World Cup 2010

Well, it's finally here.......the World Cup in South Africa. The tension in the Nunhead Mum household has been, well, tense. Once David and Mac had got "Wembley out of the way" their attention turned from Millwall's Lions to the Three Lions. We've now got a 42" television in the living room which caused a bit of a stir in Cafe Nero when I informed Charlie that Curry's had just delivered. "How big? 42 INCHES?" she yelled which pretty much brought the whole place to an open mouthed standstill.

Finger food abounds in the fridge, freezer and cupboards. It's too much, apparently, to ask my boys to eat proper food with a knife and fork - why eat a roast dinner when they can graze on chicken drumsticks, mini quiches, celery sticks and crisps? Still, it's only for a couple of weeks, I'll ram them full of proper meals over the rest of the summer.

Mac has been learning all about all the countries featuring in the World Cup since he got back to school after half term and we all have lively interesting discussions. Go on, ask me anything about South Korea. Go on, ask me!

David has wangled the afternoon of the 23rd off (along with half of the country I suspect) and is working out the quickest way to get Mac home from school in time for the 3pm England kick off. Not the safest, I might add, just the quickest. Besides, I don't know anyone with a motorbike, let alone anyone who will be happy with a five year old clinging on behind them.

Frank and Marjorie have gone a bit off track.....they've decided not to support England but both picked a team out of a hat to support. Frank is therefore rooting for Australia and Marjorie has got Nigeria and was dressed yesterday in a brightly coloured kaftan.

Janey is "not watching the world cup, bloody stupid, Eastenders has been buggered about with" but is spending every match indulging in some sort of pampering routine. I rang her yesterday during the England game only to be told by Darren that she's "sitting upstairs in the bathroom, waxing her minnie". I didn't need to know that.

And as for me, well, I'm doing what any sane woman would do. Ogling the players. I'm not so much musing their passing abilities or nifty footwork but that's what David and Mac are thinking anyway. Charlie's coming round tomorrow night for the Italy game. Now, they've got a lot of, erm, skill.

Dick Camegg

The Unholy (?) Alliance. Two smarmy men in matching suits with matching Jags. I'm just miffed that they took Eastenders and Holby off air. I know it's a monumentous day and all that but.....David Cameron and Nick Clegg. Put them together and what have you got?

Dick Camegg.......David (staunch Tory) is unhappy that I am "ridiculing" what is an "important day in British politics, mutter, mutter, mumble chunter". He watched the unfolding drama in an agog fashion and there was even talk of getting Mac out of bed to watch it.

Following a (text) discussion with my family and friends I'm off to copyright Dick Camegg (c) before the papers get hold of it!

A post from Bea

Hello darlings! Bea here, Joanna's sister. Well, I must say, it's nice to be here. I'd have posted earlier but I've been reading this darling little "blog" and finding out all kinds of things that I'd really, rather not know about my sister and her life. However, this "post" is my favourite.....sigh!

Anyway. I've had a little wander round (permission granted by Joanna of course, I would never stick my nose in where it was not wanted. I've changed the layout, all that lace and frilliness.....eurgh. She doesn't know that yet but she won't mind. It was the balance of her mind you see, disturbed. That's right, disturbed. She hasn't been right, poor lovely girl that she is.

But, she's okay now. She's had counselling, I've taken her to Champneys for a couple of days (the treatments there are to die for!) and she's back at work. David felt it for the best, to get her out of the house and, as he put it, not to "worry about her surfaces". His mother (awful old bat she is, that Amelia, marriage hasn't changed her) thinks otherwise but we've been keeping them apart and I suspect we will for a while longer yet.

They're in East Sussex this weekend, Joanna, David, Mackenzie (sweet, sweet child) and the dogs, staying at Andy's beach house. I don't know about you but, the phrase beach house does not indicate a windswept abode. To me, it's not a beach house unless it's in a country where the heat is hot and the serving staff subservient. Anyway......where was I?

Oh yes, Joanna.....she's fine, happy and will be raring to go after her weekend of wind, rain and Galaxy chocolate bars. She had a whole bag, just for them. I suspect that she will need to join the keep fit classes run at the hospital if she carries on like this.

Well, I'm off to have a more in-depth look round, I hope you're all well and are ready for me to visit your "blogs"!

