Blighty fights back against Dr Spamkenstein

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The Meaning of Life and Other Big Questions

Dahlings, how are you all?  I do hope you don't think I have just been sitting around reading detective novels and eating salt and vinegar crisps, pausing now and again to shout at Boys 1 and 2 to do their homework...

No, I have been pondering Life's Big Questions:

Why is there a man in our street who wears shorts all the time, all through the winter, even in this Arctic, Beast from the East, weather?

Does washing one's hair in water-softened water cause terrible damage to one's highlights?

And finally,  why can't I remember the other Big Question?

This is a sort of visual of Mysterious Shorts Wearing Man.  This is of course not him, it's just some pics from the internetz  but I wanted to give you something to work with.


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His shorts are smart casual and he pairs them with a smart jacket but they are not warm enough for this weather, and he also has leather deck shoes without socks.

I see him every morning walking along our street, in the direction of town. Is he off to London by train?  And why the shorts?   I am dying to stop and ask him but Boys 1 and 2 have very wisely forbidden it, their theory is that he wears shorts as he is a Serial Killer and does not want to get blood on the bottom of long trousers.

My theory is he has HOT PARTS and needs to get the air to them, otherwise they will spontaneously combust.  Or maybe he has read those newspaper articles about modern man's sperm count falling due to too tight underpants and central heating and so is on a mission single-handedly (?) to  re-populate the world. If anyone local reads this and a) knows the answer, please put me out of my misery; and/or b) is married to, or a friend of, or otherwise related or connected to, this chap, may I just say what a splendid idea the shorts wearing is and I really did not mean it about the serial killing, the hot parts, the spontaneous combustion or the sperm production/repopulation....


As regards the hair issue, every now and then I go to the hairdressers and get a mini-science lecture on how water softeners make the water bad for hair with highlights (at this point the colourist usually gloomily says she can smell the water softener chemicals on my hair and describes the terrible fizzing noise of the chemicals stopping the highlights taking properly).  The colourist then proceeds to advise me to stick my head under the kitchen cold tap (the only tap where unsoftened water available) and buy some special ££££ shampoo to de-tox my hair. It is quite frankly exhausting, I want to read Hello! mag and chat about my hols, I do not want to grapple with cutting edge scientific conundrums like black holes and highlight maintenance.  Does anyone out there have a view on this?  ( Please back up your view with a doctoral thesis or at least the Ladybird book of chemistry).



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As for the third Big Question, it was really good, but for the life of me....

Memo to Angelic Arthur

Lovely B (cousin of Mr B) is to become a Grandma: her daughter is expecting her first baby. Mr B and I are very relieved, we thought we had put R and her hubs off children.  After all, they have had the opportunity to observe Boys 1 and 2 at close quarters, and it ain't pretty.

It turns out R and hubs have ordered a Perfect Baby, so it won't go in for any  Boy 1 and 2 shenanigans.

Boys 1 and 2 are not impressed by Angelic Arthur (as they call him).   They have decided he needs some pointers for when he hits town, so he does not bring disgrace to the League of Boys.  They have only just forgiven Faux Fuchsia's boy for being such an adorable baby: luckily he has redeemed himself in their eyes with all the cushion action.*

Top Tips for Angelic Arthur

Food should be worn, ditto food containers.

Clear those bookshelves; if you can't reach, stand on the pushalong Thomas your parents will regret buying you (less a toy, more a tactical assault vehicle).  Also clear out inside of drawers until your parents tie up the drawers (that's fine, you can then focus more on the bookshelves).  Also attempt to pull the TV on top of yourself, so your parents end up putting a small portable above toddler level.

 

 

 

Wear a really bad toupe so you look like a 1950s TV host.

 

 

 

 

 

Put EVERYTHING in your mouth, the more unhygienic the better.  Remember, nothing exists until you have clamped your jaws round it.  Ensure that Type A perfectionist mothers never ask you round for a playdate again.. those type of mothers just don't like another kid's drool on their kids' toys...

 

 

Wait till Mum not looking and then pull out about 300 nappy sacks.

 

As Mum wails, look at her sweetly, like this.  Remember, it's good to mess with her mind.

