The River (and some other stuff)

2007-09-10, 10:40 p.m.

How can it possibly be Monday again already? Did we skip some days last week and go right from Thursday to Sunday night or something?

The winners of the Poo Caption Competition are randomrabbit and smashthegas, who both produced entries which had me snorting drink outta my nose. Thanks guys. Please email postal addresses to stepfordtartATdiarylandDOTcom if you would like to receive a prize of some description. Not sure what it�ll be yet as I ~~cant be arsed~~ havent had time to go into town but Im sure I can find something appropriate.

Im only slightly disappointed that no entries in a Poo Caption Competition made any mention of Tigger, Eeyore and Friends. Shame on you all for your lavatorial bent.

Friday was a difficult day. Apart from the obvious difficulties of writing a magazine when I�M NOT A FUCKING JOURNALIST, BF had the mother of all rows with Chum. Its all a bit too ~~boring~~ painful to go into here, suffice it to say that by the time I got home from work, the police had been called, several people had been called cunts and BF had had to go to the neighbours for a restorative brandy and a bit of a sit down. I think it would be safe to say that it is unlikely that BF and Chum will ever enjoy the sort of closeness they have had (on and off) over the last 35 years and it will be nothing short of a miracle if BF ever speaks to him again.

Mercifully, when the really bad stuff kicked off, BF had the good sense to do what any sensible man would do who isnt keen on having to fight his way out of anything � he filled his house with women and children. Suze (BFs sister/Chums brother�s girlfriend) and her daughters turned up and it was Suze who called the police. We women are good at that sort of thing. I think men sometimes think that it will make them less of a man to have to �resort to� those kind of tactics. Girls just reach for the phone and start pressing them 9�s.

Steve and Carey came over in the evening so we went for a few scoops in the workies before coming back for supper of bocquerones, salami, cheeses and crusty bread. They decided not to stay over � possibly just because or possibly because BF was still very upset about his row with Chum and wasn�t being particularly life-and-soulish, leaving me to carry the party. My way of �carrying the party� is to force-feed people until they pop. When Steve and Carey eventually waddled back to their car, trailing bits of Caerphilly with cranberries and air-dried ham in their wake, BF and I smoked a little teeny joint which was left over from earlier in the week when ~~I had a cob on~~ was much too busy with work to consider filling my head with mind altering substances.

When we went to bed, BF suddenly found a use for all the testosterone he�d stored up thinking he was going to have to recreate the Gunfight at the OK Corral in our front garden and shagged me utterly senseless. Yahoo!

Saturday BF was working on the studio. Pater came over to do the bits which needed a really long ladder as BF is a bit rubbish when he�s more than four feet off the ground so Mater and I repaired to Chigley for a little light retailing.

I havent been shopping with my mother for some considerable years. Mostly cos ~~she is a pain in the arse~~ I work full-time these days but we managed a pleasant enough stroll around the mean streets of Chigley without incident. This may be partly due to me having a very squibbly tummy and therefore being a bit subdued and a bit more "Yes, Mother" than I would normally be (for "Normally be", read yelling "Are you fucking mental? Jesus H Christ!" every time she says something contentious�or inflammatory�or unfair�or bitchy). She even managed to tell me a very convoluted story about her ex-neighbours, my sister�s house in Bruges, a case of mistaken identity and a dinner in a restaurant Im certain Ive never been to (despite my mother explaining TWICE how to get there if walking OR driving from my sister�s house in Bruges), without me once rolling my eyes, sighing or zoning out.

OK. I lied about the zoning out. But, like I said, I was feeling a bit poorly and I did just go "Noooo!", "Really?" and "Oh my goodness!" in the gaps in the story, instead of looking at her irritably and saying "I wasn�t listening. Just tell me again. Quickly."

smashthegas sent me a MMS of a plate of Mini Kievs. It made me laugh but didn�t stop me wanting to puke/crap through the eye of a needle.

