Oh Knobs!

The desperate need for clothes still evades me. My work wardrobe has now taken on the ilk of a middle aged woman who is still wearing what once was trendy thus making me look ancient. In addition everything I own is about 2 sizes to big due to the extreme-weight-loss-diet which can by achieved through the-extreme-stress-plan. If you are lucky you can also get weird-skin-disorder too with this diet; I'm currently sporting a lovely rash round my nose and mouth, hmm sexy. I digress.
Still mourning the loss of my local Benetton and preferred supplier of said work wear I need to cast my net further afield. I have had an aversion to Next for many a year, probably based on some ridiculous faux pas in the past, however I am warming to their clothes for work mainly based on price. I have also spied a dress in Tesco of all places that could pass for a Hobbs number if you didn't look too closely or touch the fabric ( I could ignite at any moment). It pisses me off that I am expected to be suited and booted which I have to fund when actually I have my eye on a rather snazzy leather biker jacket instead.

I love heels and wear them mainly to work as my social life seems to consist of running up stairs, taxi driver, maintenance man, Mrs Fix it, none of which require heels but a good pair of sturdy shoes and overalls ( which I also don't posses.) So shoes clearly need an overhaul as the impulse buy of Jasper Conran at Debenhams a year or so ago has left me with a pair of hideous black patent things that would look more at home in a charity shop. ( Charity shops I love, by the way, and faired very well on the clothing front from from Reiss, to Ted Baker but I draw the line at shoes and anything that has been near you Hoo Har - namely trousers.)

*Deep breath,  I can fast feel the wardrobe overhaul disappearing again because I need to 2 knobs for my oven. The bastards keep jumping off and smashing to smithereens on the floor so the temperature is a bit of guess work. Mr Ariston, if you are listening, I am not impressed with your wares and much preferred my Rangemaster. In addition to this She-ra wobbled and wavered using the fridge door to hang on to for fear she might fall all of, erm, 2 inches to the floor. (This is also known as a SUI - see English mum for more info.) Said integrated appliance hinges cost a fortune - or should that be a cost a 2 piece suit. And finally the vacuum is kicking out horrible rubber smells and needs new parts. I discovered this one Saturday where my plans for chilling went by the by and in place I did an emergency crash course on Vacuum cleaner dismantling and repairs.Yes that's the planned shopping trip put on hold yet again but you will be able to admire my lovely new Knobs and ask me if they are the latest season - wont you?

Silent Sunday

Ahem

We had been burgled (again ). I was stood in the hall of our house with local constabulary (again ). The children were toddlers and I was trying to keep them as unaware of what had happened as you could be when you back door has been broken in and your tv gone and they were hankering after dvd.

I recall serious conversations with the boys in blue. We had been burgled nearly every year we were in that damned house and this was one of the worst ones and if I remember rightly a lot of sentimental stuff going and the dog getting a kicking too.

As we discussed what had happened the fax machine in the hall kicked in whirring and pootling by the elbow of the constable. We ignored it as the paper started to pull through. But then you couldn't ignore it as I began to realise that my sister ( probably 18/19 at the time ) was sending me a photocopy of her face.

Gritty stuff

Its a beach. Life. Some beaches are gorgeous soft sand but they weren't always that way. I'm no geologist but a tiny grain of sand will have started out in life as a much bigger pebble, no?

This photo was taken by my daughter for her GCSE project. She loves photography and even with her phone can take cracking photos. I'm biased I know.

To accompany this photos you need a cold February day, wet crunchy fine sand, a couple of  grandparents staggering in the sand trying to keep up, some stone skimming, the taste of the salt on your lips.

The wrinklies have this on their doorstep every day.Its just a pity they live so far away so we cant enjoy it with them more often. And one day I WILL walk to the end of the peninsula!

Crotch Sniffer

There you are, minding your own business, when suddenly there is a prod in your groin area. An insistent slightly damp kind of prod. And you know as you look down there she is, Peanut, the big brown bear of a Labrador that belongs to my sister. Not content with one crotch sniffer sister dearest has gone and got herself another one who has taking on the temperament of her old mentor. So in the no to distance future I predict crotch sniffing tag.

Meanwhile my own hound prefers nuzzling and ear flapping. Not at the same time though. One of those activities usually takes place around 2am right outside the bedroom door. She can also clear 6' fences which troubles my sister greatly and means she can no longer go stay when we are en vacance.

