| This morning's head harmony is ... |
[12 Feb 2007|07:14pm] |
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... Take That's, Patience.
Every morning, no matter what time I open my eyes, there is always some random song or a tune playing at full belt ( on 11!) in my head; sometimes it's a pop tune, other times it's something from an opera. Quite often, I don't even know the name of the piece of music that's rattling around my brain, turning my grey matter into a more liquid form. The good, the bad and the godawful, I get them all.
Why?
It's not as if I listen to much music these days - Terry Wogan and a power-tool symphony just don't mix! Even if I do manage to cop a listen of good old Radio 2, there's precious few classical or operatic tunes to be had outside of the adverts.
What is it with brains? What do they get up to after the Sandman has chucked that lorryload of grit into our eyes and we're snuggled up and cosy in the arms of Morpheus?
I think it goes a little something like this...
( Silliness behind the cut. )
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| Going down ... |
[05 Feb 2007|07:09pm] |
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I have a touch of the blues today. I s'pose it started this weekend with the house sale falling through. Now, as so often happens, other troubles are flocking to sip blood from the open wound.
In no particular order, here are my woes:( Read more... )
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| What I need is a large, stiff one! |
[18 Jan 2007|11:19pm] |
I'm talking about drink, of course. What did you think I meant? :D
Unfortunately, the hard stuff is still packed away, buried beneath some far-flung, leaning box tower (Shut up Jimi!!) and I had to make do with a large Zinfandel instead - hardly what my inner doctor prescribed! Pretty and pink as it is, Zinny didn't quite hit the mark for me tonight.
Why am I craving the amber solace of whisky? You might well ask! This week has been ... extremely vexing, to put it mildly. I have a headache from hell (the return of the cluster-fuck. Yay!); my benefits have been stopped; the central heating system has so much air in it, it could supply the International Space Station for a month and, to top it all off, yesterday, the ceiling in the back room decided to create its own water feature with the aid of its pal, Mr Leaking Bath.
No. I am not a happy kitty. :(
I am tired of bleeding. I am weary of playing spot-the-drip. I am sick of all the mess and of having to live out of boxes. I want to run away and never return. Hah. Fat chance. I have well and truly made this bed of mine!
You know all those property developing programmes on the tv, the ones with perky, smug presenters who give good advice that the renovators listen to and then promptly ignore? Believe in the horror stories, my friends; they are all true! Property is a money pit; a chameleon disguising itself as money tree in order to lure the unsuspecting would-be developer. Thank the Valar we haven't had to resort to using our credit cards!
Oh, just ignore me. I'm just feeling a bit low tonight, that's all. Let me whine and get it out of my system, okay? Things will look better in the morning, I'm sure. I should be grateful that hubby managed to repair the leak and that I was able to have a shower earlier. No - things aren't all that bad: the beast living in the radiators is asleep ... for now. He's quite worn himself out - probably because I've been chasing him up and down stairs all day! Still, the exercise will do us both good, I expect. A whisky would be even more beneficial!
Don't get me wrong, I still love this house as much as I ever did, I just wish it'd chuck us one grenade per week instead of volleying the whole box at us all in one day, that's all.
Good news: Berniebash is paying us a visit this weekend. No doubt she'll have me back to my silly self in no time.
Bad news: Her bedroom is a disaster area cum tool dumping ground at present. Let's hope I manage to get it ready before she lands, or she'll get right back in her car and drive home again. And who would blame her? Not me!
Time for sleep, I think. Tomorrow will be a whole new battle!
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| There I was ... |
[15 Jan 2007|10:36pm] |
... slurping my first cup of coffee of the day, quietly contemplating whether I should attempt to clean the house, or just continue trashing it, when suddenly I was violently roused from my reverie by an unholy commotion from outside. Now I am no twitcher (aka bird enthusiast), but I know the panic call when I hear one.In fact, that squawking sounded uncannily like "Oh feck! I'm a sparrowhawk's breakfast!" to me. Surely not? I looked through the window, and this is what I saw.
Click me!
Does that look like a sparrowhawk to you? *squints* You must forgive the poor picture quality: this was taken from indoors via a grimy, and rather sand-blasted, pane of glass. The British winter weather sure ain't what it used to be!
I felt so sorry for the starling, which continued to shriek and thrash despite having huge talons embedded into its head and abdomen. But that's nature, isn't it? A sparrowhawk can't very well walk into a fast-food joint and ask for McBacon & McEgg on a McMuffin with a side-order of E numbers (but then, I doubt it would even if it could!), can it?
