Had a week off work last week, expecting it to get all filled up with jolly family exploits and such stuff. Didn�t really work out like that, but it sort of did, and didn�t and was kind of fine anyway and some bits were rubbish too. Awww it just couldn�t make its fucking mind up. And neither could I.
Threw my resignation letter in the postbox like it was on fire and even kind of ran away, lest it should somehow make its way out of the postbox and back into my handbag without me noticing, presumably. Then I went home and had a little �OMIFUCKINGGOSHWHATHAVEIDONNNNNNNNE?� moment, which only actually lasted about five minutes before being overtaken by my other self (the better looking, thinner, smiling one) doing the happyhappyjoyjoy dance around the house with most uncharacteristic abandon. We�ve been maintaining telephone silence and screening calls all week while Ive been off work, so I wouldn�t have to speak to Crazy Boss Lady if she called.
The kids were at Shagnasty�s for Easter weekend so we didn�t really do much in the celebratory line, although L did go out and get me the bits to make the customary Easter tree* which was smaller than usual and meant that we could still actually use the dining table. One year L got a bit enthusiastic and the bloody thing was HUGE � maybe 4� tall and about the same diameter. Hardly a �table centre� � it kept poking us in the eye while we were having dinner.
Anyways, we waited til Easter Monday, when the kids were back, before we had our family dinner � I baked a side of salmon and there were new potatoes and steamed veg and really too much Hollandaise sauce for anyone to make any kind of �healthy eating� noises and much chocolate was distributed. By me. Nobody else distributed chocolate my way, natch. Later in the week, L ate a piece of Treac�s Lindt Bunnie, which I thought was a bloody cheek considering he had a giant slab of Galaxy AND a big box of Maltesers which he had put on a high shelf in the kitchen, out of the way of mice, aliens, everyone under eleventy foot tall. Treac was making a �hurt and confused� face, which I think is ten-year-old-speak for �why didn�t he eat his own fucking chocolate, the greedy bastard?� and I told her he would buy her something of commensurate value as recompense. He sent me a text from the workies saying he would get her something from the vending machine there and I had a little moment of ranting as that�s not �commensurate� AT ALL and a raisin and biscuit Yorkie would not at all make up for the fact that he HELPED HIMSELF TO SOMEONE ELSE�S PRESENT and in the end he went to Tesco�s and got some of that nice Ecuadorian organic stuff which is probably too good for kids but at least the point was made.
Tuesday, the kids were back at their dad�s for a bit as L and I were off down to Bournemouth for the night to see Dara O�Briain and a night in a swanky hotel which was awfully nice if a bit expensive for midweek, even if they DO let you take home the rubber duckies from the bathroom! Dara was pretty funny (although, I do find him more amusing when he�s telling a story than when he�s �interacting� with the great British public � unfortunately, most of them are dunderheaded dullards and I didn�t pay the best part of �50 for the pair of us to listen to the sort of �insightful� bollocks that we can listen to for free in the workies, ta v much) and we had a bit of a wander around afterwards and went in a few pubs. L, in a rare moment of clarity, had rolled two teeny thin smokes instead of the huge Cheech and Chong-esque montechristo confections he favours fashioning when we�re at home, so we smoked them whilst we wandered around and just looked like normal people having a smoke instead of crazy middle aged stoners who ought to know better.
It was too cold for a shag on the beach. So we didn�t.
Next day, back home, picked the kids up and did a little light retailing. New undies for me as I seem to have sprouted some enormous breasts which I never had before. Im dieting and the rest of me is getting smaller so Im hoping that I get to keep the whangers in the overall weight-loss programme as they�re pretty bloody fabulous (for me!). Did actually go in the changing room and try some stuff on, for a change, and found that Ive gone up several bra sizes (or maybe Ive just been wearing the same size more or less since I was about 15 and am having to now concede that possibly it might not have been quite the right one!). I am pleased to say my boobs are now in check (or rather, in lemon, virginal white, mint green or lavender) and my arse looks kind of OK in the matching knickers too, thanks fer askin�. Also bought a bra (slightly smaller!) for Treac, prompting a bizarre sibling rivalry squabble along the lines of �its NOT FAIR. Her boobs are nearly bigger than mine and sheeeeee�s TEN�, �Shut up Jooj, yours are small cos they stay in the dark cos all you do is sit in your room and read. You�ve got EMO-boobs hahahaha�. The rest of the week, Jooj has been working some strange outfits highlighting other bits of her anatomy � the microshorts and lacy tights combo (with Docs) was one which had me tutting a bit and saying �daddy will have a fucking eppy if he catches you�, which, mercifully, he didn�t. (and it did look immeasurably cool but don�t tell her or I will have to kill you)
Slaveboy sent me at least 50,000 texts because he was having trouble wrangling with the travel arrangements I�d made for the replacement facilitator who was coming down to take my training courses while I was away. I was as helpful as I could be but finally lost my patience with the text that said �I don�t suppose you know what time Ray�s train gets in to Basingstoke?�. Tersely I jabbed at the keys to reply �Oddly enough, that�s not at the forefront of my mind. Any chance you could text Ray � maybe HE might be able to tell you.� Slaveboy left me alone after that. I�ve felt bad all week that I didn�t tell him I was going to resign � I just didn�t want to put him in the position where he could be questioned by Crazy Mental Boss Lady. More on that later.
Woke up feeling a bit odd on Thursday, like someone had given my insides a good going over with a cheese grater. I hadn�t eaten anything to make me feel poorly so I just carried on regardless. Treacle and I made a giant layer cake in the afternoon and used some of the biscuit paste I mentioned before, mixed with some melted chocolate, to make a biscuity ganache filling for the layers. More melted chocolate drizzled over the top and some crunched up biscuit chunks tumbled on top of that. The finished thing was so bloody tall I got vertigo just climbing up to finish the top off.
