Since I Last Posted In 2008

Apart from the alcoholic thing that I just wrote about that is.

Last November, I got Bell's Palsy. I am okay now. That's it.

I Feel Ashamed...

I got into a heated debate Online about alcoholics. It went on and on and eventually a friend of mine wrote about her alcoholic mother and someone else wrote that my friend's mother would die from the drink. I added that she might not die from the drink because I knew an old alcoholic of 85.

I forgot that my friend's mother had died 18 months ago.

Jeez!

Another Thing Overheard...

After a glorious week in Devon, Hector and I moved on to Penzance where we rented an imposing (but decrepid) Regency House which covered four floors and overlooked the wonderful Morab Gardens. It was the middle house of three and all three houses shared a large gravel drive and garden.

One morning (Thursday), whilst Hector was taking a leisurely shower, I lounged on one of the sofas by a huge picture window on the first floor. I was engrossed in a book, and was thus only vaguely aware of a telephone conversation that was taking place down below on the drive.

My ears pricked up sharpish however when I heard a male voice saying...

"I can stay with you Friday and Saturday night, but there won't be any sex, obviously."

There was a long pause (I imagined the sexually deprived one answering in shrill terms), then the male voice spoke again,

"No, I just did not want to raise your hopes that's all."

I dropped the book (Behind The Scenes At The Museum by Kate Atkinson) and rushed to the window to catch a glimpse of this startling Adonis who could scorn a woman (or a man?) in such a way.

He had gone.

Damn!

Things Overheard...

Don't you just listening in to people's conversations? When I hear a delicious snippet of something, it always paints a vibrant picture of possibilities - which is limited only by one's imagination.

One lunch time, Hector and I sat in a quiet pub in deepest Devon (near Dartmouth). There were two old men at the bar. Two salty old sea dogs who did not sit together, but were separated by a bar stool. Both had straggly, grey beards and wore comfy, baggy jumpers that had seen better days. It was clear they were local men who had slipped out for a pint. They sat silently sipping their beer. In fact they did not speak at all for a long while. (For this blog, we shall call them 'Man A' and 'Man B').

Eventually, the silence was broken...

Man A - "I saw The Pig Man today."

Man B - "Ah"

Man A - "I didn't mention it."

Man B - "Ah"

Man A - "He didn't mention it either."

Man B - "No, the Pig Man wouldn't. You will have to mention it, if you want The Pig Man to do something about it"

Man A - "I'll mention it next it week then."

Man B - "Ah"

Both men went back to their silent supping.

Why Do You Men Get So Angry...

Why is it that a man will insist on tackling a difficult DIY job...then fume about it for as long as it takes to do?

Hector constantly does this.

It is guaranteed that whenever he undertakes a job around the house, he will no longer remain my lovely, laid back, charming and gentle husband. Instead, he turns into a savage, snarling, swearing beast.

So, why on earth does he do it in the first place then?

It's okay now though. After several days of fury, a pal has come round to give him a hand. I can hear them cheerfully chatting away as they work in the building site which was once known as our kitchen. There is no swearing or tantrums going on now.

S'funny really, cos they say that it is us women who are the complicated ones!

Tip Trip!

Does anyone else enjoy going to the local tip with a car full of junk? I do. I love it! Does that make me strange? Okay, maybe it does, but I don't care.

I like seeing all the people with their own junk to get rid of. Some of it looks far too good to throw away. I like the bustle of the tip. I like dragging the stuff out of the back of my car and hurling it into one of the available skips...especially if it is glass. Most of all, I like the people who work at the tip. They consist of men and women of all ages, who are eager to help you with your load. They wear flourescent yellow waistcoats with 'HAPPY TO HELP' emblazoned across the back.

Last week I told Little Hector that he could come with me to the tip. I had a feeling he would enjoy it.

He wore special gloves and helped me to load up the car. When we got there, I showed him the various skips and he was careful to put wood into the one marked 'Wood' and metal into the one marked 'Metal'. He enjoyed it so much that with his face shining with joy, he informed me that he would work at the tip when he grew up.

I smiled. I understood exactly where he was coming from.

Later on that day, Little Hector's mummy came to collect him. He excitedly told her about the tip and also that he would work there when he was all grown up.

She stared at him for a long moment, then said sternly,

'Work at the tip! You can get that out of your head, RIGHT NOW!'

Ah well.

Kitchen Nightmares!

We are busy installing a new kitchen. I know. It is really as bad as you can imagine. We're back to plaster and most of the old units have been taken to the tip (by me).

Before and (hopefully) after pics to follow soon.

BS