Fortunately for my delicate constitution, the bird flew away to eat its Birdie McBreakfast in private after having been disturbed by our neighbour. Needless to say, it fair put me off my bowl of wholegrain muesli ... The carvery on our front lawn, I mean, and not our neighbour!
So, how was your day?
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| Hello kittens! |
[06 Dec 2006|07:32pm] |
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It seems ages since I last posted anything. What can I say? Life is so busy for us right now. Not only is the portly chap in the red suit on his final approach, but we are in the midst of attacking this - lovely - wreck of a house from the top end down. There be wiring, plaster and power tools lying about, in various poses, all over the place - and often where I least expect to find them. Hubby is a buggar for leaving his kit around. Ouch!
The good news is that our rising damp is rising no more. Last week we got a new damp proof course put in - hurrah! The chap who did it is also a builder, so I spent two days following him around the house, picking his brains on various other house matters. He is a talkative bloke at the best of times but I think I pushed him well over his daily word limit: his voice was decidedly husky when he finally managed to escape my clutches! Still, at least I can say I got my money's worth from him...and a book full of hints and notes too!
This week I have been much occupied with wood stripping. Yes, I have an exciting life. There's no need to look at me with such envy!
Zee's stripping tip of the week: If the blurb on the tin claims the product can cut through up to fifteen layers of paint, don't believe it. Give a snort of derision, purchase it anyway, but be prepared for lots of hard work. A hot knife through butter it ain't! My upper arms and abdomen feel like concrete whilst my poor hands are naught but swollen claws. Still, it looks nice (the woodwork, not me); much better than the diaper-green shade of before.
Oh, and on friday night I have my first Christmas party of the season. Won't that be fun? I'm partnering Mum on her work's do. But what of your menfolk, I hear you cry. Hah! Our menfolk work in the same hotel and have already been transmogrified into an elf and a Santa for the entire month of party nights. No time off for them. They will come to hate the sound of Noddy Holder's voice as he screams "IT'S CHRISTMAAAAAAAS!" at the end of that song for the zillionth time, I wager.
No - Mum and I are flying our sleigh solo.
Problem is, what the heck am I going to wear? Most of my decent, unspoiled-by-plaster-and-stripper, clothes and shoes are still safely packed away in their boxes. I suppose I'll have to do a little furtling about the box towers tomorrow (get out of my head Jimi!) and see what I can find. The first outfit out of the box wins. Can I wear a fancy dress with lumberjack boots and thick socks, do you think? A new fashion trend, methinks - builderette chic.
Right. I'm off to de-fuzz, and to see if I can remove at least some of the hard skin and paint from my poor, gnarled hands (failing that I'll have to wear gloves!)
I won't be able to reply to all the blog posts demanding my attention, but I will pop round and say hello at some point, I promise. Hope all is well with you, m'dears.
((hugs))
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| A day may come... |
[16 Nov 2006|10:28pm] |
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...when the new house owner begins to look further afield than the four (damp and rather moldy in places!) walls of their newest purchase. For me, today was that day.
Ever since we moved (and even leading up to the move), I seldom ventured out of doors, so occupied was I with making the place habitable. As a result, my skin has grown paler, direct sunlight makes me flinch and, worryingly, I've taken to muttering to myself "We hates it, preciousss. It burnsss usss!" when exposed to brightness of any kind.
In an attempt to divert myself from this craving I've developed for raw fish, (and the urge to surf for subterranean real estate!), I decided to abandon The House and have a wander into my new local town, Lytham.
And what a lovely day it was. I almost wished I'd brought my sunnies, for the sun was so bright. But what happened to all the leaves on the trees? I think I missed Autumn entirely, not quite sure how. How could I have been so blinkered? Not only that, but there were Christmas cards and decorations on display in all the shop windows, and the rich, spicy scents of winter candles wafting out onto the street, making me think of Santa, mince-pies, roaring fires and mistletoe. Christmas!? Why did no one give me a nudge? I've been stuck in a late-Summer groove for the past two months!
Suddenly I've realised this is mid-November and the festive train is gathering speed with a large, rotund chap, dressed all in red yelling "Tickets please!" as he waddles down the aisles. No one can get off. What I want to know is: how the heck am I going to get aboard the thing now? Will someone please pull the emergency-stop cord? Don't worry about the hefty fine - Santa can be easily suckered with some cheap sherry and a few mince-pies! Trust me on this. I was once a child!
Damn! I vowed that I'd be organized this year; that all the cards would be written, sitting neatly, waiting to be posted, and the pressies would be bought, wrapped and labelled by the beginning of December at the latest. Hah! It looks like this Christmas will be yet another rush job! And I have absolutely no idea where the fibre-optic Christmas tree is - which is a great pity because it does cheer me with its funky colour-changing goodness.
Silver bells? My mind is more occupied with the infestation of silverfish which I discovered when the dodgy, circa-1970 foam ceiling tiles fell on top of me - a task made easy thanks to all the damp and mold. A most unpleasant experience!
How are your Christmas preparations going? Is there anything else happening in the world I should know about?
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| My stress level.. |
[13 Nov 2006|03:41pm] |
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...is slowly falling back to normal following the house move. I'm currently on dial-up (how deliciously primitive!) because AOL cocked-up my broadband order so I'll attempt to keep this brief.
How bad was it? My careful preparations in the weeks running up to moving day counted for nothing when the great day actually arrived. I might as well have left everything to the last minute!
IT WAS HELLISH!
For starters, Hubby was WORKING (yes, you read that correctly) and, since he was borrowing the work's van, I had to sit on my twitchy arse, occasionally pacing the box maze and chain-smoking, until he finally deigned to come home and do something. Of course, it was a huge rush job and it ended up taking about four trips in all, there and back again. No removal men with their huge shiny vans for us - mais non! Let's get the smallest van imaginable because it's free, shall we? Then, let's break our backs attempting to get the old house empty before the new people arrive. Great fun! I've been banging on to Hubby for months about getting the professionals in to move us, but he wouldn't hear of it. 'Spend all that money - no way!'
'But, think of all the needless suffering we could avoid, dearest (only, I didn't actually say 'dearest')!'
'Forget it! said he, in that confident, matter-of-fact, game-over, kind of way that always makes me want to bash him repeatedly about the head with something heavy and blunt. 'We'll do it ourselves.'
Fine!
However, in my experience, when a bloke says 'we'll do it ourselves' that usually translates as 'I'll do as little as possible and YOU can mop up everything else. Admittedly, he did do all the actual lugging from house to house (with a little help from his friends, who now think I am a total fish-wife because they did not hear me utter three words that day unless accompanied by a vile expletive or three!) but it was little old me who had to create order from chaos both before and after the move. Did he clean the house for the new people? No.The good fairies did it, just like they advised all the utility suppliers that we were moving. [/sarcasm]
'Will anyone else be moving with you to your new address?' asked one, revoltingly chipper telephone advisor.
'Not at this rate!' I answered, rather grimly!
When Mum and I arrived at the new house we literally could not get in through the front door. The chaps, in their wisdom, had dumped everything in the two reception rooms before using the hallway as an overflow dumping ground. Cat-basket in hand, I had to clamber over a king-sized mattress and a chest of drawers in order to get poor Raffy upstairs to the sanctuary of one of the, completely empty, bedrooms. You should see my fading bruises. I look like an accident victim! Thank the Valar for my mum! Between us, we got the bed upstairs and made it up ready for bedtime. We also managed to locate the kettle and a good bottle of whisky too - just the thing to wash down the codeine phosphate!
And did hubby notice that he had a bed to sleep in, and a clear hallway when he returned home from work? *snorts and rolls eyes* However, he did say, as though he'd had a light-bulb moment, that next time we move ' We really should set some money aside for a removal company to move us. ' To my credit, I did not swear at him, or start searching for a blunt instrument. I simply smiled. 'You think so? I think that's an excellent idea, my love!'
Moving house is supposed to trigger many divorces and I can't say I'm at all surprised. If there are any substantial cracks in a relationship, moving house is sure to root them out and put them under a critical strain. I'm glad to report that we are still in one piece. Things are returning to normal. I no longer resemble a character from The Exorcist and my head doesn't spin 360 degrees any more. Oh, and I've stopped that annoying habit of vomiting up nails! The cussing has settled to a more managable level too: I can speak at least four sentences before something beginning with 'F' slips in. Progress indeed!