Didn�t even get to eat any of it as, by five o clock I felt decidedly unwell and by 7 I was throwing up with such gusto I was actually trying to remember if I HAD drunk 12 pints of snakebite and black with pernod depthcharges**. (I hadn�t. I am not a junior member of a provincial rugby club).
The spewing continued for several hours, long after there had ceased to be anything left to spew up and L called NHS Direct cos I really was PROPER ill and he thought generic health advice from a bored ex-nurse might be useful. Slept fitfully til about 5am til the headache kicked in. Two days, TWO DAYS of such pain that I did actually consider getting the bread knife and hacking my head off as that would surely have been less painful. It hurt so much that I cried but crying made it hurt more, so I stopped. Painkillers did nothing and the children took to administering me by patting me lightly on the hand and whispering �I love you, mumsie�. I think they were hoping I would expire and they could raid my bedroom for stuff with sequins on and inappropriate pointy toed shoes.
Talking to sis once I was better (and confirming it by talking to smashthegas who knows this kind of stuff) opinion seems to be veering away from the possibility of a stomach bug and towards the possibility that I may have experienced my first migraine. Oh joy. Whatever it was it was shite.
Had a bit of a fight with L on Sunday, along the lines of �I am just about to leave my job and you are deffo not responsible enough to manage the household budgeting when you are in the pub every day and are completely unaware of how much the mortgage/gas/electricity/council tax costs or when they need to be paid. You need to fucking well grow up.� He didn�t take it particularly well but I persisted and eventually he �fessed up to feeling �ashamed and embarrassed�, so I guess I achieved something�.or maybe he just said that to shut me up as it was 1am.
Monday I was off to visit annanotbob. I would tell you we did all manner of fabulously interesting things�but that would be a big fat fib as we mostly ate pea soup, drank tea and sat around in the slightly unsatisfactory sunshine, talking bollocks until it was time to go home again. Oh, and we took the cat to the vets. Lovely day. If either of us had remembered to take photos for posterity, then they would be here for your delectation. Needless to say, photos were just toooooo difficult for either of us to manage and so there are none.
Back to work yesterday � on tenterhooks, waiting for Crazy Mental Boss Lady to phone and say ��about this letter you sent me��. About two seconds before I was due to go and deliver a training session in Ringwood she called. �We need a chat,� she barked, �Come up to the house tomorrow at 12.30�. And today I did just that. He house smells of dogs and charity shops and washing up that needs to be done and laundry that wasn�t quite dry before it was put away.
She started by asking me if she could talk me into staying. When I said �no�, she changed tack completely and we talked, like adults, about how I could make the transition from �being there� to �not being there� as painless as possible for everyone. She talked about herself a lot � possibly for the sympathy vote as she is very ill and is likely to be permanently disabled from her illness. I cannot help thinking that she would not be in this mess if she had got treatment when she first became ill, instead of just yelling at everybody and generally being a Grade A bitch (including making Sharon cry by screeching at her like a banshee cos Sharon had called an ambulance when Crazy Mental Boss Lady had collapsed and couldnt get up. Honestly, this woman is IMPOSSIBLE. I would say �think �The Devil Wears Prada�� but that conjures up a different picture�.one scarily like me, if the truth be told! She�s more �The Devil Wears Lavender Polyester with an elasticated waist, teamed with trekking sandals and a bobbly jumper with food down the front of it�.).
She asked me what was wrong with the organisation and I told her. Eventually she let me go back to the office, but not before giving me a card congratulating me on getting my NVQ4. When I opened it, two crumpled �20 notes fell out.
Back at the office, I told Sharon and Bev and Slaveboy that I was leaving.
When I got home I found a text that Slaveboy must�ve sent me as he was driving home this evening. It said �If I cry, will you stay?�. I may have to take him out and buy him an expensive lunch somewhen soon.
I know Im doing the right thing as, in the week and half that I was away from the office, I lost about half a stone in weight. I only overeat when Im miserable.
Later
S
x
*an idea we stole from our friends in Germany. We get some sprouty twigs, preferably with some kind of catkins or little buds or other spring-ish type greenery in evidence, lash them together and �plant� them in a big bowl (usually in a lump of oasis but sometimes just wedged in with scrunched up paper). Then we decorate this treelike structure with little bows of ribbon and blown eggs and little tissue paper flowers and stuff like that. Then I fill the bowl up (where the soil would normally be) with chocolate mini eggs and chocolate bunnies and all manner of Easter sweetie type goodnesses. Its so pretty and really not all that weird an idea when you consider pretty much all of us do some kind of variation of the same practice at Christmastime!
** Hmm. That might need some translation for overseas readers. Snakebite = half lager, half strong cider. It goes cloudy and tastes like a tramp�s piss, so we add a couple of shots of blackcurrant cordial. Its now purple tramp�s piss. It is strong enough to make you fall in the road on the way home and lots of pubs wont serve it. If you should doubt its ability to make you horribly horribly drunk (or if you are retarded and have a death wish), you may add a depth charge. Fill a sherry glass with Pernod, right to the very top and very carefully drop the glass straight down into the pint of snakebite and black. Scarily, the Pernod stays in the sherry glass. You may then imbibe: Cider, Lager, Blackcurrant and Pernod in one hideous purple soupy mess. Seriously, my friends, this drink is FOUL. Drink it at your peril. It will make you spew and your spew will be never-ending. And purple. And will smell of aniseed.
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