Menopaws and the Scottish Play

Dahlings, hello! Thank you all for your nice comments after my whinge about follower decline....I think that's done the trick - no one has dared unfollow since! Welcome to Hotel California Blighty - you can check out but never ever leave (is it just me or is that song really creepy? )


It's all going really well so far today - I have completely traumatised Boy 2 (aged 10).  Last night I watched him and his classmates prance about in black T shirts and trousers doing highlights of Macbeth.   As usual I was stuck in the corner, behind the father who used to play rugby and the father videoing it all. I couldn't actually see Boy 2.  Jeez, what if I got the night wrong and went to the other class's performance??  I am pretty sure it was Daphnes4Boyz though, what with the state of the art mini-theatre complex, complete with hospitality suites, private boxes (for parents with over 4 boys at the school), crush bar, sur-titling facilities and the sponsorship of Kleinwort Bunsen ("Sponsoring education since 2001: our financial products are like your children - expensive and impossible to understand!").

This morning I got all YouTube-y and showed Boy 2 the Polanski Macbeth beheading scene.  I remembered it as very jolly, especially as Macbeth kept saying his lines as his head bounced down the steps.  Boy 2 however burst into tears and I had to go and confess to his teacher what I had done. Note to self: if any doubt remains about my suitability as mother/primary teacher/any situation where tact and sensitivity is involved, it has now finally been removed. At this rate I could be an MP or a tabloid journalist..

Shakespeare aside, here spring has sprung and naturally my thoughts have turned to getting a cat.  What?????!!!

pic from Cats of Australia!!

Yes, suddenly last week I was consumed with the idea of a cat and before I knew it I was in talks with a breeder, as I have fallen for British shorthairs. It turns out that the breeder  has a lovely, grown up cat she is looking to re-house, as she is giving up breeding.  He is a retired stud, which you can imagine has created great scope for jokes. She was explaining how proud he had been of his "pompoms" and it took me a minute to realise what she was talking about - the old chap has now been neutered.  Poor Mr B is in shock (and not just about the de-pompom-ing) and I am dragging him off to see The Old Stud Sans Pompoms this weekend.  I think it all may be my hormones - The Menopaws  -  to be honest, anyway we shall see! In the meantime I have been looking at Lovely Jublies blog, which is great fun of itself and now has the added attraction of her two beautiful cats.

In other news I read this which was beautifully written but very bittersweet, in fact sad.  Great review of it here

Pic from Booksnob blog

I am now reading this.

pic from Amazon

 I am rather sated with all my murder/detective novels and have been casting around for some more light hearted, soothing reading, with some decent prose and some light decapitation.  The Elizabeth Taylor book made me realise how most of what I read is very plot driven but often with quite ropey writing and very little in the way of serious beheading.

What do you chaps turn to, to cheer you up?  I mean BOOKS!! I do not want to hear your sordid tales of vodka, Mars Bars and Dennis Quaid in the Big Easy ! (oops, actually that's me).

Watch out for the gator baby!

I had a lovely look at the Persephone website. They specialise in 20th century writers who have fallen out of print. So the hope of some charming writing and plus, the covers and endpapers are lovely.  Tempting.  I just happen to notice they have a shop in Covent Garden, London....

Pics from Persephone website

Better go, Grandma Whacker is coming to stay.  Another reason to regret the Macbeth beheading upset.  Better go wipe my YouTube history and get Mr Quaid off pause..or should that be "paws?"

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.

Free the Car Park Two and the Price of Celebrity Accessories

Dahlings, how are we all? Eye lash extensions? Really? Me? Nope, but I do have a new vacuum cleaner...yes, I know I have already mentioned it but I have to get maximum mileage of it, what can I say, things are quiet round here.. No, the vacuum cleaner does not have eyelash extensions either.

But the vacuum cleaner is causing me worry. It works fine but it's the name: Sebo.  It's like one of those sleb (celebrity) names like J-Lo, or Lilo or that singing woman Suebo or ScarJo (Scarlett Johansson, apparently).  I am just waiting for Sebo to be arrested after a fight in a nightclub, or some misunderstanding about some jewellery, or for some tapes to turn up on the internet with Sebo engaging in some hardcore, I mean, hard floor, action.  Plus I am in real trouble if it develops a little sleb style substance abuse problem - with the suction on that thing, it's capable of snorting up the entire narcotics output of Colombia in a couple of days...on the plus side it will probably be literally flying so I can ride it to Tescos..

Meanwhile Grandma Whacker and I have become victims of an outrageous Miscarriage of Justice:  we got a parking ticket at the Happy Valleys Shopping Centre car park.  La Whacker has a special parking card (something to do with shrapnel injuries sustained during WW2, the invasion of Poland, I think.  No, I am joking.  It was on the Russian Front).

Anyway, card has faded due to sun and we got slapped with one of those nasty black and yellow stripey numbers.

But don't worry, we are taking our case right to the very top: we have chained ourselves to the 7th floor of the car park and are not leaving under any circumstances* until the ticket has been rescinded.

In other news I have read this.  It is a thriller, set in Newcastle where Lovely B lives and it even mentions Eldon Square, B's shopping centre de choix.



I watched this, it's ridiculous, over the top and I loved it: gun-toting vigilante middle class housewives...just like me and my other mummy friends..

Took my Midlife Crisis Converse to the supermarket today, where they behaved very badly: they refused to go to the minced beef aisle to get the necessary for a lovely cottage pie.  Instead they shot off to the alcohol section and leered at the vodka, before staggering to Frozen Foods in the hope of picking up vulnerable men buying Ready Meals for one...next time I am wearing my Clarks comfort shoes..

Must go, Grandma W wants me to undo her padlock.


*except for comfort breaks and refreshments - they do a rather nice egg and cress sandwich and pot of tea at Marks & Spencers.