The house still looks like we just moved in - there's a lot of building work to be done before I can unpack all those boxes - but it's finally OURS. Now, all that hurry-hurry stress has faded away to nothing. No deadlines, no solicitors, no Clampitts or Satan's hound. It's just me, him, the cat and a shedload of boxes in the house we love. Heaven!
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| The boxes are multiplying like bacteria... |
[20 Oct 2006|02:05pm] |
...and now just getting from one room to another is like a quick trip round one of those fancy mazes you get at stately homes - only a much more down market one! The owners of those places had the good sense to build their mazes out of doors; what a pity we couldn't do the same thing, but the British climate is not kind to cardboard. No matter how neatly I arrange my box bricks I am continually stumbling into their mighty 'walls' and bashing my legs and ankles on them. You should see my bruises!
Of course, I keep packing things that I think I can do without until we reach our new place, only to discover that I can't, in fact, manage without them at all. Then I'm forced to go furtling about, lugging boxes around until I find the one containing that 'vital' item. Not a fun experience!
As the walls of my indoor fortress grow ever tighter, I can't help thinking that one day soon I'll have to unpack every single box which, imo, is infinitely worse than the packing bit. Where the heck am I going to put it all? How can one little house contain so much stuff?
I miss having my things, especially my books, around me. I don't like living in a minimalist house at all! Why does buying a house take so long? I think the solicitors and mortgage companies get a kick (and more money!) out of prolonging the whole process.
But things are starting to shift , slowly gathering speed (stalactite stylee!), so I won't be posting as frequently over the coming days. I will, however, keep popping by to see how you're all doing - you people keep me semi-sane! Keep me posted on any major developments, won't you?
Ta-ta for now!
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| Home again... |
[17 Oct 2006|03:59pm] |
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And what a fabulous trip we've had! We arrived back home monday evening but I didn't feel up to blogging due to the still-going-seventy-mph sensation in my skull. I always get this after a long motorway journey, don't know why!
( Picture heavy post ahoy! )
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| God wills it! |
[12 Oct 2006|01:08pm] |
Just a quick post to let you know I'm still alive, though I seem to have misplaced my blogging mojo somewhere. Not that you've missed much in the life of Zee, my friends. I am still packing boxes;drowning in a sea of bubble-wrap (which I haven't deliberately popped once! Impressive, eh?); wallowing in the twelfth century...huh? Do what?
That's right. I'm currently reading a book on the history of The Crusades. At present, I am on Crusade number five - and what a bloody and edifying journey it's been so far! My suspicions are confirmed: there's nothing remotely holy about holy wars - not unless the Big G gets his jollies from standing neck deep in entrails and decapitations!
( Read more )
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| On this day in history... |
[06 Oct 2006|12:21pm] |
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Six years ago today, at this precise moment, I was on my way to the registry office, mentally preparing myself to say 'I do'.
( Read more )
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| The flight now arriving... |
[03 Oct 2006|01:23pm] |
Mum is back from visiting her sister in Canada and I am more glad than I can say. I've missed her terribly. She's not just my mum; she really is my best friend. You could say we grew up together.
( Read more )
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| The Big Fast! |
[30 Sep 2006|11:18am] |
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We are now entering the second week of Ramadam and, so far, all is well.
Hubby is by no means a religious fanatic - the local mosque has never felt the tread of his feet -, but this is something special to him. Every year, without fail, he fasts for the month of Ramadam. Not a thing passes his lips during daylight hours: no food, no drink, no cleaning of teeth or headache medication...nothing. Imagine that!
( Read more )
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| Reason 175 why being a grown-up sucks! |
[26 Sep 2006|02:13pm] |
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Yeah, I know bad stuff is happening in the world. In the grand scheme of things I am majoring in something very minor, but I can't help it. Ignore me if you will. I just need to vent my spleen in a harmless way.
We have to have further surveys done on our new, and dilapidated, house. Surveys, as I'm sure all other grown-ups know, cost money. Best of all, we have to pay for these surveys even though the house is not yet ours. This is so unfair. If I ruled the world, the vendor would be responsible for all surveys on the property he/she is selling. As things stand, if we back out of this sale now we have, basically, thrown away 400 quid plus. If someone else wants to buy the house, they have to pay for more fresh surveys to be done. It's as though the previous ones never existed - no matter how recently they were carried out.
We pay agents lots of money to buy/sell our houses, don't we. So tell me why it is that I have been the one on the phone all morning, getting prices for these new reports? I've been like some crazy dog chasing after his two tails! All the spinning has made me dizzy, and more than a little bad-tempered.
Hubby has been no help either.When I phoned him at work to inform him of developments he went off like a wayward WMD. Fortunately I answered him with a counter-strike of my own which was right on target. DO NOT yank on Zee's tail after she has birthed the mother of bad mornings!
I think I'll snip this so you don't have to see my claws.
( Read more )
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| Around and around? |
[19 Sep 2006|11:07am] |
Last night I watched a programme about a six-year-old boy from Glasgow who claims -and has done ever since he could string words together - that he has another family.
Most kids have imaginary worlds and invisible friends, but little Cameron is something else. His world is very real: the Isle of Barra, a tiny place off the west coast of Scotland. He repeatedly begged Norma (his current mum) to take him back to Barra to visit his 'family' there because - he seemed genuinely convinced - they were missing him.
( Read more )
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| Tree power. |
[10 Sep 2006|08:01pm] |
We put in an offer on a new (to us!) house and it has been accepted. Here's a link. What do you think of it?
Oh, and we didn't offer the full asking price, m'dears. It looks nice enough from the outside, but inside is another story. It's like taking a trip back in time to a 1950's interior decorating nightmare. They even have laminate flooring effect wall-coverings to complement the garish gloss work. Perfect! Just what we were looking for.
You want to know what clinched the deal for us? The tree. Take a look at the main picture again. Just above the roof of the house you can see the green, tousled head of a huge tree peeping out. That mighty beast is in our garden. How great is that? Oh, speak not to me of roots weakening the foundations! That's what surveys are for. The world needs more trees like this one. I would not chop it down for the world.
The poor creature currently resides behind a vile, brick-built garden shed and, on entering the garden, Hubby and I raced through the nettles towards it muttering "Is it on our property?" as we went -- much to the amusement of the agent. How chuffed were we when we went behind the shed and discovered that it was! The trunk is so large that it begs to have a seat built (carefully!) around its base. As we stood there, grinning at one another, it seemed that we could see all the possibilities for this garden being reflected back in each others eyes. Flowers and shrubs and fountains miraculously appeared before us like some kind of Disney fantasy. We were hooked from then on.
Sod the house and all its problems. The tree makes up for everything. Whatever else isn't perfect, we have that.
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| I've grown accustomed to his face. |
[06 Sep 2006|01:16am] |
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Hubby is home tomorrow, and not before time!
I've had a song from this musical running on a loop in my head all evening. Take a look. Just exchange the 'she's with 'he's and 'man' for 'woman' etc, and you'll know exactly how I'm feeling right now. Yes, underneath my armour I'm just a big softie where my man is concerned. Don't tell anyone, will you? I have a reputation to keep!
( Read more )
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| Horrible Haggles! |
[04 Sep 2006|05:05pm] |
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1. haggle v. (100%)
dispute or bargain persistently, especially over a price.
It is a commonly held belief that we Brits are no good at haggling. Look at the holiday programmes. How many times, when visiting an Arab country, does the nervous-looking presenter recommend a visit to the local Medina, urging you not to be put off by the enthusiastic shopkeepers. 'Don't forget to haggle! It's expected.'
The starting price is usually way over the odds. You should reduce the figure by a half as a starting point - no matter if the salesman flings his arms about, weeping wildly/exposes his bosom for you to stick a dagger into/presents you with his first-born son as a sacrifice to your God of Capitalism. If all else fails to secure the item you desire, grunt in disgust and walk away. Really - it is expected. Many's the time I've been chased around the Medina in Sousse by some persistent stall-holder, reducing the price as he runs in my disinterested wake.
As strange as it may seem, it's a fun pastime for all concerned. Admittedly, the European visitor often gets fleeced, but they go away thinking they've got themselves a bargain, and the canny stallholder makes a tidy profit in the process. See? Everyone goes home happy.
"Oh, I couldn't do that! It's just not me!"
Really? Then I take it you have never bought a house? Trust me, the housing market is a far more cut-throat place than any Medina! Once again, haggling is expected (unless you are an extreme dullard and offer the full asking price straight off!). We Brits are pros at haggling, However, I encountered something today that I've never experienced before; a haggling technique known hereafter as The Stroppy Sulk. I would not recommend using this technique in any Medina - unless you particularly want to be slapped.
I'm snipping this because it's going to get rambling and bitter from here.
( Read more )
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