Other family dogs habits included Tess who had an obsession with Grumps wellies and would become amorous with the ol' welly at very embarrassing moments.  Like when you are paying the milkman or saying good night to your boyfriend.Givin it laldy was putting it mildly!

Winnie, my first dog, ate beer bottle tops and chewed a lot of stuff. And good ol Coco who could do no wrong on one of her last sleep overs at Aunties. Thanks to her I have an image etched permanently on my brain (even though no one actually witnessed said event ) of my brother in law naked sliding on a vast pool of doggy diarrhoea and having to crawl back upstairs on his elbows and knees lest his feet touched the newly laid creamcarpet with his shitty soles.

Brrr

We are in deepest darkest winter. The central heating is on and my kids don't like my attitude to keeping warm. The instruction of put another jumper on falls on deaf ears as they prefer to wander around in very little. Meanwhile I am like a demented heating engineer turning rads off faster then perting nipples.

Chatting with colleague at work today we compared our childhoods of Calor gas heaters, no central heating, condensation thick on the windows and those funny white strips your parents put at the bottom of windows to suck up all the moisture.The kids today just don't know how lucky they are. I can remember the cold cold air as a child. The running from your bed to clothes warmed in front of a fire. The art of getting dressed or undressed neath the bed clothes or with your dressing gown on. You always wore slippers, You always wore Pj's or a nightie and a thick thick dressing gown. I can remember I was 16 when we finally got central heating with my bonkers grandma warning us all we would be for ever ill from all those germs we would be harbouring.

With the heating bills rising all the time I am ever vigilant and with no fires  we rely solely on radiators for warmth. When Grandparents came to stay at Christmas my fathers penchant for a warm house had me wringing my hands at the worry of the heating bill. That came in between the inability to stay awake on an evening because the sitting room was so god damn hot narcolepsy kicked in. Still the heating stayed off in my room for the festive period due to the rest of the house sweating with the heat wave.

The thickness of my winter duvet has Hot Date insisting that I have put 2 duvets together. Nope it just good old duck feathers and they keep me warm. Though when it comes to cold houses he doesn't put his heating on at all if he can avoid it. If its really cold then the hot water bottle goes in. If its really really cold then we have a tee and if it brassic then pj's bottoms too. I'm not sure what happened the other night I think I must have over heated with my hot water bottle, thick duvet and full pj set combo, and ended up having nightmares of being on holiday in Benidorm with the current cast which rose me from my deep sleep ripping off my clothes as I did that scary sleepy shouty thingy that I do so well.

Cat shit, the awful terrible and Damocles

There is lots of blogging reflections going at the moment looking back at the last year. 2011 has to be up there with 2008 and the worst F*ckin year of my life! The lows were horrendous but the highs were wonderful and they kept me going. I'm not going to kid myself that 2012 could be my year. I'm not going to waste wishful thinking on that. However there is one thing that 2008 taught me is that I am a fighter. I am strong and I will get through this however painful. Christmas managed to arrive with out the sword of Damocles falling ( thought its still there swaying in the breeze.) In fact it has ended up being the best Christmas in  long time. See my sister's blog for a full report. By the way the second batch of Orange liqueur tasted a damn sight better than the first!
Then we get to New Year.  I have funny feelings about new year. All that reflection shit and looking back can reduce to me tears and looking for the gin bottle. My friends throw great parties but I've tended to avoid them over the past four years watching Jools Hootenanny instead and snuggling up with a hot water bottle. This year I thought bugger it. The year was so shit I needed a lift. With a number of options on the table, in the end I went for the best possible one of all. Friends party. There may have been the overwhelming smell of cat shit in the house, there may have been the the best fireworks ever set alight when no one was looking, the host may have been the most pissed I have ever seen him and ended the evening naked sprawled over all our coats. Laugh? I cried! It was the best I have had in a long time. Even Hot Date accompanied me despite being in the dog house declaring it to be a fun night. Jan 1st was good, not least for the post party tweeting and long walk, despite Dog House Joe ( hot date's alternate name ) trying to fathom his reason for top entry into the BAD BOOKS,
2012 may turn out to be fantastic year and I know that it could be worse than "the awful terrible" of 2008 but whatever it is I will be wearing killer heels, a nice bra and laughing.