Half Term, Take One.....

....so called because some of this lot have been off school this week...and next week I get The Noise. For a week. To myself. What joy.

Still, Half Term Take One seems to have passed without many hitches.

The Singer and I spent a pleasant day in town doing a bit of this:

and even some of this:

I use the term 'pleasant' loosely. It was bucketing down with rain. We went to see the Football Fanatic at work and had to ask in five separate departments before we found her. When we did find her, she only had four minutes till her lunch break, so she kindly agreed to dine with us, which meant it cost me more than three times what it would have done normally and..... the winter coat that I especially went for was not in stock.

In addition, The Singer, towards the end of the afternoon turned a peculiar shade of green and looked like she was about to pass out, so I hailed a taxi and headed for home at extortionate cost, glibly ignoring the return bus ticket which I had purchased earlier.

The Fixer and The Peacemaker must be up for an Esther Williams role, as they have spent every day doing this:

and today, The Fixer had her very first go at this:

(One lump, several bruises and a few cuts).

The Football Fanatic has asked me to point out that she has not had the luxury of a half term break. She has either been at lectures or at work.

I wish I could say that her week has passed without incident. I shall gloss over the injury to the Trainee Menswear Manager and the man she had to interview as part of her Journalism studies, who apparently was shaking with fear and described her as 'a right little Jeremy Paxman'. I have not read the feedback from the lecturer who sat in on the interview, but I am reliably informed that she was 'terrier-like in her pursuit of answers'.

So I will leave you with this little gem.

At some point during her working week, the Football Fanatic was asked to move a box in the stockroom marked 'LINEN'.

Assuming it contained sheets, pillowcases and the like, she hoisted it effortlessly into the air........

Unfortunately, 'LINEN' was the name of this:

...'a 42 piece dinner service which would make a beautiful and stylish addition to any home'.

By all accounts the noise was unlike anything you've ever heard and she is now banned from Homeware.

You have no idea how eagerly I am waiting for next week.

Thank Heaven For Little Girls (and Clubcard Points)

So there I was, in Tesco, eyeing up the 'Buy One Get One Free' shower gel. I only ever buy 'BOGOF' shower gel, for reasons which will become apparent.

Anyway, this week it was Nivea Vitality. I put four bottles in the trolley, which instigated this conversation between myself and the Father of This Lot:

Him: What are you doing?

Me: I'm buying shower gel.

Him: You bought shower gel last week.

Me: I know I did. Four bottles.

Him: Well, where is it?

Me: Where's what?

Him: The four bottles of shower gel you bought last week?

Me: It's gone.

Him: Whaddya mean, gone?

Me: Gone. Used. Four empty plastic bottles in the brown recycling bin.

Him: They've used FOUR bottles of shower gel in a week? FOUR BOTTLES........?????

...and he proceeded to march off down the main aisle, muttering something like.....'ruined, that's what they are, ruined....'

Wisely, in my opinion, I thought this was not perhaps the best time to mention the three bottles of shampoo, two bottles of conditioner, two tubes of toothpaste and the entire twelve pack of toilet roll that they'd also got through.

And that's just in the bathroom.........

Obviously, this is nor the Father of This Lot in the picture.

You can tell that because the man is smiling after bringing the shopping in.

The Father of This Lot is more likely to say something along the lines of.....

'You never see sign nor light of them while you're unloading the car. Then when all the stuff's in, they descend on it like locusts......'

or even:

'Can someone come and help with the shopping please?

NO!! EATING IT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT!!!'

or on a particularly bad day:

'Look at that - that bag didn't even make it down the hall........'

And whilst I have to agree that our grocery shopping bill probably encompasses in a month the debt of a small African nation, just think of the Clubcard points we'll get at Christmas.

You Said What?

If I was a regular reader of this blog, I am certain that there would be times when I would read a particular post and think 'She's making it up'.

And if I was that reader, this would be one of those times.

At the end of September the Football Fanatic attended The Freshers Fair at the University. Technically, she shouldn't have been there, since she is now a second year student, but was attracted by the promise of free giveaways...and possibly food.

Anyway, after she had joined the Cheerleading Team ('I just wanted the uniform') and the male football team ('Don't panic Mum, I'm not going to PLAY....I've just joined for the nights out...')

she related a conversation she'd had, which, once again, left me with my head in my hands wondering what sort of children I'm bringing up:

Boy behind desk: Excuse me, I wonder if you'd like to join the Christian society?

FF: No thanks, I'm Catholic.

Oh, if only that were the most embarrassing part of the conversation.

Boy behind desk: We're giving out free hot dogs....

FF: Where do I sign?

Boy behind desk: If I could just ask you a few questions first...

FF: I've got an 'A' Level in Theology - ask me what you like. Now, where's that hot dog...?

The Football Fanatic has expressed a sense of dismay at the way she is portrayed on this blog, and has asked if someone else's idiotic comments might be preserved for posterity once in a while.

I'll try kiddo, but it won't be easy.

The Role of Women in The Church

This week I have:

read at morning Mass three times

led the Rosary after Mass twice

helped out at and cleared up after the Coffee Morning

helped out at and cleared up after Fr. J's 'New Catholics' meeting

attended a Bible study with the Methodists up the road

attended the parish Prayer Group

and swept, mopped and polished the main church, two side chapels, one vestry and one sacristy.