Mithering Sunday

I realised, as I dropped off my Mothers Day present round at Dad's house this morning, that I'd bought my poor mummy what was essentially a large pot of earth with a few bulbs thrown in. Obviously, once the bulbs flower in June/July time she'll be able to pop out onto her cloud, look down (a la Google Earth) and say "Oh look freesias and anemones! I love those!"

Right now, she's probably looking down and saying "Gee thanks, you shouldn't have bothered!"

I'm sincerely hoping that now we've gone past the 12th of March the mood which has enveloped me since the end of December will push off and allow me to be myself again. Friday was the third anniversary of mum's funeral and this is the first year (apart from the actual year it happened) that I have been affected this way. The rest of my family have either talked about it, or pretended it wasn't happening or dealt with it internally. Me, I seem to have had a mini meltdown. Well, you know me, I don't do anything by halves.

My Mothers Day presents included flowers, chocolates, wine gums, a cushion (from Mac who bought it whilst out shopping with his father in post-match euphoria), a one cup/tea pot combo from my grandson (only on special occasions do I remember I'm technically a granny) and a book token from Matthew. Lydia phoned and apologised for the "boring" present but I was out, spending it.

On the way home from Surrey Quays I pulled up at a set of traffic lights, put my handbrake on and found my hand at earlobe level. It was obviously broken. Barely three weeks after my exhaust fell off. I need a new car. And, you see, the thing is my current car knows this and is getting its own back. Little does it realise that all it's doing is speeding up the arrival of the new car.

When we got home, Mac breezed into the house and said "Mummy's brakes have gone!" which propelled David out into the hallway in a panic, vegetable peeler in one hand and a carrot in the other.

My brakes have gone.....that sums up the feeling of the past three months perfectly

The Lock

Charlie, who is now ensconced in her new flat, invited me round on Friday night for a "catch up". David, keen for me to "get back on the social merry-go-round" as it will "take me out of myself" (he's been watching too much Rikki Lake methinks) agreed to babysit both Mac and Freddie at Matt and Lydia's whilst the latter pair headed out cinema-wards.

I drove to Charlie's new abode in fashionable SE3 and manouvered my way around the complicated landscaping until I found her "house" - she quite likes the whole institutional feel of the complex as it reminds of her of her boarding school and her "house" there - although she couldn't have liked it that much as she tried to set fire to it twice. But that's another story.

"I'm so looking forward to this evening!" Charlie said as she tossed salad with gay abandon, put some sesame seeds into the oven for toasting and cracked open a bottle of Elderflower wine. It was actually nice to see Charlie without a) weeping on her shoulder or b) being inundated with "helpful" leaflets from the Top London Hospitals Psych Department. "Let me just go and get the cake in from the car" I said, opening the flat door and heading out into the expensively scented communal hallway only to find myself in pitch darkness. "The light switch is helpfully at the door end of the corridor...." said a voice immediately behind me. I paced forward and found the switch and flipped it just in time to hear the door to Charlie's flat go "click". She looked at me, I looked at her. "Oh fuck!" we both said in unison.

A quick summing up concluded that

• we were locked out
• with no keys
• and no mobile phones
• with no windows open
• and the oven was on, toasting sesame seeds
• with candles flickering merrily on the mantlepiece, table centre and window ledge
• Charlie had no shoes on and was wearing a fetching apron
  

Okay, said I, keep calm. Charlie gazed at me in wonderment and said "How can I keep calm? We are LOCKED out, with NO keys, and no MOBILES and my NEW FLAT is about to be burned down by CANDLES and the OVEN!!!!!" "It'll be fine" I said, stroking her arm as if she were a nervy thoroughbred.

"Who's got your spare keys?" I asked, feeling momentarily smug that had she given me her spare set as I think I suggested when she moved in, we would be out of this mess in around half an hour - the time it would take me to drive home and back. There was no point in ringing anyone - especially David who would panic and never let either of us forget it if he had to come and "rescue" us.

"My brother" she said, eyes huge in her face. "Your brother that lives in Esher or your brother that lives in Sittingbourne?" "Matthew!" Bugger, the one that lives in Sittingbourne. Not that either were five minutes away. "Have you left a set with a neighbour?" I demanded. "No, I don't know them." came the small reply as she threw herself at the front door. "What are you doing?" I snapped. "Listening for flames" she whimpered. I suggested, in withering tones, that I go outside and take a look through the window.

