Obviously there are some crappy bits between now and then, just to piss on my fireworks a little. Ive got TWO after school reward trips to go on; bowling with a load of kids I don�t even know. And a Year 6 transition day, which is generally too bloody jolly for my liking, Oh, and tomorrow Ive got a sodding Parents Evening, so I get to stay at school until 8pm�and then walk to the station and get the train home.
When you bear in mind I fell asleep, propped up on my own hand, at 6.30 this evening, whilst watching an episode of The Simpsons, Im sure you can see how much I truly want to stay at school until 8 o bloody clock tomorrow.
Meh.
One of the reasons Im so tired is that my car still isn�t *exactly* fixed yet (J is coming tomorrow lunchtime to start on the catalytic convertor), so Im still having to get the train before 7am most mornings and it�s a mile walk to the station from my house (on Monday I was dragging one of those �old lady wheelie shopper� things, full of marking. I know how to rock �stylish�, me).
Today, I would say there is also the need to factor in the whole staying up til god knows when last night, having stupid amounts of sex with my randy old goat of a husband. I would feel bad about that�.but I don�t. I also don�t feel bad about already having had said sex with said randy old goat of a husband within about five minutes of getting in from school yesterday, too. Get me! Twice in one day! Oooh, it were almost like the old days, dear diaryland (apart from that we�re far less attractive and bendy these days than we were back then!). The lodger came home in the middle of the first session but we just carried on, as its our house and we�re adults and we�re married (to each other) and well, we�d reached the point of no return by then anyway so it was just tough luck.
She didn�t appear to mind. When I came downstairs we had a nice normal little chat and I cooked dinner, even joking about making sure Id washed my hands. L stayed upstairs for ages � partly because he is 52 and needs a little recovery time and partly because he is a complete spaz who doesn�t want a 26 year old lodger to know that he was busy having sex with his wife and thought that by staying upstairs she would think he was doing something important and decidedly unsexy. Silly boy.
We�re still fighting like cat and dog most of the time but at least we�re still having crazy sex, huh? And he did grab my face in his handsome fist yesterday and say (all husky-like�and, no, I don�t mean like an Arctic dog! Have some fucking sense, Diaryland) �There will never. Be anyone. Who can do. What you do. Never.� which I took as a compliment as a) I am vain and b) I am good at sex.
Haven�t quite gotten around to selling all the Pandora beads I was talking about last time, but I did do a Car Bootie with Jooj last weekend and we made ourselves �80, flogging off a whole load of crap that we found lying around the house � who knew that Treacle even HAD a wetsuit, let alone that it didn�t fit her anymore?
We divvied up the �80 between us, with me taking the biggest share because I mustve bought all that crap in the first place and its my boot we were selling it out of and I fucking hate car boot sales and my kids are jammy bastards who will end up fleecing me out of the money in a couple of weeks anyway as I put it in the Corfu Pot.
Maybe I should�ve put it in the New Roof pot, as we have sprung a leak in the roof above Jooj�s bedroom. Its been sunny here for a week or so but we had one of those massive thundery downpours last weekend which meant that water poured into Jooj�s room in the middle of the night. I didn�t know as I was out on a jolly but when I got back she was somehow furious with me, cos yeh, I totally control the weather. I did try to reason with her but she was too busy banging on about how all her stuff was ruined. Turns out that the definitions of �all� and �ruined� in that context are fairly loose as it appears to be one rather soggy poster, the veneer peeling off her retro Teasmade and the necessity of the washing up bowl precariously balanced on a pile of books in her room, but hey, she was upset, so we got a man in to have a look at the roof and HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK 1200 QUID ARE YOU FUCKING MENTAL!?!?!?
A spider just skittered across the floor in front of me. It looked like it was in a hurry so I didn�t bother trying to catch it.
Gonna get a second opinion on the roof. Mostly just stalling for time to save up the �1200, obviously, but also because that�s the sensible thing to do and because the bloke that came around was a mate-of-a-mate of L�s which instantly marks him out as a cowboy, a chancer, and (most likely) a robbing fucking cunt.
In a slightly more chilled vein, they run a weekly Pilates class at Grapetree High so Ive been going along. Pilates seems kinda cool, I quite like it, and the lady taking the class is the right sort of American (ie not annoying and she appreciates that we�re not all Olga bloody Korbut and doesn�t get pissy if we cant do the exercises properly. We have yet to be instructed to feel the burn�actually, Im not sure there IS a burn in Pilates. If there is, I am blissfully unburned by it). Its supposed to act as a stress relief for us poor burned out teachers and it does sort of do that, although the stress of finding clothes in which I can do Pilates is equally as stressful as just coming home on the train and cooking the dinner.
And on that note, Im away upstairs to find some kind of Pilates wear + something to wear to work which will be suitable for Parents Evening. I fear that is unlikely to be one multi-purpose garment and is more likely to necessitate some kind of overly sweaty �changing in the toilets� type thing.
*sigh*
Later
S
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