Plug me in. Im twinkly as fuck.
2010-12-14, 12:00 a.m.
Conversation between me and my skanky gyppo of a husbandMe: Go and have a shower. We need to leave here in 45 minutes
Him: No, I don�t feel like having a shower. I don�t think I�ll bother.
Me: Go and have a shower.
Him: No. Im not dirty.
Me: Im not sleeping with you, then.
Him: *leering* Yes you are.
Me: No. Im. Not.
Him: Why not?
Me: Imagine keeping a sandwich down your pants all day long, sitting on it, right near your bumhole, occasionally getting drops of pee on it etc etc.
Him: Euuurgh. Yes, Ive imagined it. Now what?
Me: Ok. Now, Do you still want to eat it? Hmm? Pop it in your mouth?
Him: *makes face* No chance.
Me: Precisely.
Him:���*pause*����Ah���..I�ll just go take a shower, shall I?
Me: Its your call, dude.
*sound of husband scampering to the bathroom*
Its 10.30, Saturday night. My husband, who has been promising, nay threatening me, with �a fucking good seeing to� all day today, has fallen asleep in a drunken coma on the sofa. I think I shall eat my own body weight in chocolate while he sobers up and then I shall wake him up and burn the lot off in a Herculean shagfest��.Or I may just go to bed and leave the hairy old git a-snoring on the sofa with a blankie on him. Who knows�..?
10.58. Mini Mars Bars have only 97 calories. I am not sure that this means one can eat forty of them at one session. Im looking at three so far but that may change�.
Sunday. I did wake L up last night but buy the time he�d walked upstairs he was asleep again so I shall have to think of another way to burn of the Chocolate Sulk I was in last night as Im pretty sure that tutting, muttering �Fucking Hell you noisy bastard, will you shut up with the snoring already?� and stamping off to sleep in the spare room does not count as aerobic exercise, which is probably what is needed (in large doses) to offset the eventual mountainous mini mars munching that went on while I waited for the smelly old hippy to be sober enough/awake enough to take advantage of me last night.
I was awake and bored by 9 this morning so I got dressed and went down to the club to paint the signboards outside. They were still damp with dew and frost but I had some rags in the boot of the car and I dried off the worst of it. If my lecturers from �Decorating School� (Yep. I really did study that once. I have a Foundation Craft Certificate in Painting and Decorating. Don�t ask how that came about. It�s a boring story.) had seen me, paintcan in one hand, almost-bristleless brush in the other, laying on a single coat of paint, thick enough to have been buttercream, instead of the requisite thin coat/dry/sand down/thin coat/dry I am sure I would have been stripped of my white overalls (see them HERE) and dunked in Polycell for such a transgression. Luckily, there were no lecturers of any sort about and my bacon (and my reputation as a decorator) remained intact.
Back home, I could still hear L snoring, so I put the coffee machine on and went to Asda � leaving a note that said �Back soon. Don�t drink all the coffee�. I needn�t have bothered with the note as he still wasn�t up by the time I got back.
All the time I was in Asda, I was being checked out by a strange (but not unattractive!) man. Now, I know I AM better looking than your average Asda shopper, even first thing in the morning and wearing an anorak but I really didn�t think I looked hot enough for someone to follow me around a supermarket, trying to catch my eye and then smiling at me in a �chatting up� sort of way. He was a long-haired, be-stubbled, rock-god sort of bloke (obviously the type I attract!) and quite dishy in a dishevelled way. Wish I�d got a look in his trolley now, as that�s a sure fire way of knowing if someone�s a nutter or not � bottle of wine, Gressingham duck breast, shower gel = pretty much OK. Four pack of Stella, pork pie, Nutella, baby oil = sex pest.
Not quite sure what my trolley said about me this morning � I don�t normally shop at Asda and was only picking up a couple of things I hadn�t got in Chigley on Saturday: sausages, 3 rolls of purple wrapping paper, a bag of scallops and an artificial Christmas tree which had been reduced to �1 (more on that later!). Draw your own conclusion.
