer? Well, the nasty poisoning man's case was last week, they let him off with a vigourous finger wagging and told him not to do it again. So my mum and dad were on the TV and they showed a photo of dead-granny-in-a-freezer holding Theo.

On the plus side, I didn't drink alcohol on Saturday or Monday, and haven't had any yet today (well it is only 11.45 am.)

I'm bored and ranting. I'll stop the ranting

Non-PC

I almost made it, and I was dying to tell you, so I sat down to blog at 11.30pm on Saturday night. Did the PC work, did it bollocks.

So I had a couple of Michelob Ultras to console myself. Otherwise I would have managed Saturday without alcohol. (As long as you don't count the couple of drinks I had after midnight on my Friday night out.)

But then it all went tits up.

A very pissed Paul rang to say he was in a taxi on his way home, but he'd call in for coffee - at 12.40am - like you do. So that was that really. We all started with a bottle of Mead, warmed with mulled wine spices (yum), I moved on to the Cointreau (quite sickly without ice) and finished up on the Southern Comfort, Jonathan and Paul had some dark rum and then Paul moved onto vodka. By the time I fell into bed at 4.00am you could say I was a little bit fresh.

Sunday I did pretty well really, just a couple of Michelobs (they're only teeny tiny bottles you know) and tonight Jonathan and I shared another bloody bottle of Mead. How I wish I'd never discovered the cheap stuff in the supermarket, it's so nice and warm and soothing. I must not buy anymore when we've finshed the one remaining bottle.

Theo will be a teenager on the 31st. I find that pretty scary, not quite as scary as the fact that he is taller than me already, looks down on me and calls me 'short stuff'. Little (?) sod. I'm now at eye level with some fluff on his top lip. Jonathan and I noticed by chance that the King's Hall in Ilkley had a 'Whole Lotta Led' Led Zepplin cover band playing last Saturday so we got tickets for Jonathan and Theo to go as a surprise for part of his birthday treat. He really loved it, loads of his school mates were there too. Phew - we did something right.

Today I sent a form to the Data Protection Office requesting any information the police have on record for Theo, as our lawyer still hasn't had any details of the incidents that precipitated the delivery of the ABC. I can't understand why they have been so reluctant to tell us. It's really pissing me off. I'm assuming that the local police and the bloke from the Anti Social Behaviour unit believe they are justified in issuing this to Theo, but why won't they tell us the incidents that prompted it?

So back to the waiting game again as it can take weeks before they get back to us. Ho hum.

Bloody good job

I never realised how traumatic soft furnishings can be. My friend, Marie, makes curtains (sorry, drapes) and all other sorts of soft furnishings, and she is extremely talented and a perfectionist. If anyone is in the market for soft furnishings and are really stuck, ask Marie, she's brilliant.

She has done my curtains for the living room and I want pelmets too because I have a real issue with that bit of wall that lurks below the curtain rail when the curtains are open. She had done a proper professional sketch of how she envisaged my pelmet after I told her what I wanted and it was absolutely spot on. So today we went to get the stuff to make it. Bollocks to buggery, they didn't have the right colour plain fabric for my curtains. The notion of using exacly the same fabric as my curtains and trying to do the maths to incorporate the large, geometric design in the fabric into the pelmet was simply getting too much for my non-domesticated brain. Truly, my head felt like it was going to explode.

Anyway, we went for lunch to discuss alternatives, it went like this....

Marie " Well, I could do this, or this or even that"
Me " Whatever you think will look ok, is ok by me"
Marie "Have you considered this"
Me "I really haven't a clue, you know more about this sort of thing"
Marie "Or I could do this with a bit of that"
Me "Do what the hell you like, as long as I don't see that stupid bit of wall, I really, truly don't give a shit"
Me "But no covered buttons"

(Fortunately Marie likes me, or at least did.)

Our new fire surround, that was supposed to be sorted out before Christmas (but was wrong,) came on Monday. It's now installed, looks lovely and I'm very pleased.

Jonathan has really cracked on. He's finished the wallpapering, and mostly finished the painting. And I think it's going to look very grown up when it's finished, if it ever is. He has done very well indeed.

And this is a bloody good job because I'm well pissed off with him and his big gob today.

Quite chuffed

I bought a pair of jeans today. Size 14, now this might not seem like a big deal to those who are slim out there, but I last had size 14 jeans when I was 20 which was a very, very long time ago.

If anyone would like to see me in my size 14 jeans then I will be at Korks in Otley on Friday, 21st January where my sister will be doing another Pasta and Puccini. Not strictly pasta or Puccini, but an Italian themed meal and some opera favourites performed by my sister Sarah Estill (the internationally renowned Soprano) and tenor, Paul Featherstone.

Why not come along? And if you do, come and say hello to all of us.

Massage

I dread to think how much of my life I have spent massaging male egos.

Never trust a man......

....to do anything properly.

My new washer came today. Except it isn't. Well, it is new, but it's a washer/dryer which is not what I wanted or needed. I asked for the most basic washer, seeing as I only ever use 2 programmes and the pre-wash. This has so many knobs and buttons I haven't a clue how to operate the damn thing.

The biggest mystery is the variable temperature control. For example, if I select the 40 degree cycle, do I have to also select 40 degrees on that too? If I decide I want to select 60, then why don't I just use a 60 degree programme. Bloody stupid if you ask me.

So Jonathan has managed to fuck up again. He'll be getting his final written warning at this rate.

Seeing as the festive season is over (I took my decorations down today, looks grim) I thought I'd ring the fireplace people up to see what was happening. Wish I'd never bothered. The lady on the phone said 'Oh yes, I remember, you want a 2" rebate" NO! I want a 2cm rebate, you've already given me a 2" one and it was wrong, wrong, wrong. "I'll look into it and ring you back," she said. She didn't.

Looks like we'll be living with bare plaster for a bit longer then.

I was tempted by another litre of Baileys in Tesco the other day (still on special offer at £9.88,) and, being pathetically weak, gave in. However, I haven't opened it yet because I'm still working my way through the Kahlua. I've never been one for sweet drinks before and wonder if this is the beginning of the end. After all you don't see many old ladies knocking back pints of Stella or dry white wine by the bottle, do you? All the other signs of old age are already in place, a moustache, saggy tits, grey hair and even my wrinkles have wrinkles. I shall really worry when I start considering shoes for comfort rather than cos they are slutty but shall console myself with cheap sweet sherry before shuffling round the shops for a flowery crimpolene frock.

And for those people who really know me, here is something to make you laugh. The same day I bought the Baileys I bought a new bra that fits me pretty well. Its a 38DD. No, really, it is. But I don't have DDs at all, it's the weirdest thing but it does fit. But who gives a shit, it's in black and white on the label.

I have magnificent 38DD breasts.

Useless tart

Jonathan made a lovely roast beef dinner tonight. No, really, it was very, very nice - I didn't have to cook, just watch while 'they' ate Yorkshire puds.

Paul came round too.

We got through 1 bottle Cava, 1 bottle Mead (sweet but oh so very yummy,) 1 bottle Champagne, large dollops of Kahlua and then we went to the pub and I had 2 large vodkas.

This is why I don't make New Year's resolutions. It's cos I'm a totally useless, weak-willed, lily-livered tart that doesn't know when to say NO.

I'm a bit pissed again.