Me: Don't panic! Mummy to the rescue!
Her: Yes. Mummy, resc me.
]]>After Yags eloquent post on one source of internet addiction, I was moved to write this missive about another...
New links from my never ending list of Etsy favourites. Don't blame me when you're poor.
Caitlin Shearer - fey inked girls, love this one Never Grow up, (look at the text in large size)
Rudman - ruffs for every occassion
Dandee Designs - calling cards and pretty tags
Blue Citrus Art - photography
Paper Stories - cards and letterpress
It's her new war cry.
Mummy? MUMMY! I don't yike this outfit.
*sigh* Well go and change then chick.
4 minutes later I am summoned by furious shrieking to rescue her from the depths of a tricksy t-shirt or some such.
Because I didn't have enough washing to do already.
3 outfits before breakfast this morning.
Mummy? I don't yike this outfit.
But YOU chose it! 10 minutes ago...
Today we were in the loo of a cafe. I was engrossed in the contents of Sherbs nappy.
Mummy? I don't yike this outfit.
Hmmm? Well I'm afraid it will have to do Sprog. We're not changing now, lets go and get a bun and a drink... Sprog, you're naked.
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Also, she is a princess. When she is not perfecting her quick change routine she likes to be a princess. I'm not sure where it came from - I promise I have mostly encouraged her to be a priate or a bear.
Mummy? I'm a princess!
Hmm? Are you?
Yes I AM!! And I can do princess dancing.
You can?
I can. Do you want to see my princess dancing Mummy?
Oh goodness yes, I'd love to see your princess dancing.
She takes a deep breath, a pause, mentally readies herself for her performance... and then proceeds to galumph about the room on stiff and chubby little legs, crashing into the sofa, waving her arms and muttering Baa Baa Black Sheep under her breath. Every time she lands she farts loudly, and the performance continues for 30 seconds or more. I think I am going to die laughing until her ernest little face looks up at me, wide green eyes looking solemn and worried.
I am a princess Mummy? With princess dancing?
Yes chick, you are a beautiful princess.
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She persuaded her father to buy her a princess magazine. The free toy was a horrid plastic princess doll complete with "TWO SUMMER OUTFITS!" Well, one outfit is a ball gown and the other is a bra, knickers and a tennis hat. I'm not entirely sure what sort of a princess she is. I was watching Sprog play with the doll;
"Come on Princess, put on your shoes... and put on your teerahrah on your head... and put on your bra... Oh dear Princess, where are your breast pads?"
]]>M has been investigating what watts we've been using.
Illuminating stuff.
Update: The Table o'Doom
... I don't wanna get left behind.
Photograph by Irena Rudman.
Lovely work by Irena Rudman on Etsy. Me likee.
I am a little bit in love and in awe of builder Mike Holmes*. I wish I could diagnose a building problem like that man can.
His programme 'Holmes on Homes' fixes mistakes that other builders have made. A bit like a building avenging angel. Yes, I admit it, I am addicted to DIY programmes, ahem.
Today he fixed a kitchen that was put in badly. When I mean badly I mean very badly. The cupboards didn't have room to open properly. Drawer fronts did not meet drawer innards. Appliance doors could not open as they jammed against the cupboards. The worst thing was the shoddy builders nearly killed the owners son. Mike testified in court as their expert witness. They had left a drinks bottle in the kitchen filled with clear liquid that the child thought was water. It wasn't, it was some horrid burning chemical.
I salute you Mike with my cup of darjeeling, melting golden brie on french bread and a handful of dried cranberries. Late lunches rock.
EDIT: Proof for Snags
*I also love our local hardware shop. I now have the perfect sandpaper recommended by the shop owner himself as used on his seven gunky hall doors. What a hero.
Last week my new workplace sent me on a training course to lern to rite good. It was all pretty interesting, although I now find myself analysing everything for gratuitous use of the passive tense / excessive jargon / pompous wording. (However, I refuse to take on board the part about shortening sentences. I like long rambling sentences.) Oh, and there was a shiny suitcase at the back of the room with every different kind of Twinings tea you could imagine. I drank at least six, meaning I spent a lot of time in the bathroom – but that was ok because there were tiny individual towels and fancy handcream. I spent most of my lunchbreak in there rather than socialising with the other delegates. They came a poor second to the joy of Dyson Air Blade hand-dryers.
Anyway, the point of this blog (see, I really am pro-rambling) is that the teacher kept mentioning all the old-fashioned things he used to learn at school, and how he was sure none of us remember those things and ha, ha, how everyone laughed at how outdated things once were. However: although I was the youngest person there, I was taught everything he mentioned at primary school. Things like:
1) spelling jail as g-a-o-l.
2) writing addresses with punctuation, like:
19, Somewhere Road,
Suburbia,
BigCity,
P.O.57 C0D.
3) the importance of curtseying if you pass the headmistress in the corridor (even if you’re too small to do it properly and end up falling over your shoelaces)
Was my school hopelessly outdated? Was I actually born in the 1940s? Or did my school just exist in a time-warp, Goodnight Sweetheart style?
]]>I wrote a lovely long and witty post then VOX ate it. I hate you Vox. I am now in a bad mood.
You'll have to do with bullet points instead.
1. I am sanding a desk. Knobbly, swirly scrolly bits are hard. It also has 'grunge' in the corners. Did our forefathers keep earwax and snuff in the joints for extra rigidity or something? It will look lovely when I am finished though. I've changed the knobs to nice sparkly ones which M said reminded him of 'The Crystal Maze' and I shall be inserting some of my smelly lining paper to rid it off 'Eau de Attic'. More lovely secondhand furniture is coming this Friday. Chic and hopefully unique.
2. Weird seaside weather here - grey, cold, hot, sunny and then grey all in the space of an hour.
3. I have some pretty calling cards from Etsy (seller Enfin La Volia.) All the cool kids have calling cards dontcha know.
4. I had a very nice Sunday roast at our local yesterday with M and M's mother. Piles of organic chicken smothered in thick glistening gravy. Mmmmm hmmmmm. I also discovered while there that we have a local indie night, observe!
5. I bought an old apothercary bottle at the flea market yesterday with TINCT. NUC. VOM. on it. Apparently this tincture contained strychnine and was used to treat morning drunkenness, nervous affectations and loss of periods amongst other
things - lawks. I shall use it to store my washing up liquid in. Or possibly gin.
6. Since having our chimney swept we have a black rain of toot coming down the sitting room chimney. Clean chimney = lots of stuff can come down it. M and I shall be pleased when we have a proper hearth and grate. We are now thinking of getting a wood burning stove. Efficient and real flames. Toasty. Also less dependence on imported Russian gas - up yours Medvedev!
7. My tummy is rumbling at an epic volume.
8. Our upstairs neighbour who is is moving to the US for four years (won't someone nice that I know come rent his flat and be a darling neighbour to us? Please). Last night at midnight FFS he dropped something incredibly heavy which caused all our electrics to go blinkety blink. Mmmm if I see him today I shall scowl.
9. I answered the door to what I thought was the postman this morning only to discover Jehovahs Witnesses. A motherly type with her seventeen year old son in tow. The seventeen year old was rather disturbingly hot (for a god bothering youth). Is this a new tactic by the JWs? Any how it turned out she wanted to talk about global warming and my trump card of "Oh but I am Roman Catholic!" was not needed. Apparently Jesus is upset with us for ruining the earth and will smite all excessive carbon emitters. Something to think about eh? She tried to quote something relevant from the Book of Revelation but alas could not find it. I felt smug and a little sorry for her. I wished them a cheery good day though.
Right I must away our little local hardware shop and select the appropriate grade of sandpaper. The glamour.
My regime of doing my physio exercises at home seemed to have faltered by the wayside so in a bid to put things right and restore my withered muscles, I signed up at the gym last week. It's alright, I'm on a student membership so I can leave whenever I like.
I've got my induction tomorrow, but I even went on Friday just to get a gauge on my fitness (or lack of) as it's been a good couple of years since I last did any proper exercise. On to the cross trainer: level 1, timer set for 15 minutes. After 2½ minutes, I'm panting and wondering how lazy people will think I am if I jump off and have a lie-down but the music's good (on my new creative zen) so I press on and make it up to 10 minutes. Hurrah! Stagger off to the weight machines and go through various motions, using tiny tiny weights so as not to do myself any more mischief but doing them very s-l-o-w-l-y, which makes it more effective.
The best bit about the fancy gym is that there are lots of corners and areas to do different exercises so I could hide behind a partial screen to do my physio exercises. This involves lying on a foam roller, with knees bent and lifting one leg at a time. Yes, I'm sure it sounds easy to those of you with functioning frames and I am now sufficiently advanced that I can more or less do this with my right leg. It's nigh on impossible with my left leg though and as soon as I manage to jerk it off the floor, I topple off the roller (hence why the screen is such a bonus). I'll keep at it though because I couldn't do it with either leg last year so progress is being made.
Now, the changing rooms - glory be! An unpleasant aspect of my old gym was that on the occasions I'd forgotten something in the shower (hair bands, shampoo), nine times out of ten it was still there the following day. And the day after that. Blee! Not so here - fluffy towels are provided, along with all manner of lotions and unguents and there was a lady polishing things and making sure everything was tidy.
When no one was looking I jumped on the scale for my bi-annual weigh in (this has come early - I normally only weigh myself twice a year at P's house, when I go for Christmas: once when I arrive and then again before I leave so we can judge how successful the festive weight gain was). Oh no! I've put on a stone! But wait: I always say that so I actually haven't really put any weight on (in my head, I always think I weigh what I did when I split up with my ex, several years ago). So, it's purely a matter of toning and how hard can that be?*
*as a failsafe, I also bought a corset because that'll get four inches off your waist, with nothing more than some energetic lacing.
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