Blighty's Winter of Discontent and Shovelgate

Dahlings, how are we all? No, calm down, that one ready made lasagne you had back in 2010 probably wasn't 100% horse...and almost certainly wasn't Shergar, he can't still be doing the rounds, he wasn't that fat...now back away from the Linda McCartney cookbook right now..*

I am (sobs) suffering a Winter of Discontent.  By which I mean I am bl**dy grumpy:  It has snowed again, Mr B is work stresssed, Boy 2 has lost his school trousers, his fountain pen and his rugby socks, Boy 1 has lost his rugby top and a mobile phone and left his entire games kit in the back of the car, Boy 2 has developed something nasty on his nose (impetigo?), Boy 1 smells of sausages and refuses to have his hair cut even though he is starting to look feral, and I can't even begin to understand how to do Boy 2's Maths homework, also I am being stalked by a man from Subaru as Mr B once looked at their website...meanwhile Boy 1 tells me I don't work hard like Mr B, I just stay at home and look at my iPad.  Cutting.  And untrue.  I've been spending a lot of time putting cream on Boy 2's nose and avoiding phone calls and emails from Jim at Subaru, for example. It's hard work I can tell you.  No matter, I am not taking Boy 1's accusation seriously as it was prompted by me "encouraging" him to put some plates in the dishwasher.  After taking him through 21st century socio-economic factors and the shared earning power of men and women,  I ended up shouting that if he did not load the dishwasher when he was grown up HIS WIFE WOULD LEAVE HIM.

I think it was Richard III that went on about this Winter of Discontent in the old Shakespeare play?  That just makes me even more grumpy about my recent parking ticket incident:  the other day they dug up old Dicky in a car park in Leicester.  And did he get a parking ticket? Even though he'd been there since 1485 and the Battle of Bosworth, which MUST mean he exceeded his parking ticket time? No.  See, it's one rule for the Royals and another rule for plebs like me....

And today we had Shovelgate:   the drive was covered in snow this morning so I decided to clear it before driving on it.  Where are the snow shovels? (Boy 2 bless him was keen to "help" which involved standing in the way and building a snowman). No sign. Not in the garage.  Not at the side of the house.  I check and double check and do a lot of muttering.  There may have been some bad words involved.  I become convinced that our shovels have been stolen, dark conspiracy theories swirl around.  Eventually I ring up Mr B.   Who has craftily  made an early exit to work this morning on foot.  "Oh " says he, " I put them in the shed, they were getting in the way..."

I tramp through deep snow in the back garden to retrieve shovels from shed.

Dahlings, I cleared that drive in record time, such was the head of steam I had built up...snow and gravel were flung aside without mercy...

It is only now I realise the utter brilliance of Mr B's ruse....
hide shovels
enrage wife
drive cleared....



Feeling a bit better now.

 

 

 

 

And don't worry, Mr B won't escape unscathed: why do we have a broken printer popped on top of here??? Is it to become an interior design accent Mr B or are you expecting  a flood and feel it important to preserve defunct electricals?  Please explain....otherwise you will get the socio-economic dishwasher talk too...and you won't like the ending at all....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* I ate horse in France as a kid. They told me it was steak.  Sorry Dobbin.