Tag Archives: Carry On Tuesday

So This Is What Ungrateful Feels Like

14 Oct
Angry rabbits always attack first

Image by id-iom via Flickr

 

I’m getting them for nothing; I shouldn’t complain, but I am sick to death of the kitchen and bathroom refurbishment.  The work has been going on since September 23rd.  It should have been September 22nd but they were running a little behind. 

That was the first clue that I should have stuck with my forty-year old cabinets.  Better the cupboard you know.

Since that date, workmen have been in and out of my house, leaving the door open for opportunist thieves and letting the cold in; drinking my tea; not cleaning up after themselves.  I’ve had kitchen necessaries in my lounge and kitchen extras in every bedroom and a stonking great fridge freezer blocking my front door for three weeks.

Men come, look around, go away again.  Other men give me dates and no-one shows up.  Anonymous vans deliver wallpaper and plumbing supplies that stand around for days, gathering dust and my impotent rage.  The rubbish that the men do clear up stands uncollected outside my house, a prey to foxes, because half-eaten sandwiches go in the bags as well.  I’ve got nothing against foxes except that, like council workmen, they don’t clear up after themselves.

We were promised that this week the tiling and decorating would be done, and the shower fitted.  Monday, the tilers came in, drew in a long breath and said they couldn’t tile because there was a tiny hole that I couldn’t see that needed plastering; then went away again.  The plasterer came, filled the hole, and went away again.  The tilers tiled. 

Tuesday, the decorators came, stripped the paper, drew in a long breath and went away again because there were holes underneath that the plasterer etc., etc.  The plasterer came in the afternoon and plastered.  This was his third time here as he had plastered prior to the cabinet fitting.  As we are as good as related by now, I joined him via my leftover birthday wine.  I don’t know why, but suddenly it was all so much easier.

The decorators came back yesterday morning and papered, then went away again because – draw a long breath – it wasn’t their job to paint. 

This morning, Paul the person in charge knocked to tell me that I was down to have my floors done today.  This is the same Paul who told me on Monday that my floors would not be done until the decorating was finished.  Phrases using words like ‘elbows’, and vulgar alternatives to the human posterior spring to mind.

While all this is going on, I have been shuttling kitchen necessaries such as kettles and microwaves from kitchen to lounge to kitchen again.

On top of all that, we are going camping on Sunday.  Twelve years without a family holiday and we opt for one that has us living with a kitchen-come-lounge for a week.  Somebody, please – pass me the wine.  I need to get plastered.

*

The prompt for Carry on Tuesday was to use the words, ‘Close your eyes, have no fear’ from John Lennon’s song, Beautiful Boy.  I only have one thing on my mind, so here it is:

A Bit Of A Carry On

Close your eyes; have no fear:
the end’s almost here.
Fitting & tiling & joinery’s done;
wallpaper is up; painting’s to come.
Add a new shower and two shiny floors:
A beautiful kitchen (and bathroom) is yours.

*

Coincidentally, I wrote this one yesterday:

Lines On A Refurbishment 

At present, my writing life’s quite unexciting.
I shouldn’t be bitching, I have a new kitchen.

I just can’t write in a mess, I guess.

Carry On Tuesday For September 28th

27 Sep
Inside Regina Spektor's home

Image by John E. Lester via Flickr

 

The prompt from Carry On Tuesday was to use the first two lines from Regina Spektor’s song The Call: 

 
It started out as a feeling
which then grew into a hope
 

  

  

   

Heeding The Call 

It started out as a feeling
which then grew into a hope:
the guy at the end of the email
threw me a virtual rope.
I took my car to meet him;
we walked the slippery slope
of internet suicide websites.
Living was out of our scope.
 

   

This was inspired by the story of ‘Heaven’s Little Girl’, who met a stranger on the net and committed suicide with him. 

Of This, That ‘n’ T’other

14 Sep

I’ll get the serious stuff out of the way first.

  • I don’t know whether to be pleased or irritated with an article that I came across: a doctor who writes for the Daily Mail magnanimously concedes -below an article on haemorrhoids – that CFS/ME is ‘real’ because he attended a conference that said so.  Thanks, Doc; I’m sure the estimated 250,000 sufferers in this country, many of whom have doctors as uninterested and unsympathetic as you have been, are grateful to be taken out of the category Lying, Time-Wasting Toe-Rag.  I’m ambivalent because yes, it makes me angry that anyone would think my hard-working, hard-playing husband would prefer to lie around the house faking pain and fatigue than provide for his family and enjoy a rich life, maybe playing football with his sons or taking his wife out to dinner; but our ME community is so reviled amongst so many in the medical profession that any acknowledgment that this is a real and debilitating condition is welcome, no matter how patronising the delivery.
  • The Hub took part in a study of CFS/ME patients a few years ago, called the FINE Trial (Fatigue Intervention by Nurses Evaluation).  A nurse came to the house once a month for about six months and talked with him.  The idea was to see if a talking cure worked – presumably to test the theory that it was all in his head.  It didn’t help much – presumably because it’s not all in his head.  What did help the Hub was having a sympathetic ear from a stranger; I don’t think people realise the deleterious effect on the psyche when even family and friends – those alleged to know your character – think you’re idle and/or faking it.  There was one person who told the Hub ‘I wish I could get it; I could do with six months off work.’  Try fourteen years and see if you still feel the same.
  • You can read a simple summary of the report here.  The conclusion I found interesting was: supportive listening is not an effective treatment for CFS/M.E.  No kidding.  Supportive listening won’t fix a broken leg either; I wonder why that is?
  • Here’s a cartoon that pretty much sums up the medical position on CFS/ME:

That’s enough bitterness for one day; this is supposed to be a funny blog.

