Tuesday, 30 November 2010

Oh, dear. My life has reached depths I hadn't thought possible.
Was cleaning out my Horlicks Jar. Oh, COME ON, we ALL clean out our Horlicks Jar.
Don't we?
Discovered that jar was jam packed with extremely Hard Horlicks. Rock springs to mind. Had a little think about EITHER doing the sensible thing like chucking jar away and buying a new jar, OR breaking up said Rocks of Horlicks into small manageable pieces and putting said pieces into the Magimix, making them into powder,and carefully transporting said powder back into newly cleaned jar.
I did the clearly Thick Arse thing. With the Magimix.
Armed myself with a 16 lb hammer, a chisel and a screw driver.
Why not??
And brought them into the kitchen where I placed them carefully on the kitchen table.
Instruments were then used to kick the arse out of the Rock'ard Horlicks, chipping bits of Horlicks off the main block of Horlicks, causing shrapnel to ricochet around the room, war zone style.

<---- Rock of Horlicks

After several minutes of this, there were enough smaller chunks that I could take OUT of the jar and place INTO the Magimix.
Still with me?
Now. I'm not sure if you have ever put chunks of Horlicks into a Magimix before... No? Really? How odd...
But it's rather Noisy.
I actually couldn't hear myself speak.
Because I had a go at speaking just to see if I COULD hear myself.
And decidedly couldn't. Tried shouting REALLY loudly to see if I could hear that.
The poor Magimix leapt about like a mad thing, whizzing away at the Horlicks, and I had to stay nearby in case the thing fell off the counter.
At this point there was a knock on the door.
You will understand that I didn't HEAR the knock at the door owing to Said Noise.
So all the person at the door could hear was the sound of a Magimix killing something, and me shouting to see if I could hear myself.
At this point, a third person arrived at the door, in hot pursuit of the former person. They had a little natter at my door, not really liking to interrupt such proceedings when all at once.... QUIET.
Which is when I heard the door bell for the first time.
Trotted off to answer it, and there were two friends, looking somewhat Expectantly Puzzled, if ever there was such a combination.
Come in, come in! I cried. I'm....
And I stopped.
Because Breaking up Horlicks with hammers and chisels might not appeal to everyone.
Indeed, they might just think that I have lost my marbles and have arrived in Happy Farm for Nutters.
Bollocks to it, I thought. And showed them my work.
OK, so it DID look a little messy.
Showers of Horlicks littered every surface. I'd used rather a lot of containers as I kept having to keep the Powdered Horlicks from the Rock Horlicks. It was, quite frankly, a Fiasco.
Needless to say my friends fell about laughing and almost had to hold each other up in mirth.
I kept my end up by laughing heartily too.
Although somewhat Tightly. We don't, after all, like our Efforts to Economise mocked, do we now?
However, I did have a jar of Horlicks that was definitely powder, and I was looking forward to a nice cup of the bloody stuff later, by the fire.
(I thought it might be a good service in the community... to offer to smash up Horlicks for people and charge a small fee.)
There is, however, an 'However....' to the story.
When looking at my jar of Horlicks with some smugness later on that day, on opening the jar to have a good look at the powder (did I tell you I was getting a life for Christmas??) I was somewhat disgruntled to see that the Horlicks had ALREADY STARTED TO HARDEN.
It seems that Horlicks have a brilliant Unique Selling Point.
The bloody stuff only stays powder like till you open the jar.
It then becomes so rock-like that you buy a new one.
But oh! Not me!
I have my mate the 16lb hammer.
And I will continue to rip the shit out of the Horlicks as and when necessary.
I tell you, there's no flies on me.
Just an awful lot of Horlicks dust.
So attractive.

Wednesday, 17 November 2010

So this is Christmas


Yup, the Christmas Countdown has begun. Or actually, for some, it's just finished.
(Grumpy Old Woman knows just what I mean in her post Christmas Bullies.... check it out!) Because for those of us who are just beginning to buy the odd present, seeing as it's only 38 days till Christmas, there are other TOTAL BUGGERS who have done the lot.
The bloody Lot.
I only say this because while waiting for children yesterday in the FREEZING cold, tapping our feet, and jumping up and down as the icy wind blew directly from the North Pole, I got into a sort of jumping up and down conversation with a couple of mothers, one of whom HAD DONE ALL HER CHRISTMAS SHOPPING....AND.... wait for this, it's Ugly, really Ugly,
She had Booked A Christmas Delivery Slot for Waitrose.
I mean, really.
It was only the bloody 16th November!!
So what did I do?
Laugh maniacally in her face?
Tell her I had done all mine in January?
I went back home, and booked a slot for Waitrose.
Only, wait for this... THERE ARE NO SODDING SLOTS LEFT.
Because Blinking Mothers like that have already nicked them.
And because I am not a 'Delivery Pass member' on Ocado, I don't get a slot unless I wait until the beginning of December and sit at my computer until Midnight. Probably.
Oh Very Dear.
And this happens every year, doesn't it. This madness, this crazy GOT TO GET IT ON TIME mentality.
It's only a DAY.
When we eat a lot, and give each other a few pressies. And drink too much cooking sherry, champagne, wine and port. (oh is that just me??)
But Christmas, while clearly quite a lot of work, is NOT Nuclear War, or Flooding or Earthquakes, or a Global Disaster.
It's Christmas.
And incidently, a Birthday at that.
Rather an important Birthday too.
And all our focus is on getting it all done on time, and being Organised and beating other mothers to all the Christmas Delivery Slots.
To hell with all that.
Providing that I remember the bog rolls and Who The Buggery has remembered to pick up the Turkey, it should be rather good fun.
Everyone can get their own sodding presents. I am NOT going to go around the shops, picking up 36 presents, and then telling everyone who is giving what to who.
Yup. Done that. Mad, eh?
Am going to Waft about getting the odd Gift, and take them home and wrap them in rich glossy paper and leave them under the tree. And then joyfully send cards to dear friends.
Sod it. Need to buy tree.
And rich glossy paper.
And cards.
Bloody Christmas.
Bloody Friends.
Bloody Nightmare.

Tuesday, 9 November 2010

I'm Just A Girl Who Can't Say No

Oh, dear.
Keep saying NO to poor Husband.
Things like...
1) 'No, I don't want to drive Daughter to Bloody Rabbit Rescue Centre on a ninety miles trip there and back, in order to fetch the new rabbits we have purchased at Vast Expense from Said Rescue Centre, following on from a Rabbit Expert coming to Inspect our garden to check it is suitable for rabbits when we already have about 158 wild rabbits who think it is perfectly suitable, thank you very much, instead of going to the local Pet Store and buying Said Rabbits for Normal Rabbit Prices like Normal People sodding well do.
2) 'No, I don't want to explain why I am NOT going to shave my legs. I simply cannot be Arsed to get the razor out and de-hair such Man-Hair legs when all I want to do is get into bed and Read My Book.' (We all know that Read My Book means, 'Get-your-hands-off-my-breast/buttock/rude bits-I-am-not-in-the-mood.')
3) 'No, I don't want to answer the phone, just as I put the first mouthful of Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding into my mouth, all mixed up with a little bit of the BEST GRAVY EVER, just because some BUGGER decides to RING AT SUNDAY LUNCHTIME and no, I am NOT NEAREST to the phone. YOU ARE.'
4) 'No, I DON'T WANT to have a glass of wine because I CAN'T DRINK EVEN ONE GLASS without a headache. Do you remember when I said that before? Um... oh yes, YESTERDAY.'
5) 'No, I don't want to Have Sex.
Oh, God. Did I say that out loud?
I seem to have found my Married Voice.
The one that says 'No' a lot.
You know, the one that you use in your head for about a week after being married, and then start saying Out Loud to your new Husband.
Like, instead of, 'Golly! Someone didn't flush!' now you say,
'Oh, for God's sake, who has left a poo the size of a nuclear bomb down the bloody loo?'
Or, in the old days, when you said 'Mmmph,' this is nowadays tranlated as 'Christ, who farted?'
My married voice took a while coming.
It's just that I am one of those irritatingly annoying wives that Don't Say Anything when they are Really Pissed Off.
Only I have started to say things now.
Oh, yes!
It's taken nearly fourteen years.
Poor Husband. He really seems quite taken aback. His Can Be Moody, miserable old cow of a wife is now Mrs Shouty.
I must say, it's simply marvellous being up my end.
All Yelling and Cross and Communicative.
But it must be hell at the other.
And so I think I'll tone it down a little.
Say Yes, here and there.
Not be quite so cross when his mother asks herself to stay just when my darling friend will be there at the same time, involving Deeply Complicated things with moving beds, having children in different rooms, and turfing True Friend out onto sofa in sitting room. Which Husband had Not Communicated would be Happening.
And to be Bright and Twinkling when he comes home. Not scowling and hurrumping like Eeyore.
New resolutions. So easy to make, and so damned difficult to maintain.
However, have made good start.
Husband rang not many days ago to say would I like him to bring home some Stiff Drink for Bonfire Night, which was happening later that day.
Yes! I said. Immediately. You see? So Compliant.
Oh. Didn't tell you. Am raging Drinker as well.
Golly. Miserable old Cow AND Alchoholic.
Hope we see through to next Wedding Anniversary.