Happy Valentine’s Day?

I’m not in the mood (or the position) to make retailers rich today, but I am in the mood to make you laugh, and laughter is the greatest gift, so it’s a win for you, a win for me, and a win for my pocket. Assuming, of course, that my story, originally posted in 2012, amuses you. 

A story of true love, it begins at Christmas…

Dear Judge,

I know I killed my True Love in a fit of rage but I think, once you hear my tale, you will have to acknowledge that I was provoked beyond what any reasonable person could stand.

Things started off well. On the first day of Christmas, my True Love sent me a partridge in a pear tree. A little weird, I thought, but I let it pass. To be honest, as the first day of Christmas is Christmas Day, I’d have preferred a turkey.

On the second day he sent me two turtle doves. Romantic, because I believe they mate for life, so I could see the symbolism. But he also sent me another partridge in a pear tree. What was that about?

Next day it was three French hens – or should I say, trois French hens? My little joke, Judge. I still had a sense of humour at that point. Plus two more doves and another partridge in a pear tree.

On the fourth day I was afraid to open the door to the postman. I was right to be afraid: ten birds arrived that morning, four of which were colly birds. Is there anyone on the planet who knows what a colly bird is? I think my True Love made that one up, or he ordered calling birds, but the shop saw a chance to finally offload the 36 colly birds they had lying around in the storeroom which they had ordered by accident.

Probably guessing from my enraged texts and emails that by now I was a little miffed, he had the good sense to send me five gold rings on day five of Christmasgate. I was mollified enough to think it would be okay to accept day six’s gift. Boy, was I ever wrong! Six – count them: one-two-three-four-five-SIX – geese-a-laying. The eggs would have been acceptable but I couldn’t get near them. Do you know how protective geese are of their eggs? I still have the bill marks on my legs. And it’s not nice to be hissed at by 42 geese (yes, 42; because he sent me six more geese who wouldn’t share, every day for the next six days).  It’s like I’m living in a really bad pantomime in the comfort of my own home – though there’s not much comfort to be had with 184 birds running around, making a racket and pooping like there’s no tomorrow. Which there wasn’t for those I managed to store in my freezer… Not to mention the 42 goslings under my feet, imprinting on me. It made shopping impossible.

And yes, you did read that right, Judge: 184 birds in total is what my True Love sent to me. 226, if you count the inevitable babies.

But he saved the best for last, which I’ll call Day Seven, because it was. I may have been a little unhinged by this point. I refused to open the door so the delivery truck left my idiot boyfriend’s ridiculous idea of a love token in my tiny back garden: seven swans-a-swimming. Seven swans-a-swimming! You know what that means, don’t you? An inflatable pool! In my pocket garden! And not just one inflatable pool, oh no! SIX inflatable pools, because he sent me the same gift for the next five days, along with eight maids-a-milking, nine ladies dancing (I don’t even watch Strictly), ten lords-a-leaping (I’m interested in politics, yes, but not to the point of inviting the second chamber into my home – and the ornaments those old codgers broke…), eleven pipers piping, and twelve drummers drumming, right through my skull.

By the time I got the injunction against my True Love, it was too late – the neighbours had complained about the smell, the illegal poultry farm I had set up, and the music played at full volume at all hours of the day and night.  I was evicted by the council for antisocial behaviour.  I was homeless, penniless (having spent all my money on bird seed and feeding guests) and furious – mostly because all swans are owned by the Crown, so my True Love had scuppered the chance of me ever appearing on any future Honours List.

I admit to seeking out my True Love who, while big on romantic gestures, was a slacker when it came to paying for the upkeep of all those birds or feeding 140 people – though I’ll accept, the poultry and the eighty buckets of milk did come in handy there.

I also admit to pelting him with rock hard pears (they were out of season; what was the silly beggar thinking?) and, when that didn’t work, belting him with as many pipes, drums and drumsticks as I could lay my hands on. But the death stroke was, I’m convinced, administered by the swans, who didn’t like it when, weighed down by 40 gold rings, I fell into one of their pools and almost drowned whilst trying to pry the human leech off me.  I did manage to escape though he, sadly, did not.  All was not lost however – the sale of the forty rings to Gold ‘R ‘ Us paid for his funeral, and the cortege, comprised of my personal aviary, attracted media attention and led to my new career in reality TV, specifically, Come Dine With Me (which I won, thanks to some exotic poultry dishes), How Clean Is Your House? (not very, as it happens), and Farmer Wants A Wife.

So, dear Judge, I think you can see that I acted under extreme provocation while the balance of my mind was disturbed and my feet were in three tons of guano.

If you let me off, I will be free to marry one of the drummers, Bill, who has promised to give me only chocolates, toiletries and DVDs as Christmas presents.

I throw myself on the mercy of the court.

Signed, The Moulting Housewife

 

SElf-Explanatory

Here are some videos of Alex performing.  The first is from The Boy Next Door, a concert of the music of Hugh Martin.  There are more videos if you let it play out; and The Mamas & The Papas fans might enjoy a new girl group’s rendition of one song in particular:

The second is a compilation of snippets from a show he did last year, The Colla Voce Theatre Cabaret, made up of songs from modern musicals:

This weekend Alex was involved in several events at Sheffield University’s Platform festival, in aid of Cavendish Cancer Care.   On Friday he sang in the SUPAS Showcase, playing George III in Hamilton, singing You’ll Be Back:

 

Thursday to Saturday he’s performing in Miscast, again with Colla Voce Theatre:  

Hit the link to buy tickets if you happen to be in the Sheffield area.

If you haven’t heard of Miscast, it’s ‘an annual benefit in which Broadway stars perform songs from musical roles which they would be very unlikely to land in…’ [Playbill].

And finally, I have a belated Christmas gift for you: I don’t think I’ve mentioned that he had his first paid acting gig at Christmas…playing one of Santa’s Experience Elves at the Trafford Centre.  I love that he did that as it gives me another opportunity to poke fun at him; I don’t even need to say anything – just put the pic out there:

 

 

 

Promises, Promises

I thought I’d tell you about two of my Christmas presents: the tourmaline necklace and emerald ring (no, it wasn’t my usual hyperbole; I really did receive a ton of gifts).

Our story begins a long time ago in a continent far, far away…the Hub was in Madagascar on business.  He was always away on business, which meant he spent half his time shopping for guilt presents for me and then only child Baby Boy.  

Browsing a huge market, he came across a stall selling precious and semi-precious stones.  He bought four for around R10 (roughly 2-3 pounds/dollars), including the tourmaline and emerald.

When he first gave them to me, he promised to have the emerald set in a ring as soon as we had some spare cash.  That was twenty-four years ago.

Life happened: we bought a house; he started his own business; we had another baby; we left South Africa; he became ill, etc., etc.  The stones languished in my jewellery box, forgotten, I thought.  I wasn’t particularly bothered; he bought the stones on a market stall – I wasn’t convinced it was even a real emerald.

Fast forward twenty-four years.  It was three weeks before Christmas.  The Hub raided my jewellery box and took the two stones to a local jeweller.  He figured that if he was getting one stone set, he might get a deal on another.  The jeweller was impressed by the emerald – rare colouring these days, apparently; and of very good quality.

The Hub was specific about the setting, because he knows I’m specific about jewellery – I don’t do big or bulky or fancy or showy.  I have a small frame and small hands and I like delicate and dainty and not too much of anything.

He went to collect them the day before Christmas Eve.  The  tourmaline necklace was perfect.  The emerald ring…not so much.  The setting was fancy; too fancy for this Hub’s wife, he knew.  He was adamant that it be re-set in time for Christmas.

It took the jeweller three weeks to get it wrong and 24 hours to get it right.  The Hub collected the ring in its new setting on Christmas Eve, packed it in a giant box to throw me off the scent, and had one spectacularly happy spouse on Christmas morning.

It took twenty-four years but the man kept a small promise he made to me.  That was the real Christmas gift.

Christmas Conversations

November

The Hub: What do you want for Christmas?

Tilly Bud: Nothing, really.  I could do with some new socks.  Oh, and I’ve run out of perfume.  Maltesers, of course.  A large Amazon book voucher.  And somebody better buy me the Outlander DVD or you three are going to have a miserable Christmas.  But nothing, really.  You know I don’t need much.

 

 

The Week Before Christmas

Alex and I went to the local care home to join in with my church carol singing. We’re a small church but, even so, I was disappointed that he and I were the only people to show up.

Attendant: Who are you here to see?

TB: We’re here for the St Matthew’s carol singing.

Attendant: That’s tomorrow.

Christmas Eve

Here’s a conversation I never expected to have.  I was watching ‘White Christmas’ with Spud.  Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye were performing to ‘Sisters’.

TB: I can so see you and Sam doing that.

Spud: [Enthusiastically] Yeah!  I can, too.  I’ll speak to him about it.

TB: I’ve got the perfect dress you could borrow.

Spud: [Still enthusiastic].  Great!  Thanks, Ma!

*

Christmas Eve Continued

TB: Don’t let me forget the starter tomorrow.  Every year, I forget to prepare and serve the starter.  But not this year!

The Hub: I have faith in you.

 

Christmas Eve Continued Again

TB: Hub!  The dishwasher’s not working!  Argh!

Hub: I’ll fix it.

Three days and seven hundred handwashed-by-me dishes later:

Hub: I can’t fix it. [TB stares] Please don’t leave me.  I prefer hospital. [TB stares] But I’d rather not go to hospital. [TB stares] But we can’t afford a new dishwasher; it’s Christmas. [TB stares] Gulp.

Ten minutes later:

Hub: I bought you a new dishwasher.  It’ll be here on Tuesday.

Christmas Day

TB: Thank you, Hub, for the socks, the perfume, the Maltesers, the other sweets, the autographed photos of Cliff Richard and Chris Hemsworth, the tourmaline necklace, the emerald ring, the Outlander DVD and the twenty-seven stocking fillers.  I told you I didn’t want much; I’m glad you listened.

The Hub: You deserve it all, so sweet and undemanding as you are.

TB: [Blush]

 

Christmas Day Continued

TB: Dinner!  Enjoy, my darlings.  Merry Christmas!

The Hub: Um, I don’t want to upset you but you remember how you swore you wouldn’t forget the starter this year…?

Bank Holiday Monday

My brother was visiting from down south.

TB: Did you watch A Gert Lush Christmas? It was so funny.  [American readers, think redneck stereotypes] 

Bro [Who lives in the general area of the programme’s setting]: It’s really like that.

TB: Seriously?

Bro: Seriously. They had to close Cinderford CSI, you know; they couldn’t solve any crimes.  

TB [Walking right into it]: Why?

Bro: Because there were no dental records; and everyone’s got the same DNA.

 

Five Days After Christmas

TB: Hub!  The washing machine broke down!

Hub: I’m leaving you.*

*Not really; fear makes him babble.

 

Six Days After Christmas

TB: Right, that’s my sack full of presents finally put away.  Everything was on my desk but I had to clear them to wrap Pam’s birthday present.  You know, I’ve got the feeling I’m missing something, but for the life of me, I can’t think what.

The Hub: The starters?

The Hub: Ow!

 

 

New Year

WordPress: Here’s your annual stats.

TB: Thank you, WordPress!  How did I do?

WP: 22 posts all year?  Loser!

January 3rd

Friend Pam: Thank you for the lovely birthday presents!

TB: Presents?  It was just one present; the framed painting.

FP: No, no; you also gave me autographed photos of Cliff Richard and Chris Hemsworth.  Weird gifts, especially Cliff’s, but I loved the Chris Hemsworth one. Thank you so much!

*

And finally…less talking, more singing: here’s Alex with his friends, just before Christmas.

 

 

 

Happy Christmas!

Everyone is still in bed, snoring away. 

I am downstairs, listening to Christmas carols and eating homemade cold apple pie for breakfast.

I wish you all a lovely day, wherever you are; and thank you for sticking with me even though I have hardly been here.

Happy Christmas, dear readers.  xxx

The Best Laid Plans Of Mice And Buds

Cover via Amazon

As we are now in the final week of the 101/1001 challenge, I had intended to write a celebratory post each day about the experience.  Yesterday’s post was abandoned because of migraine; today’s because of unexpected visitors.  The coming week’s itinerary includes Christmas grocery shopping, Christmas shopping for just about everyone (for various reasons we haven’t been able to do much this year), a girls’ night in, visitors, visitors and more visitors (it is Christmas, after all) and the annual screening of A Muppet Christmas Carol for the boys and me.

I have to mark the end in some way, however, so here’s a summary of what I would have written, if I’d had the time:

• It was fun
• It was hard work
• I didn’t complete all of the challenges
• But that’s okay because it was meant to be for fun, anyway
• Which it was
• I’m pleased with the challenges I did complete
• My favourite task was…

…but that’s all I have time for today – there’s a mop calling me (can’t have my guests knowing how dirty I really am).

I will try very hard to wrap up the past two and a half years’ experiences in the next five days, but I can’t guarantee it.  I feel a bit of a muppet.

 

Joke 987

frein (Photo credit: Ludie Cochrane)

The first three jokes are from Reader’s Digest.

These holiday “headlines” — concocted by the satirists at the Onion — are completely fabricated. And yet they have the ring of truth. 

• Coal Now Too Expensive to Put in Christmas Stockings 
• Study Finds Link Between Red Wine/Letting Mother Know What You Really Think 
• Accountants Pack Times Square for Fiscal New Year 
• Book Given as Gift Actually Read

*

My friend reviewed her young son’s fill-in-the-blank homework. One line: “At Christmas, we exchange gifts with ____.”

His response: “Receipts.”

*

As we were putting out cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve, I accidentally dropped one. “No problem,” I said, picking it up and dusting it off before placing it back on the plate.

“You can’t do that,” argued my four-year-old.

“Don’t worry. Santa will never know.”

He shot me a look. “So he knows if I’ve been bad or good, but he doesn’t know the cookie fell on the floor?”

*

And from the archive:

*

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson went camping. After sharing a good meal and a bottle of wine, they retired to their tent for the night.  At about 3 a.m., Holmes nudged Watson and said, “Watson, look up into the sky and tell me what you see.”

Watson replied, “I see millions of stars.”

Holmes asked, “And what does that tell you?”

Watson replied, “Astronomically, it tells me there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, it tells me that Saturn is in Leo. Theologically, it tells me that God is great and we are small and insignificant. Horologically, it tells me that it’s about 3 a.m.  Meteorologically, it tells me that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. What does it tell you, Holmes?”

Holmes retorted, “It tells me someone stole our tent.”

*

And on a similar theme, this one is from real life.

The Hub: I fancy watching a new series coming on, Pet Detectives.

Spud: Do you know who solves the mysteries?

The Hub [walking straight into it]: No.

Spud: Sherlock Bones.

 

Christmas Decorating

As you can see, I have decorated my blog for Christmas.

Christmas in the post-War United States (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I changed some colour scheme or other so that bits are red instead of green.  It was an accident: I was looking for a way to remove empty boxes from my dashboard.  I rather like the red; don’t you?

The empty boxes are still there, of course.  I’m rubbish at this technical stuff.

I also changed my header, courtesy of the genius Aquatom, who sent me a choice of four Christmas headers out of the blue.  Thank you, Tom!

I am not going with snow this year and I am not changing the theme.  Blame the economy*.

*It doesn’t cost bloggers anything to change those things but if politicians can blame their laziness to fix things on the economy, then so can I.

 

Now That The Festive Season Is Over…

…I am enjoying the restive season

My middle-aged bones are not what they were.  I could once prepare for Christmas throughout the whole of December, look after a big house and a small family, host as many as twenty-two people for Christmas Dinner and four grandparents for a week, throw in a New Year’s Eve party with guests sleeping in the lounge, bakkie and their own tent in our large garden, manage the cooking, cleaning and washing, and still wear make up and a big smile at the end of it.

Now, five of us for Christmas Dinner and my legs ache, my back creaks, my tired body slept until nine this morning and make up?  Forget it.  The Hub knows what I look like with a naked face.  If he doesn’t like it, he can hobble through the door.

Roll on grandkids, when my sons can start hosting Christmas.

PS That NYE party when guests camped in our garden?  They woke on New Year’s Day to find their tent smothering them.  Our Doberman had chewed through the ropes in the night.

English: Christmas is over 2 It must have been some kind of party in Gillingham around New Year’s Eve 2010. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For more Six Word Saturdays go here.

Christmas Menu

The Hub usually takes a better picture than this but he was in a hurry for his dinner

As I’ve done nothing but eat since Christmas Eve, I have nothing to tell you.  

Unless I go with what I’ve been eating.  

That’s what I’ll do.

Here is our Christmas Dinner Menu (sans forgotten starter):

• Turkey
• Gammon
• Chicken
• I forgot to put out the sausages, though I did cook them

• Cauliflower (for those who don’t like Cauliflower Cheese)
• Cauliflower Cheese (for those who don’t like cauliflower on its own)
• Broccoli
• Parsnips in honey
• Carrots
• Peas
• Green Beans
• Sprouts
• Mediterranean Vegetable Mix (because it looked tasty)

• Mashed Potatoes (using the good margarine)
• Roast Potatoes (cooked in the meat fat)
• Homemade Yorkshire Puddings (because the Hub prefers them)
• Shop-bought Yorkshire puddings (because Spud prefers them)
• Homemade Gravy (using the meat stock – all three)

• Homemade Apple Pie
• Rhubarb Pie
• Alison’s Fantastic Cheesecake (she always makes a huge one for the Hub at Christmas)
• Chocolate Fudge Cake
• Toblerone Cake
• Frosted Fancies
• Assorted Sponge Cakes
• Bakewell Tarts
• Cream

Is it any wonder I’ve done nothing since Christmas Day?