Mater bought a pair of trousers in Dorothy Perkins. At least I think she did. But they were so similar to the ones she had on anyway that they may have just reproduced themselves in the car on the way home. Im not sure.

I bought some stuff, too, but its mostly too boring to mention. Did manage to get another Maybelline Superstay lippy, which is a WHOLE load better than Max Factor Lipfinity. Not only is it about �3 cheaper ($6), but it also is much better at actually staying on your lips and doesn�t disappear completely except for a quarter inch tide-mark around your lips which makes you look like you took lipliner tips from Jennifer Rush OR form itself into claggy little lumps (which you can never REALLY tell if they�re skin or lippy � Yik!). You can even give blow jobs with it on and you don�t end up with your boyfriends cock looking like he�s got some kind of Frosted Raspberry psoriasis.

When you add that kind of staying power to the adhesive properties of waterproof mascara these days, there�s no need for any self-respecting slut-who-sleeps-in-her-makeup to wake up looking like a Robert Smith/Alice Cooper hybrid. Hoorah. With my hair the way it is at the moment, I could, if the mood took me, get straight out of bed and into my clothes and be ready for work. Not that I ever would. Of course. Ever. *ahem*

The band at the workies on Saturday night was supremely awful � despite the extraordinary amounts of gear they�d brought with them. It takes more than a stick-bass to make their version of Red Red Wine palatable, that�s fersure. Im pretty sure that the lyrics don�t go �Redduh Redduh Wayyyun, Geeeose toowuh ma he-He-hedduh�, too.

*sigh*

We came back home and amused ourselves.

On Sunday we decided to not do any work on the house and took a long walk up the river. Photos follow. There�s not much to say about a walk up the river. It was very nice. We had lunch at The Bridge (baked tuna in a Caf� de Paris sauce with tempura asparagus and new potatoes) and walked back � sometimes stopping for a bit of a snog. We�ve had a letter from the church inviting us to a �Wedding Preparation Morning� where we can meet other couples getting married next spring for �support and to pool ideas�. Oh hoorah. I get to swap coordinating napkin nightmares with neurotic 19 year olds while the chaps exchange �well, its HER that wants to, really� stories. BF and I had a chat about our wedding on the way along the river and sorted out a few �wants� and �don�t wants�. Its amazing how much easier it is to plan a wedding when you�ve already done it once. Maybe everyone should have to be married to a twat/bitch for a bit as preparation for their �real� marriage. I think it would solve a lot of problems. And you could get the whole �Omigosh we MUST have�(insert particular piece of ridiculous excess of your choice: horse-drawn glass coach, 800 guests in rodeo costumes, wedding favours of sugared almonds with REAL GOLD on, whatever)� out of your system before doing the �I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. The rest is unimportant�-thing. Just a thought.

In an effort to lose a couple of pounds of Joint Snack Flab, Ive been taking healthy lunches to work while Slavey�s been off, instead of buying pies and cake from the sandwich van. I also thought Id have a go at drinking the requisite 2 litres of water a day. I tried it today. By lunchtime Id managed 600ml (just over a pint) and had had 8 WEES!!! How the fucking hell do supermodels manage to do ANYTHING except sip evian and piddle? It would explain the pained expressions most of them have got on their faces in fashion mags. They�re all DYING for a piss.

I can only surmise that it must be a bit like watering a plant which hasn�t been watered for a while. If the earth�s all dry, when you water it, the water just runs straight out of the bottom of the flower pot and ~~down the back of the telly~~ into the saucer-thingy. Its only when the soil is already a bit damp that the water stays in the pot long enough to get sucked up by the plant.

I guess my body is so utterly desiccated by not drinking anything much except weapons-grade coffee and whisky (depending on the hour of the day), that the water�s just running straight through me. I shall persevere for the rest of the week and let you know if my wizened cells become plumptious enough to retain the wretched stuff for more than a nano-second. BF says �don�t drink that stuff, fish shag in it�.

Here�s the photos of the river: