Singing, Sick, Shopping, Stuff

2007-05-12, 9:54 p.m.
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And many many thanks to moonfaeryy cos, if I hadn�t clicked on her diary, I wouldn�t know how to do that. I also know how to turn my cursor into a bare naked lady now, too.

So.

What else have I been up to?

Thursday I had my first ever in the whole wide world bona fide PAYING singing pupil. I think it went Ok as, at the end of the lesson, she HUGGED ME and squeeked �that was SUCH fun! Can I come again next week or am I too rubbish?�

Im not used to random acts of hugging from almost strangers so I was a bit taken aback but, hey, whatever. Looks like Thursday nights are gonna be pretty much tied up for a while. Like I have Sooooo much free time. *sigh*. I put the money I earned in the Blue Piggy Bank of Saving Up For Stuff, which has been sadly neglected for a while. It did seem to put a smile on his face.

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BF went to the doctors. The doctor has confirmed that BF is unlikely to die before the end of the week, which is pretty much what I was expecting. BF seemed a bit more surprised and is now banking on the blood test results (which come back on Tuesday) to prove the doctor�s obvious status as a charlatan and a quack, rather than BFs own Googled Self-Diagnosis superior medical knowledge. He�s started the course of weapons-grade antibiotics but I can tell he thinks that whatever�s wrong with him cannot be cured by mere penicillin and is going to need a trip to Lourdes at the very least, possibly with some intervention by Sean Connery in a jungle somewhere thrown in for good measure.

Im trying to be sweet-tempered and sympathetic (and I AM sympathetic, cos he�s obviously a bit poorly), but FUCKING HELL, HE�S SUCH A WHINER!

For the last week or so my shoulder and neck pain have been getting progressively worse. Cain the Chiropractor is still not taking private (ie cheaper than the NHS!) patients so I have nowhere to go to get it sorted out, other than the �Extra Strong Painkillers� shelf in superduperdrug. Last night�s �I�m More Poorly Than You� contest was an interesting one.

In the blue corner, BF. 6�5�, 14 stone. Woozy from the antibiotics, brandishing his pustulating whitlow like a beacon before him. Assorted other ailments very much in evidence and, tho not visible to the naked eye (as he had all his clothes on) making themselves known by a series of winces, sighs and hang-dog expressions.

In the red corner, Stepfie. 5�7�, waif-like frame (fuck off!). Sitting bolt upright on the sofa with a complicated arrangement of cushions supporting the bad neck and shoulder, stretching this way and that, trying to get some relief from knotted muscles and misaligned vertebrae.

The bout commences. For a while it looks as tho BF might win as he is clearly in some discomfort whilst I, if I sit ABSOLUTELY still, am pretty much OK. However, a sudden movement on my part caused by BF inadvertently blowing cig smoke in my face, makes a loud cracking noise in the base of my neck and I am forced to wield my supreme fire-power in the shape of �looking a bit tearful�.

Before you can say *sniffle*, I am stretched out on the carpet having an enthusiastic (if not particularly skillful) massage which left me feeling slightly euphoric, if Im honest. I do have a couple of bruises on my shoulder blade, but we�ll gloss over that!

Watched a bit of telly from my supine position. Heard this joke, which made me laugh so much that I nearly forgot that I was in severe pain and supposed to be suffering.

I�ve just come back from Australia, which was very interesting. I learned some Aboriginal language. For example �Boo�, which means �return�. �Cos if you throw an ordinary meringue��..

Welllll, I laughed.

This morning, BF took Treacle to tennis and Jooj and I went and did the Lidl�s shop. Too late I realized that I didn�t have a �1 for the trolley. No cash on me at all. Just plastic.

Jooj and I loaded the shopping into the big cooler bags we�d brought with us (its OK. You can do that in Lidl�s. Nobody looks at you like you�re stealing or anything) instead of having a trolley. When they got too heavy to lift, which was pretty quick as the �big cartons of juice� aisle and the �bags of spuds� aisle are pretty near the front of the shop, we just dragged them along the floor. Two crazy ladies, one in an orange hoodie, the other (the one that�s 11) in full BabyGoth regalia, dragging sacks of shopping behind us in passable imitations of Robert deNiro in The Mission. What visions of loveliness we were, going Swoooosh, Swooooosh, Swoooosh along the tiles with our burden of armour and weapons of war fat-free fromage frais and dishwasher tablets.

When we got back home, Treac had come back from tennis so we took her to her wee friend�s for a party and me and Jooj went and got our hair cut. Mooched about in the house for a bit this afternoon then took Jooj to diving lesson. Had a swim while she was having her lesson and managed 12 lengths. A new personal best. 300m may not seem much to those of you who can swim, like, properly and everything, but for me�well, its nothing short of fucking miraculous. Celebrated with a dip in the Jacuzzi, trying to direct the jets onto my triceps which were basically going �FUCKING HELL WOMAN! THAT FUCKING WELL HURT, THAT DID!�. Got out again when two women (mother and daughter) and two little kids got in. The two women were quite OK with the two little kids spitting great mouthfuls of water at each other. I wasn�t quite so keen on sitting too long in what amounted to a big bucket of fizzy kid spit.

Tomorrow we have picnic and archery with the Geek Club Gifted Children Support Group. Much organic tabbouleh will be shared among us, I am sure, before little Jocasta and Tarquin get pinned to trees with arrows through their necks. Jooj and Treac will be heard throughout the New Forest, calling sweetly to each other �Bloody Hell, Treac! You got Jocasta right in the jugular, there!�. �I know, Jooj. Im not very good at this, am I? I was aiming for Tarquin�s knackers, the smug little bastard.�

BF is coming with me. I may have to arrange counselling for him after being in the company of so many moustachioed, mascara-less, flute-playing muesli-eaters (and their testosterone bereft husbands!) for a WHOLE AFTERNOON.

I may wear my stripper shoes. Just for fun.

Later
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