Apart from our traditional Boxing Day Buffet, that is.  

That list is even longer, so here’s an illustration instead (without puddings):

Boxing Day Savouries

Like a reformed Scrooge, it is always said of me that I know how to keep Christmas well.  If my guests explode when they leave, that’s down to them being guzzleguts.

The Drooping Housewife

Pajama (Photo credit: Ramona.Forcella)

Apologies that I have not yet responded to your comments or visited your blogs.  I am what is technically known as ‘knackered’.  

Quite apart from the Christmas build-up and all the work involved, we have had a lot of (welcome) visitors, including on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day.

Tory Boy arrived late on Sunday night and left at seven this morning – the first time in about six years that he hasn’t worked Christmas Eve and Boxing Day.  I was afraid I would oversleep and miss saying goodbye so of course I woke up every hour and I feel like a zombie this morning.  I managed a couple of hours on the couch, when I fell asleep watching TV.

I have decided to take a pyjama day.  I promise to wash and brush my teeth so I don’t smell, but I’m not getting dressed.  I’m going to catch up on some TV and eat leftovers.

You are welcome to visit, but bring your dressing gown and slippers.

 

That Was Weird

I had a lovely Christmas Day.

It was weird.

Usually, the boys wake us around seven.  We have never had enough sleep the night before.  For the first time, it was gone eight (that was particularly weird for me – I get up around six every day).

Usually, I insist that discarded wrapping paper goes straight into bags for recycling.  This year, I let it pile up on the floor and the dogs played in it.  The mess was soon cleared up afterwards.

Usually, it takes us about two hours to unwrap all the presents.  We take turns, decipher the clues we have written for each other, and thank the giver.  That didn’t change.  We once spent Christmas with a family who dived in to the presents in a frenzy, opening everything at once.  It took eight people fifteen minutes, tops.  It might be fun but there was no laughter at bad guesses and daft clues, no gratitude from the receiver for the effort made by the giver.  We like to savour our gift-gifting.

Usually, the Hub has to go back to bed for a couple of hours; yesterday, he didn’t, though he did doze on the couch while I made dinner.  That’s normal.

Usually, we don’t walk the dogs on Christmas Day, the only day of the year they don’t get a walk.  Yesterday, because it has rained so much in the last two weeks, we took them out while it wasn’t.  It was the Hub, the Nephew and me.  Lovely.  

It’s not so lovely trying to find dog poo in the dark, but I’ll gloss over that bit.

Usually, we have a starter.  Yesterday, I only remembered it as I was about to dish up, so we didn’t.  No one cared.

Usually, I am a terrible stress head about making Christmas Dinner.  Last year I cried because the roast potatoes were too big.  This year, not only were the roasties perfect, but I didn’t stress at all, timing everything just right.  The only wee bit of stress was when the boys came to help and I had to leave the kitchen while they squabbled about stupid things.  It was liking watching an all-male version of my marriage.

Usually, I finish my dinner, Christmas or otherwise.  Yesterday, I was the only one who didn’t, and who didn’t have seconds.  That’s ten pounds I’ll never put on.

Usually, we pull our crackers after dinner.  Yesterday, because of lack of space, we pulled them first and ate with paper hats on our heads,  Most jolly!

Usually, we watch a film after dinner.  Yesterday, for the first time in years, we didn’t.  We watched Doctor Who – of course – and other Christmas TV specials. Usually, we’re too stuffed to laugh, but The Royle Family took care of that.

Usually, I fall into bed on Christmas night around eleven, as the one and sometimes two glasses of wine kick in.  This year I drank Buck’s Fizz.  A whole bottle, without it going to my head.  Rather impressed with my hard head, I have just looked it up and it is one part alcohol to two parts orange juice…I still have a soft head.

All in all, a lovely day.  I love the routine of Christmas; don’t you?

 

Today

Merry Christmas to all,

and to all a good time!

Joke 642

christmas paint (Photo credit: cassie_bedfordgolf)

Knock knock

Who’s there?

Mary

Mary who?

Mary Christmas!

Nativity (Photo credit: Secret Tenerife)

 

Writingthisinahurry…

christmas tree (Photo credit: peminumkopi)

IhadintendedtowritealongpostabouthowmuchI’vegottodotoday.

but.

i’vegottoomuchtodotofindtimetowriteaboutit.

so.

ifyoucelebratetheholidays,merryChristmas!

(I’mnevertoobusytoputacapitalletterinfrontofChristmas).

and.

ifyoudon’tcelebrateChristmas,haveagoodmonday!