At this rate I'll be hearing confessions on Saturday and saying the 10 o'clock Mass on Sunday.

Oh, and since it seems to have been quite a religious week, Renae thinks I should tell you about my guest post on her blog....

Grease Is The Word

Lastnight the Football Fanatic had a night out.

On a party bus.

I once saw a television programme about a party bus, and given that her usual idea of a good night out is the high stakes table at the most upmarket casino in town, I didn't think she'd like it.

But what do I know?

At some point during the evening we had a text conversation:

FF: It's full of really old people and they're playing the Grease Megamix.

Kill me now x x

Me: You're the one that I want, you are the one I want, ooh ooh ooh honey...

FF: Leave me alone x x

Me: Go Greased Lightning you're burning up the quarter mile....

FF: When we pass the canal I may jump in x x

Me: Oh, come on, you know you want to play

FF: There are worse things I could do than go with a boy or two...x x

Me: NOT IN MY BOOK LADY!

FF: Ha! Thought that would shut you up! x x

Yet even though the evening was considered a total loss, I was quite pleased to note that she appears to have mastered the art of the put-down.

After politely discouraging the advances of a REALLY REALLY old man (about 45) who asked:

'So I haven't got a chance then?'

The Football Fanatic replied;

'Mate, you've got more chance of City winning the Champions League'.

I swear I have no idea where she learns it.

Saturday Night's Alright...

I know you thought I'd gone AWOL again, but the truth is The Peacemaker and I have spent a good part of this week like this:

with an ear infection and an eye infection between us.

And contrary to popular belief, I did not get mine from peeping through keyholes.

Anyway, I rallied round yesterday and the place looks slightly more habitable, unlike most of last week when you could be forgiven for thinking we were trying out as contestants for 'How Clean Is Your House?'

In other news, whilst I often sit here thinking what on earth it was that attracted me to the Father of This Lot in the first place (apart from the fact that he could make me laugh, was an ex-head altar boy-still devout Catholic boy, loved children, would travel ninety miles from work to take me out, had more available cash than anybody I had ever met and was extremely good at....various things...) I feel the need to point out that today, he has dealt with a situation which made me remember.

I've just re-read the list. I have spent (and some would say continue to spend) all his available cash. Five children of his own have somewhat tarnished the rose-tinted view of family life he once had. On the very odd occasions he takes me out now he is more likely to travel ninety yards than ninety miles, and with the best will in the world, I could no longer call him a devout Catholic.

But he still makes me laugh.

And there's still things he's very good at.

(Oh, wouldn't you like to know)!

And finally, The Fixer has been to town today and has returned home with something from Hawkins Bazaar called a Drinking Helmet.

At first glance I thought it might be an early Christmas present for her father, but apparantly not.

She has loaded it with two cans of fizzy Vimto and is now sitting watching 'The X Factor', looking for all the world like an Australian construction worker.

Cards On The Table....Again

What do you think of when you hear the word 'relationship'?

This, possibly?

Maybe a little of this?

And if you're very lucky, perhaps a hint of this......

I thought so.

That's what I've always believed it meant as well.

I've checked every dictionary, online and otherwise, and nowhere was it defined as involving one party who, having previously escaped the confines of the marital home, now turns up sporadically and avoids anything that smacks remotely of responsibility. (Oh, alright...he pays all the bills and buys all the food. Sue me.)

And nowhere in the etymology of 'relationship' does it mention one party announcing at one o'clock on Saturday afternoon 'I'm going to the pub to watch the football' (which, I might add, kicked off at half past five)........

...AND ABSOLUTELY NOWHERE did it give even a vague description of the aforementioned party ringing up ten hours later and saying:

'I'm outside the door. It's p*****g down. I'm soaked...and I wanna come 'ome.'

(No, of course I didn't open the door. What do you think I am? A Desparate Housewife?)

In his defence, he was rather sheepish when he arrived on Sunday.

Did that make me think twice about laying my cards on the table?

No.

'Buck your ideas up, mate, or it'll be ME in the Mare and Foal on Friday night.......

........INTERVIEWING FOR YOUR REPLACEMENT!'

Well, obviously, I'm not going to. Not when every moral and religious fibre of my being screams otherwise.

But.....we don't need to tell him that, do we?

And, judging by the change in his behaviour today......I think I may have been just convincing enough.

Oh....one more thing. If I ever do decide to ignore every moral and religious fibre screaming at me, the Mare and Foal is the last place I'd look for a replacement.

Believe me, compared to most of its regulars, the Father of This Lot emerges as a cross between Saint Anthony and George Clooney.

And that's another sentence I thought I'd never type.

Saturday Night and Sunday Morning (and all points before or since)

Two days.

Solid.

Every item of clothing in the house. Even those which have languished in remote corners for months on end.

Times the iron was refilled with water: 41

Unwanted items sent to charity: 2 bin bags......of course I ironed them first....what sort of housewife do you think I am?

Space made in various rooms: Acres

Remaining wardrobe space: Nil

'Lost' PE kits found: 4

Help offered by the Father of This Lot: 'Oh, are you ironing? I may as well go and see if there's anyone in the Mare and Foal then......'

Amount of backbreaking pain: Off the scale

Level of personal satisfaction: Priceless