Jeeesh! I'm bored.
All the housework was done last night because surveyors came today, the landlord is switching mortgages. So my usual Monday mad rush to get the house back to some sort of normality after the weekend is gone. Mind you, I've been very organised, managed to fill in forms and write letters that usually I put off, every cloud and all that.
I've smoked about 40 cigarettes through boredom. Hey - if all else fails, kill yourself slowly! I'd pop into town or to the leisure center, I want to sign up for the yoga class, but I have to be out again in just over an hour to get Mr Autistic to his appointment. I made Madam's appointment to have her cast re-done, it's almost falling off, that's got to be Wednesday morning. I couldn't make today because of the appointment this afternoon, tomorrow morning I can't do as Mr Autism is getting an award in assembly and I have to be there. Tomorrow afternoon is off the cards because I'd never be back in time to collect the other two.
And I am determined to find a job that allows me to fit all this in? I'm dreaming. And yet other weeks, nothing happens. I just be mum, do housework and complain that there's nothing to do.
I am developing a plan, though, the problem is that it involves Mr Perfect knocking my door and us falling head over heels in love for ever and ever. I need to work on plan B, but it's not got very far.
Plan B has got as far as, get a job. Beyond that it all falls down because the kids keep needing bloody appointments and it sort of gets in the way of the perfect term-time only 10-2 employment that I need.
Plan A is much better, and I have the added bonus of sleeping with Mr Perfect too. Mr Perfect you see, comes along. He is of course, very good looking but not vain. He is well-off financially, but not stinking rich. He loves my kids and they love him. He doesn't want too much from me, he simply wants me to allow him to be in my life as and when I choose - I'm in charge you see because he knows what a lucky beggar he is. Hey - it's not everyday Mr Perfect bags a single mum of 3 on benefits is it? Anyway, he'll have the sort of job that he can take time out of to do ferrying to school and various appointments and so on, leaving me to work as and when I want to. Oh, he also loves cooking, cleaning and ironing and believes that I do enough all day by escaping to work and coming home to my children.
Hmmmm, if anyone happens to bump into Mr Perfect, can you send him along to me please? I'm kind of waiting.
I am thoroughly fed up with the weather. I got all excited because we had nice weather and now it's constant rain and I'm miserable. My bulbs are coming up, I want to weed. The grass needs doing and I have plans for the bottom of the back garden. I need to finish the border at the front. It's taking me hours to dry out after the school run, let alone gardening! And in the midst of all this, we have a drought!
Britains and weather are useless. For a nation obssessed by weather, we're pretty useless at dealing with it. Droughts occur because we hope that it will rain soon and so nothing is done until it's much too late and we're at standpipe stage. Snow; we've never been able to cope with snow. I mean, come on, we get it every single year, over months and months - and the whole of Britain comes to a standstill. Right at the top of the Italian Alps, I have caught a bus to go shopping in Turin before now. Now, you see, being in a snowy, mountainous range and all that, this village figured that if they know they have snow, they ought to prepare for snow, and they did, and the world didn't end. So what's so different with us?
I promise you, in a few weeks, people will be complaining. "Oooh, it's TOO hot!". What???? Grrrrr. It's too cold, it's too wet, it's too hot, it's too dry. Exactly what weather do we British want? Something vauguely warm, maybe a slight drop of rain during the night to keep the resevoirs full? Besides, there is no such thing as too hot. Hot is good, the hotter the better.
There is nothing nicer than feeling the sun dry the small layer of sweat on your skin the second you step outside. There is everything good about stinking of coconut oil and being smeared with factor 20 sun lotion. It's wonderful to go inside to cool off and have to wait 5 minutes for your eyes to adjust to the 'dark'.
It will come, and we'll know it's here. You know summer is deinitely here when men get their shorts out. Most men have one pair of shorts, they bought them at the age of 17 and 30 years later they still fetch them out for those hot, rare days of summer. Elasticated, the shorts are likely to be baggy, out of shape and garishly patterned. Our European counterparts wear shorts with style, our men wear shorts because it's hot. And because it's hot, what footwear do our wonderful British men wear? Trainers, without socks. Perfect for hot weather. Not only do they look awful, the very idea of those trainers coming off is enough to make any sane man, woman or child run a mile. The bellies come out too. Woman still get scorned at if they have a bit of a tummy and dare wear something small during the hot weather. But not men - oh no! It is by all accounts, absolutely imperitive that men with bellies should let them hang over their fetching shorts, their pert and lovely man boobs making me seethe with jealousy. Maybe there is a reason for it, maybe the shadow cast by the vast beer bellies keeps their feet cool and hence the sockless feet in plastic trainers are the health issue I initally believed.
Who knows?
