Disjointed (no, not my Football Knees!)
2010-12-01, 10:16 p.m.
No football talk this time around, my dears. Not even a mention of the fact that only five brave little pixies made it onto the Astroturf on Monday and Miss pulled a hamstring but played on anyway so as to not look like a pansified old lady (which I am). I gave Keep Fit a miss in the evening � even Im not stupid enough to attempt lunges and squats with a hamstring injury.Prior to all that activity (like, the day before, but lets not split hairs), was the small matter of the Open Mic Night at the club. Bearing in mind L�s fucking piss-poor performance in the husband stakes in the previous 48 hours (more on that later) I was already somewhat fired up and homicidal. As I was expected to sing, possibly in an accomplished and relatively pleasant manner, I thought the best to get absolutely langered in the smallest amount of time possible, in an attempt to assuage my homicidal mood. Don�t know about you but singing �Summer Wine� is best NOT done through gritted teeth, with furrowed brow and generally tense enough to actually snap into pieces if tapped lightly with a toffee hammer.
Once I was suitably oiled, and had scored innumerable points off my gittish husband by virtue of having access to a microphone (for broadcasting of insults) and generally being buoyed up by every single one of L�s male friends sidling up to me at some point and saying �He told me he�d been a git to you and you�re really pissed off with him. Are you OK?�, I was able to actually have quite a good time as you can see:
and a little bit after this picture was taken I did actually sidle onto the stage and play a completely unrehearsed (and never done before!) blues in C on my harmonica, to really rather more applause than I personally think it merited but, hey, who am I to judge?
Because Im all about the unconnected subjects today (something to do with my disparate timetable at school mebbe?), lets move on to Gingerbread men�or, as I got the idea from some similar things I had seen at my friend Simone�s house, in Germany, they had better be Lebkuchen M�nner. I made a fuckton of em for the craft fair I went to with my sis a week or so ago in the hope of making a load of Christmas spending loot. Anyways, I handsewed the little bastards and priced them at only �2 a pop, but they still didn�t sell. The craftfair was rubbish, a few old ladies looking for bargains and that was about it. I sold a few handmade handbags and some canvas shopper bags but nothing to set the world on fire�.clearly I should have been selling matches. One of the girls at work showed me some similar, but lesser, tiny machine-made gingerbread men she�d bought in �I Saw You Coming� (or something like that)in Bath, which she�d paid �5.90 EACH for. I could have cried. Not as much as Sissy, obviously, as she has made forty boxes of jolly fancy biscuits and sold only TWO boxes. The world is clearly not ready for Lavender Tuiles and Lemon Almond Biscotti. Well, the world might be ready, but Middleton-on-Sea clearly isn�t.
Anyway, they aren�t edible Gingerbread Men, as you can see, but I thought they were deffo good enough to squeeze two quid a piece for them. And they would DEFFO look kinda cute on a �homespun�stylee Christmas tree. Meh to the buying public.
I forgot last time to post a nice pic of Joojie on her birthday. Here�s one: Because if you�re fifteen, you really do need a sponge cake to remind you.
Anyways. Enough about other people, bit more about fabulous me and how fabulous I am. Oh, and why my husband sometimes needs stabbing with the breadknife. Friday night I had to go to Chigley College to graduate from that Business qualification I did last year. Ive never had that kind of graduation before so I thought Id go all out and hire the gown and the funny little hat and everything � possibly some Mickey Mouse ears to go with the qualification, obviously. I pitched up at college and started getting all dressed up � there was a special lady there to help you get everything on and a whole load of other students lurking about. I got my stuff on and looked in the mirror and felt all growed up and important and clever and everything.
In one corner was a whole group of students all graduating from the same course and all getting dressed up together. One of them had forgotten to order her �colours� (the scarfy sort of thing that goes over the top of the gown. Maybe its called a hood. Whatevs) and was whining to the helpful lady and trying to make her magic one up out of nowhere. She was pretty agitated and I did start to feel sorry for her, cos all her friends had their colours and she didn�t. But then she said something that just did it for me.
She said, nice and loud, �Oh God, Ive GOT to have colours. This is MY qualification. I cant graduate without colours, I�ll look stupid�..even the bloody NVQ4 people get colours these days.�
Im not sure whether it was what she said or just her tone but she sure did manage to make me feel really REALLY stupid. An NVQ4 isnt exactly as Masters in Astral Physics but surely it proves that I actually DID know what I was talking about, all those years I worked at Twat Inc? I sat through the graduation ceremony feeling as stupid as mud and watched that same woman walk up on stage, in hastily found colours, and receive not only her qualification (a diploma of some sort) but also Student of the Year. She had her whole family there and they were all whooping and cheering. I had L��and he hadn�t even changed into a clean pair of jeans or had a shave.
So, yeh. This is the look of someone who knows her qualification is worthless and is now starting to feel a little foolish for having had a slight sense of accomplishment. Thanks a lot, Student of the Year. You fucking bitch.
Now Im supposed to write all the stuff that L did afterwards which cemented his position in the world as Insensitive Knobhead of the Year��but I cant be bothered. Just believe me, m�kay.