Oooh! I�ll tell you what I DID see at Asda! As I was going in, I saw a bloke standing in the carpark. He was dressed in outdoor clothes, as though he�d just walked to get there, and was carrying a bag of shopping that he�d obviously just bought. I saw him stop, reach into his bag and take out a family sized trifle in a plastic dish and start eating it, with his fingers, whilst still standing in the carpark and still carrying the rest of the groceries. Bizarre. I cannot remember a hangover so severe (nor a case of the munchies so heinous) that it was necessary for me to eat trifle with my fingers in a supermarket carpark at 10.15 on a Sunday morning.
Now then, what we really need is some kind of retribution for the distinct lack of shagging caused by my husband�s love of Guinness last night.
Hmmm�..*thinks*��.
I know! How about a little Christmassy Vengeance?
L has been banging on for ages (like, since the day we moved to this house) that we should totally decorate the outside of our house at Christmastime. I have been resisting, for a number of reasons:
This year, I tried a different response to his whining. I told him if he measured up properly and could find something which fitted into our meagre budget then I would consider it. I figured he would never be able to organise himself to fit in with my wide reaching codicils � Id already flatly refused several of his more excessively twinkly requests.
Sadly, in a moment of clarity rarely seen, he did it. Naturally, I was in charge of �paying� and had power of veto over blowup snowmen, migraine-inducing flashing ropelights, amusing nylon santas �climbing� up flimsy looking ladders to our non-existent chimney etc etc etc.
As he�s mightily afraid of heights, AND of ladders, I did suggest that I be the one to do the clambering about on top of the porch but testosterone will out and I was pronounced not suitable for this task. Vaginas and working-at-height aren�t compatible, it seems.
So, the silly old fart, shaking with a combination of fear, vertigo and Sunday morning DTs, squeezed his considerable bulk out of the spare room window and out onto the porch roof. Not fantastically high, you�ll see, but high enough to freak one out if one is the sort who goes a bit wibbly standing on a chair to change a lighbulb.
Sorry if these shots are a bit blurry, but the combination of running down the drive and laughing in a spiteful way was making my hands shake a bit.
The little tree is the one I got from Asda for �1. Result!
Once it�d started to get dark it became apparent that he�d actually made quite a good job of it 
Afterwards, I did take him to the workies and let him buy himself a pint. Of course, I did also make him stand underneath the Christmas ceiling decoration so that he�d look a bit like a festive Sideshow Bob.
Monday While we were in the bath last night, the bathroom lights flickered, went off for a moment and then came back on. As the �lighting rig� for the two trees is somewhat Heath Robinson-esque in construction I immediately blamed L and was at the stage of being �really quite cross� by the time I got downstairs and found that the freezer, fridge and cooker were all powerless, as was the entire ground floor of the house. L rummaged about in the cupboard and found the trip switch and we were fully restored to power relatively quickly.
It wasn�t until I got to work this morning that I found that the whole of Chigley had had a powercut while we were shagging in the tub and it wasn�t anything to do with our chavvy stylish illuminations. I have taken back the bollocking I gave L and he has been magnanimous in accepting my apologies.
I apologise for upsetting anyone who habitually turns their house into a festive illuminated grotto for Winterval, but its just not really my thing, m�kay? I think the problem is, its SO easy to get it wrong. Like buying swimsuits, having a tattoo whilst drunk or choosing to marry a musician � they all SEEM like a good idea but can so easily mark you out as a tasteless, hapless, ninny. And I can assure you Im quite capable of being a tasteless, hapless ninny without having to queue up in Homebase and part with a wad of cash for the pleasure of it.
In other news, Ive got Jooj�s coldy flu thingy (not proper flu � Ive had the jab!) so Im feeling WELL grumpy. Sorry �bout that!
Later
S
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