  • I heard a quote yesterday, attributed to the writer Kate Fox: Why do Geordies have an existential problem?  Because they’re always saying, ‘Why I?’ 
  • It’s not the exact quote; I Googled it and couldn’t find it, but I did come across a poem of hers that tickled me, especially this line:     Glad never to leave one particular Lancashire town?/That’s Stockport syndrome.
  • A sad exemplar of our times over at Parentdish: a reality tv show in the States about a modern Partridge Family has not been aired for over two years because the family is – wait for it – too happy: Despite two years of effort by a television crew to show the seamy underbelly of the family Witchger, CNN reports too many family confessionals ended with smiling kids and parents saying, “It was really fun.”
  • I had a giggle at a friend’s recent Facebook status; she has a husband named Brian; I’m pretty sure she meant to type ‘brain’: Going to sleep now; worn out from brian’s overactivity.

Finally, we haven’t had a poem for at least two days, so here’s a bit of fluff for Carry on Tuesday.  The prompt was to use the line One misty moisty morning from the 1973 Steeleye Span song.  Don’t ask me how I ended up with this, because I have no idea:

Boat Race

One misty, moisty morning
a hoity-toity Cambridge few
goaded the gangly, spangley crew
who wore the Oxford Blue:

You shall not prevail, they cried;
when the Thames has reached high tide
we’ll kick your Cox over the side
and then the rest of you.

  

I don’t even watch the boat race, though I still sigh over the memory of Rob Lowe in Oxford Blues – and any other film/tv/photograph in which he appears. 

Sorry, I have to stop typing now; I appear to be drooling.

 

Sidetrack Sindy

9 Sep
The current Sindy doll looks younger than prev...

Image via Wikipedia

The Hub calls me Sidetrack Sindy; not because I’m a doll but because

Yesterday he told me just after eleven p.m. that it was 8/9/10 11:12.

Where was I?  Oh yes, being slandered by my husband, who claims that I’m easily sidetracked.  It’s raining outside.

I don’t know why he thinks I’m easily distracted.  Hang on, just going to make a cup of tea; back in a jiffy.  Or maybe go on King.com first.

I’ll share this morning’s routine and you can decide for yourself:

The two things I must do today are – no, wait; three things: put out the rubbish and recycling; prepare the Hub’s pills for the next fortnight; and um, <drinks tea> <looks around the house> my hallway looks so fresh now.

So I got Spud up for school; made his breakfast; called Toby to put out the rubbish with me (he likes doing that); put out the rubbish at the front; came in to put out the recycling at the back; left the bin in the middle of the street as I ran around the house to find the dog I had forgotten to bring back in with me; tidied the lounge; loaded the dishwasher; went back out to put the recycling bin in the correct spot; loaded the dishwasher; oh, I also got dressed somewhere in there because I only put out in the rubbish in my pyjamas in winter because it’s dark and I can put on my huge overcoat.

I am quite looking forward to winter; I love the changing seasons in this country.  In South Africa it’s dark at seven in summer and six in winter and there’s no autumn to speak of.

What was I talking about?  My routine: had my breakfast; read my emails; tidied the lounge; made the Hub’s coffee; got out his pill boxes to prepare them after taking up his coffee and bringing down the washing; tidied the lounge; took up the coffee; emptied all the washing baskets; went into bathroom to turn up the hot water; brushed my teeth; came downstairs without washing; took up the post; opened the bedroom windows; chatted to the Hub; came down and went straight onto computer to comment on other blogs; went back upstairs with a written note pasted to my wrist to make sure I came down with the washing; wondered why I bothered because I can’t run the washing machine and dishwasher at the same time; tidied the lounge; admired the ra

Short break there while I let in the Hub and the roses he bought me; did I mention the Hub went for a blood test and Spud went to school somewhere in all this lot?  Sat down to write my blog and the Hub came down to go out for his blood test and asked me sweetly if I had prepared his tablets and that’s when we had a heated discussion about whether I am easily

Here’s a poem for Carry On Tuesday; the prompt was the first line of Huckleberry Finn, which I have taken as the title.  It is mostly not autobiographical, though I do have a thing about fleas. 

You Don’t Know About Me

I want to star in a movie
Publish a poetry book
Live in the Bahamas
Completely change my look
Electrocute my nose hairs
Learn business Japanese
Just once say the right thing
Stop catching my dog’s fleas

I want a season ticket to the Globe
An extra hole in my ear lobe
Respond with wit to those who probe
Attend an affair that requires a robe

I’m sad that you don’t know
The places I want to go
The friends I want to make
The risks I want to take
The things I want to do
With and without you

Then, when I am almost dead
I’ll recall the life I’ve led
Relive it in my head
And laugh on my death-bed

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