"We need an emergency locksmith" I said, pacing the expensively scented corridor and wondering why the hell, if The Management could provide pot pourri for the hallways, they couldn't provide a light switch closer to the flat doors. I banged on the door opposite whilst Charlie hopped from foot to foot. To be fair, her immediate neighbour wasn't remotely fazed to have a snivelling woman beg for access to his Broadband and a phone while some bolshy cow prowled round outside the House in search of open windows to Charlie's flat. When I returned from my prowl (firstly checking on the candle situation) Charlie had a glass of wine in her hand and was sitting on the stairs.

An hour and sixy five quid later, we were back in the flat, on the sofa with Charlie vowing never to leave the flat ever again. She'd had some good advice from her neighbour ("always flick the catch up and/or take your keys with you") and from the locksmith ("always make sure you have a spare set of keys somewhere close") and was frantically stuffing freshly cooked pizza into her face.

"How were you so.....calm?" she demanded of me, as she clutched her aching head.

I'm always calm when other people have a crisis - I'm a complete fruit loop when it comes to my own and would have been climbing the walls had I been Charlie tonight. But I tell you what.....it did take me out of myself and I've been feeling so much better since.

And Charlie dropped her spare set of keys off this afternoon, along with a request that I tell no-one what happened. Now....would I?!

And......breathe

It's been a trying time for me. I've not been well. It's been well documented (not on here, obviously, as this is the first day for ages that I've felt able to sit at the computer/laptop without recourse to self diagnosis on the NHS Direct website.....I have all of the illnesses listed under A, D, F, K and S. Or at least I think I do.)

Well documented in that all of my family, friends and neighbours have an opinion on what ails me, what could cure me and what I should steer clear of. My GP, bless him, has diagnosed "stress". Well, give that man a bloody orange. Stress!!!!! Why didn't I think of that?

I laughed when he told me what he'd concluded. I even underlined his diagnosis by having a rant, followed by a little sob, followed by Lovely Loretta (receptionist extraordinaire) having to carry me out to the waiting area and feed me tea and ginger nuts until I was calm enough to walk in a straight line.

Stress. Now I wonder how that came about?

Amelia (chief cause of stress) wanted to come and "look after me" the week before last. I clutched David warmly by the lapels and said "If she comes within fifty foot of me you, matey, will suffer as only I can make you suffer". He went green, phoned his mother back and....guess what? She hasn't darkened my doorstep. Result. Bea's reflexologist went away, almost in tears after I failed to relax under her ministrations. Apparently I'm the first failure she's had since she started officially as a freelancer. The stress counsellor I visited (at Bea's insistence) made me want to hit him which did wonders for my stress levels but, according to my darling sister, he found me "interesting" and "wanted to dig more".

Seriously though. I am better than I was. My blood pressure has returned almost to normal, I can now watch programmes without sobbing into a cushion when Bradley Branning dies/a lion cub loses her mother/Del Boy's granddad dies/Manuel's pet rat has to leave Fawlty Towers/there is a sell out of an item I really want on QVC. And David can now utter the words "oh, we're out of milk" without me beating my chest and wailing "woe is me" - I'm over exaggerating. Slightly.

I was (surprisingly) calm and relaxed on the anniversary of my mum's passing. However, the day after was spent either in tears or ramming Haribo into my mouth. It's been a trying month to say the least. But I'm back. A few pounds lighter, along with my hair which I've had blonded as a "treat" and ready to take on my bit of the world again.

I just need to get my bearings and visit you all for catch ups.....please bear with me!

Who gives a toss?

I do apparently. I have to, as David "can't quite get the wrist action right for tossing stuff". There's no real answer to that, is there?

This was the excuse he gave Mac just now when his youngest son asked for "pancakes daddy, with lemon 'n' sugar". I had to retrieve myself from my sick bed (okay, the sofa) where I have been residing since the Wedding That Never Was with mother-in-law induced stress. More to follow on that subject.

So. Although David had been helpful enough to mix up the batter, it was I standing outside getting the pan at the right temperature and pouring in enough batter (but not too much - thick pancakes are "yucky" apparently) and flipping said half cooked batter with gay abandon.

As all the tossing and typing has worn me out enough for me to doze on the sofa until Eastenders starts, I've left David with the washing up. And scraping half cooked pancake off of my cooker hood.

Bea is coming to see me tomorrow with her homeopath and reflexologist - wish me luck!