Bollocks

What is it with men and their obsession with their genitals?

Well bugger me sideways.......

I have discovered I have something I never thought I had. Willpower. No really, I set myself a target and reached it.

My target was no boozy lunches or clothes shopping for 3 days, and I managed it. Three days. Count them. Monday, Tuesday AND Wednesday.

And how did I manage this miracle. Well firstly, I got pissed enough for the preceeding evenings so that I had rotten headaches all three mornings. Secondly, I didn't get dressed until (way) after lunchtime - which was pretty good considering I still managed to take Ysabella to school on Tuesday morning (thank heaven for big coats and sunglasses and a talent for driving in my slippers.) Finally, I bought, and read, a 600+ page book to fill in the hours when Price Drop TV just got too much to bear (has anyone ever bought anything from that channel?)

I always knew my destiny was as a lady of leisure, but I always thought it would be bolstered by several squillion pounds to ensure my comfort and keep me in handbags. Still this is a pretty close second.

However tomorrow I am busy, busy, busy. I have to sign on at 10.30, have a quick nuke on a sunbed after that, meeting one of my many large-breasted, double-barrelled Lyndas for lunch, shower, change and leg it into Leeds to meet Marie for a spot of dunner and a small sweet sherry.

Note to self, Thursday: get dressed BEFORE lunchtime..........

The proof is in the blogging

When I was 'working' I had loads of time to blog and now I'm unemployed I don't seem to have a minute to myself. Hmmm. I wonder what that is telling us.

Anyway, I went to visit my sister this weekend up in the Lake District. There was snow on the hills and it was bloody freezing. We went to this 'late' bar and I was amazed at the number of scantily clad girls wearing skirts that barely (and in far too many cases didn't) covered their arses. Coupled with this they had nothing on their legs which were, unfortunately, not slender and golden brown but lumpy, white and covered in purple blotches.

Ok, ok so I am a boring old fart, however there were also a party of 30 or so squaddies in this bar and I was talking to one (that I had pushed in front of at the bar, well you have to get served somehow) and he said that they all looked dog rough - and he brought the subject up! I always thought squaddies were not that fussy as they were about to go on tour, and he was only 23.

Still it provided me, my sister and mate plenty to bitch about so I shouldn't complain.

Flirting with religion

When we were on our holidays I ate a lot of blue cheese, not all at once of course, but a little after dinner every night. I'm not a massive cheese fan but strangely enough I like to suck on a small piece of blue cheese, although I never normally buy it. When I went to the supermarket I thought I'd get myself a little bit so I cruised the cheese aisle.

Something, obviously divine intervention, led me to a 125g of sheer heaven and now I will always worship at the temple of Saint Agur.

Back to life, back to reality

Well my version of reality, anyway, which mostly seems to involve wandering around in a daze.

We have now returned from a lovely, un-seasonally hot holiday, in Majorca, and after 4 days back I am still trying to conquer the washing mountain. Unfortunately my kids can dirty clothes faster than I can wash. I was hoping to find a laundrette so I could put a couple of loads through while I was away, but there wasn't one to be found. The hotel had a laundry service but at 1 euro per pair of knickers (7 pairs x 4 people x 1 euro = bloody ridiculous - but then who'd want to go anywhere near my son's undies) not to mention the T-shirts and other bits and that would have equalled a laundry bill greater than the cost of the holiday, probably.

On asking around I found there was a laundry in the town who did stuff by weight, so off I went. The lovely lady in there was barking mad and, although her English was far superior to my Spanish (it's not that useful knowing how to ask for a beer or a coffee when you want one white and one coloured wash doing) she didn't seem to know many English words relating to washing clothes which seemd a bit odd. She told me to put cream on (very sweet of her) and asked if I liked to sleep (of course) and then stroked my arm. Half an hour later I emerged to find the kids and Jonathan scrapping in the car cos they can't be left to behave themselves for 2 minutes......

As the kids had started to refuse to get out of bed before midday, 2 days later Jonathan and I went on our own to collect the washing. I insisted he came in with me to see this delightfully nutty lady.

As we entered the shop she appeared folding a pair of Jonathan's pants which she unfolded again, held up in front of him and gave a dirty little laugh. She then asked if he was my son - FOR FUCK'S SAKE - he's OLDER than me! Looking at the horror on my face she went back to stroking me, telling me I had beautiful eyes (they're green) while, with a look of contempt, she said Jonathan only looked Spanish (his are brown.)

I forgave her.