They're coming to take me away...

-
As I limp towards the weekend, I'm surprised to have reached this stage without a) killing myself b) killing someone else c) being escorted off the premises by the men in white coats or, my own particular favourite, d) running away to join the circus.

Son number two is back from university and he brings his own work load to add to my already over subscribed pre-Christmas list of 'Stuff To Do'.  I can cope with every aspect of the pre-Christmas planning, but lump them all together and I tip....

Let me tell you tipped me over yesterday.  The straw, as it were....

Son number two loves his pants.  He loves them so much, that it is not unheard of for him to wear four pairs in a day.  Now, these are not small pants.  These are pants which can block out the sun when hung on the line.  The type of pants which could double up as a spinnaker sail in an emergency and which could house a small family of rodents (I hope that the Christmas tree mouse doesn't start squatting in a pair - hiding nuts might take on a whole new meaning).   

As it's winter, my washing is now all hung up on an overhead airer which, through means of ropes and pulleys, hoists the washing up to dry (unless son number one gets anywhere near it, in which case, it stays at head bumping height as he can't be bothered to take it all the way up).  

Anyway, unloading the washing machine again yesterday morning, I pulled out pair after pair of pants.  The airer was full of them, and there was no room for my one sweater, which is draped over a kitchen chair as I write).

Taking them off the airer last night, I said to son number two, who was hovering around the fridge looking for anything, and I mean anything, to eat.

'You are not allowed to wear any more pants this week', I said.  'I'm fed up with looking at them'.   

I'm not going to tell you what his response was, as you're probably eating your breakfast, but needless to say, I am going to be washing those pants for at least another three weeks, until I can ease him out of the front door and back to Leeds (Vaseline and a large bar of chocolate on the drive should swing it).

I also did double bubble at Binland yesterday, finally crawling out of the door after 5.00.  Why everyone wants to talk rubbish with me the week before Christmas is anyone's guess, but there was one giggle moment, around 4.17....

Me 'Can I take your surname please?'
Customer 'It's Shearer'.
Me 'Oh, like Alan Shearer?'
Customer 'Exactly like Alan Shearer.  Just with a bit more hair'.
Me 'Let's face it, a snooker ball has more hair than Alan Shearer'

How we laughed.

A tad too hysterically if I'm honest...



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

It's raining men...

-
We overslept this morning.  I'm not entirely surprised having walked the equivalent of a half marathon over the past two days, and we just about made breakfast.   We did all the usual Christmas stuff today.  Carnaby Street, Regent Street, Borough Market, mulled wine (again), chocolate covered bananas and caramelised nuts.  There was also the issue of the very inclement weather.  Wandering around the whole A to Z of London, the husband decided that a purchase of a hat and scarf was necessary.  Being a fairly sensible woman, I had brought a hat, scarf and gloves with me, but the husband, being of tougher stuff (he hails from the north) had proclaimed that he was no southern softy and would deal with whatever the weather had to throw at him in a manly fashion. Fast forward to late morning, the rain was chucking it down, and the manly fashion had morphed into wimpy whinging about a chaffed chin due to an evil coat zip and a wet head.  And so began the hut hunt. We tried sports shops (t
Read more

Ain't no mountain high enough...

-
Image
I thought you might be interested in the other stuff Mr Bird and I got up to while we were away in the Wobble Box this weekend.  The pinnacle of the weekend was the mountain climb (see what I did there?) but before this, we had anticipated a simple, peaceful and quiet few days together with the dogs.  What we hadn't expected was to be shouted at as we strolled to the pub on the first night, 'What on earth are you two doing here?' Standing outside a posh (and long) motor home, were two very good friends of ours.  Happily retired, they trolley around the world in their home on wheels, and just happened to land in Pandy a whole thirty minutes before we did on Thursday.  The funny thing is, that every time we see each other, the subject of caravans and motor homes is always raised, with promises on both sides made that we will arrange something together for a weekend.  To date, we've never managed to do this, but it finally happened by accident.  We all decided that th
Read more

Diary...

-
Eight years ago, I came up with the idea of writing a diary for my children which I would put into the public domain.  And so Words from a Bird began.  Two thousand posts and almost a million words later, I am still going.  But like all of us, lives change.  Eight years ago, my life was all about the four children, schools, universities, boyfriends, girlfriends, work, my husband, family and the dogs. Much of that is still relevant today, thank goodness, but we now add in two weddings (one more pending), grandchildren (one, and again, one pending), retirement and looking after parents. So to all my completely gorgeous readers, to the ones who have been with me right from the start and to the new ones who have discovered me just this week, thank you for coming along for the ride with me.  I hope I carry on making you giggle for many years to come!   If you don't want to miss anything, just follow the Words from a Bird page. And when I am a very old lady, I hope that my children will
Read more