Happy Birthday Poo Too!

2006-12-19, 9:18 p.m.
Im tired and a bit fed up and had more or less decided not to add an entry today but then I spent an hour on the blower to my dear and splendidly bitchy friend smashthegas and good-humour was restored enough for me to be able to cobble a few lines together for your delectation.

Stuff has happened in the Palace of Many Sins and it deserve to be chronicled but, dear readers, sometimes I just cant be arsed. I'll see how I get on but if it all suddenly goes ....and then I went to bed The END, you'll know I just.....couldnt...be....arsed.

Saturday Night was the zenith and nadir of British Business Life: The Works Do. Needless to say my extreme bossiness excellent organisational skills had been called on once again (Short straw? What short straw?) to corrall 50 people and their polyester evening wear into a local hotel function room to be fed Makro catering turkey and creme brulee of such supreme dreadfulness as to require the Quiet IT Guy to bet the Nice IT Guy a fiver that he couldnt drink a cupful (yes. Drink. A cupful. Of creme brulee. I told you it was dreadful). In a break from tradition, BigBadBossMan and the Overseas Director pitched up, with spouses and appeared to behaving a jolly nice time with us poor folk. BBBM has been somewhat administratively bereft of late, as Slave and I have relocated our office to another part of the building and havent been able to flash our boobs (Slave) or thighs (Me) at him much at all, nor even to make him a cup of coffee. We knew he'd had a few to drink when he joined us on the dancefloor during the PussyCat Dolls (we were getting down in a kind of porno-panto-girlongirlaction way!), gesticulating wildly and clutching us both, bellowing like a rhinocerous in its death throes "I MUST DANCE WITH MY GIRLS" and leading us in an impromptu can-can. Not as unpleasant as you might imagine as, being a strapping fellow and as rich as Croesus, he has an attractively large arm to wrap around ones waist and access to expensive and horny-smelling cologne. The can-can, as it turned out, was the perfect dance for the three of us as a) it cleared the dance floor of interlopers b) it provided a nice straight line-up for the paparazzish plethora of flash bulbs that went off once the word got around that BBBM was dancing with GIRLS and c) it afforded BBBM the arresting sight of Slave's jiggling breasts and my stocking tops.

His wife looked on indulgently. She sat next to me at dinner and was charm itself.

Other notable events included me getting much kudos from the assorted big cheeses for drinking neat scotch all night and not falling over and Toast shagging the new sales rep, but of course, thats just gossip and I wouldnt spread that around. (Translation: That was told to me by the hotel manager and I havent decided how to use it yet.)

Dont know if it was the BohRap air geetar marathon with Nice IT Guy and Slave or just coincidence but my knackered shoulder/neck/upper back was hurting like hell next day.

Sunday was Treacle's 7th Birthday Party-Type-Treat-Thing (her actual birthday's today). In the time honoured tradition of my weird nerd kids, she didnt want to go bowling, or go to the cinema or McDnalds or any of the kind of stuff kids are supposed to do. We went to Milestones Living History Museum in Basingstoke. If you live anywhere near Basingstoke and you have nerdy kids, you should go there. We took a proper Birthday Tea (with cake and candles and plastic champagne flutes - the full-fucking-monty!)and two of Treacle's wee friends. Treacle, HannahBananna and AdeleWhoHeldMyHandTheWholeDay all felt the need to go dressed as Victorians, bonnets and long skirts and all, in honour of the museums main theme. Jooj refused to dress up and wore 'sensible' clothes (rainbow tights, frilly mini skirt, Lindsey Lohan shades the size of two tortoiseshell dinner plates). Me and BF dressed as My Parents are Rock Stars. It was like The Osbornes meet Little House on The Prairie.

ooo, ooh, I forgot! Before we could go a-nerdying, there was the small matter of a poo-tsunami in the driveway! A blocked sewer somehere out in the road (and therefore not our problem if it happens again!), backed up right to our drive and then started overflowing poo and other very stinky and unpleasant stuff out of the manhole cover and ONTO OUR DRIVE!

Eeeeeuuw to the power of stinky!

The stench of poo added a certain authenticity to the Victorian-ness of the day. Chum appeared with a set of drain rods and set about clearing the blockage. Bf helped. Mostly, it appears, by gagging, waving his hands in front of his face and going "Omigosh, Im gonna puke". I watched from the top landing window while Chum issued instructions. Im not brilliant at lip reading. I know this cos it looked for all the world like Chum was saying "Fucking Hell, Its YOUR missus's tampons Im wading about in, now stop being such a poof and get hold of this shit covered stick and ram it into this big pit of poo" or something.

When King Chumnute had turned back the tide of poo and gone away, BF came inside to wash his hands (with LOTS of soap) and was having a little tantrum

"He just doesnt understand, I just cant DO that physical stuff he does. How would HE like it if I just shoved a guitar in his hands and said (sarcastic voice), 'Go on, play it. Stop buggering about, you only have to move your fingers around a bit', Harumph. He wouldnt be so fucking clever THEN, with his drain roads and his work boots and his attitude problem."

I kept out of it.

Next episode you can hear all about my visit to Cain the Chiropractor. *raises eyebrows as she considers writing the words 'and see how he was ABEL to fix my bad shoulder'*

later
s
x
PS My dumbass computer deleted all the passwords for all the locked diaries on my buddy list. Some I could remember, but if you're locked and reading this, and I'd previously been reading over at your place could you please email me at d'land and give me your password again. thanks everso. x



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