 

 

Fit yourself into unfeasibly small spaces: give Mum a lovely surprise by popping out of the laundry basket like a demented jack-in-the-box...

 

 

Or try ramming something on your head.  But careful, when mothers panic they get creative with olive oil.

 

 

Towards the end of the day, after Mum has cleared up, take it up a notch and empty your toy boxes into the kitchen.  How Mum will laugh...

 

 

 

 

 

 

*But Le Child FF needs to spice things up a bit, how about Nutella on the cushions?  Or a least show Mummy how you can get the top off your sippy cup..go on, you can do it!

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.

Techno Blights and Other News

Hi there Dahlings! Now, try not to be too jealous of my exciting lifestyle, but this week I took delivery of a brand new vacuum cleaner. Yes, glamour, find it here.

To my horror it arrived unassembled and I had to read the manual and fit it together myself.  I always feel that reading any product manual is a sign of defeatism, but needs must.

It was a tense moment but I managed. I expect to get a Nobel Prize for Science soon. Or at least a request to help out with the Hadron Collider.

And look - a warning about rip off bags.  I thought one only had to be careful when buying Louis Vuitton or Chanel but apparently vacuum cleaner bags are equally tricky.

In other news, now the snow has gone I am back to embracing my midlife crisis, fashion wise.  (Is the new vacuum cleaner another manifestation of this, most people buy  Meno-Porsche but maybe the new cleaner is the nearest I can get? I did enjoy taking it for a drive yesterday, it certainly has good revs).

Look, dodgy camo trousers.  Boy 1 was HORRIFIED. "Are those Army trousers you are wearing?" he asked, in shock.  Note also the studding detail on the pocket.

 

 

And look, dodgy pixie boots.  With studding.

 

 

 

And yes, Converse All Star hi-tops.  With leopard trim.  And studding.

 

 

 

It seems that studs are Key to a midlife crisis.  Also, I seem not merely to have embraced my Midlife Crisis but to have taken it out to dinner and bought it champagne.


Meanwhile I have read this.  It's very good, a murder mystery set in West Virginia, in the Appalachians.  Unfortunately I guessed who the baddie was early on.  Because I am a Smartass.  Who has read too many murder mysteries.

Finally Mr B and I are having Quality Couple Time watching this of an evening: Scandi Noir drama, The Bridge.



 



 It's brilliant!  And I really can't work out who the baddie is .  I love Saga, the blonde woman detective.  The Guardian have a very good blog about it, all the comments and speculation are very entertaining.

 

Right I'm off to watch Boy 2 play football for the school.  Wonder who will have more studs on - the entire football team on their boots, or me, in my Midlife Crisis Fashion Outfit?

Blighty gets the Boot

Dahlings how are we all?  It's a bit soggy round these parts, and also the snow is melting...

Today is, as usual, not going to plan.

Boys 1 and 2, who in some ways resemble Thompson and Thomson from Tintin, have had another "incident":

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When Boy 1 went to put his snow boots on this morning,  he discovered that Boy 2 had gone off to school wearing Boy 1's bigger boots (stay with me, it's complicated but so worth it).  Judging by the yells and oaths and muttered threats, I think perhaps Boy 2 should not come home this evening, I had better arrange for a "safe house" for him somewhere..

I have my own boot related woes.  My beloved Ugg boots which I have been wearing non-stop in the house as slippers since buying them under the expert supervision of Lovely B at Bicester Village last Sept, have sprung a hole.  How's that for a First World Problem?  Is there some sort of support group I could contact?

The good news is that I seem to have got my reading mojo back (ha! I just mistyped that as mofo, which is quite different).  There was an interesting article by David Nicholls (who wrote "One Day") in the Telegraph recently about finding time to read; coincidentally Boy 1's English teacher made them read it for homework. You can find it here It definitely rang a chord with me, particularly about repeatedly checking into the same websites...


Currently I am reading this.

Must admit, was a bit daunted what with it being so long and a Booker Prize winner and all, but it's very readable, wonderfully written and the author has made old Thomas Cromwell into a likeable character, which makes a change from all those films and plays where he is evil and calculating and, even worse, a lawyer

I have been putting books I have read on my Pinterest if anyone is interested.


Better go now, have to hire an armoured car to collect Boy 2 in from school tonight..