Friday, 24 April 2009

Dickheads R Us...

Okay, there's a junction in Helston with traffic lights to control the flow of cars coming from the left (obviously, if you're on the other side of the road, it's the right...) We're on the left approaching the junction when the lights turn red. Eldest son is driving so he slows, stops at the lights, pulls on the handbrake and finds his biting point. (Are you having hot flashbacks to your driving lessons, yet??)

The lights change to green, he releases the handbrake and slowly moves off indicating his turn to the left. Now, what does the dickhead on the other side of the road do? He has no green filter and should only turn if the road is clear. Is the road clear? No, there's a learner driver there just starting to make the turn, so what does he do? Yep! You guessed it, the prize pillock just decides to pull across in front of us. And lo, and behold, a motorcyclist figures he can squeeze through too!!

Eldest son had that look on his face; I just knew he was contemplating ramming into them as just punishment for being tossers. He must have done the sums quickly in his head: smacking dickhead = caved in front of our car = car off the road = no more driving.

Sensible choice, son.

Sunday, 19 April 2009

Love - Forty (Something-year-old-needing-oxygen)

Well, Spring must have definitely sprung; the back lawn received its first chop of the season and we dragged the Swingball out of the garden shed.

Let the championships begin...

I managed to smack both of the kids in the face with a ball - eldest son got his right on the nose - what magnificent aim! My left hand will, no doubt, be swollen and battered tomorrow, because I kept hitting the bloody thing with my bat. See, now that's karma; I laughed at the boys' injuries and fate redressed the balance by whacking me...several times...

Eldest son annihilated us both - mostly with brute strength, aided by the fact he's got an extra two foot in height to play with, but boy! was it fun! I especially loved the moment where I collapsed on a garden chair, gasping, "can't...breathe..." It's amazing how much a body can deteriorate in just a year...

Youngest son stole the show, however, with his comment, "They should make a game of Swingball".

"Um...they're playing it."

"No, I meant for the Playstation or the X BOX."

Now, who says technology is killing childhood?

Saturday, 18 April 2009

Where Did All My Chocolate Go?

Well, the Chinese was delicious and the film was captivating, but the chocolate ran out way too soon.

And was it just me, or did anyone else think Skellig bore a striking resemblance to Bryan Ferry? Every time he appeared on screen with his ratty angel-wings, I kept expecting him to burst into Love is the Drug. (Ancient Roxy Music track for those of you under pensionable age.)

Yeah, I know, "Roxy Who ?"

"Mu-um! Get a life!"

Never let it be said that I don't know how to have a good time. Eldest son just dropped youngest son off to a sleepover and then dropped himself off to stay at a mate's overnight. I finally got to drive my own car home for the first time in a week.

And what, I hear you cry, am I doing with my child-free evening? Am I hosting a rave? Will I drag a young, nubile guy home from the pub for a night of unadulterated, wild sex? Will I, for once, keep the neighbours awake?

Nope! I've snuggled into pyjamas and am gonna eat Chinese special fried rice in front of a kid's film showing on Sky. For afters, I've stocked up on Galaxy chocolate and Cadbury's Creme Eggs (Easter was over far too quickly...)

I've always wondered what my kids meant when they said, "Mu-um! Get a life!"

Thursday, 16 April 2009

Ear Today, Gone Tomorrow...

Eldest son pierced his ear (again) last week. On Tuesday, his ear was red and painful.

"Hmmm. Looks infected," I said sympathetically. "Bathe it in Savlon, take some paracetamol and I'll try to prise that stud out."
"Touch my ear and you die," he growled.

On Wednesday, the ear was more red, more swollen and throbbing nicely in time with his heartbeat.
"Hmmm. It's even more infected. I think you need antibiotics," I said with a sigh, and phoned the doctor.

Today, his ear was purple, twice the size that God intended it to be, and he was shaking like a heroin addict on Boxing Day - knee deep in cold-turkey.

"Hmmm. That's really infected," I said with a grimace. " That earring has to come out, son. Just let me - okay! okay! I'm backing off, nice and slowly... we'll have to go to Minor Injuries."

"Nope! Not happening! Nobody is touching my ear!"
"Hmmm..." I said thinking aloud. "I know! You can drive."
"Cool! Where are the keys? Let's go!"

Now I thought the NHS were short of funds. Apparently not; instead of giving the boy a stick to bite, they plugged him into the gas and air. He giggled while the nurse dug out the stud and squeezed the rivers of lumpy pus from the wound. I was pretty darned woozy at this point myself to be honest...

When they'd finished, he staggered off the hospital bed, hiccupped and giggled, "That was so cool; I'm completely wasted. Now, where are the car keys? I'm driving home."

Yeah, right.

Sunday, 12 April 2009

Driving Ms Carney...

Oh God, the first driving lesson hosted by moi. And I use the word 'lesson' loosely. If eldest son is behind the wheel careering along the road and I'm pinned to the passenger seat catatonic with fear, then, let's face it - there's not a whole lot of instruction going on; it's more a case of bumper-cars and trying not to vomit.

Actually, the whole experience wasn't too horrendous; there was a bit of bouncing between the kerb and parked cars, but once the Valium kicked in, I was fine. And I needed a new front nearside tyre anyway...

He's been riding a moped for a year, so he's certainly developed some road sense, but I'll be a lot happier when the proverbial penny drops and he realises a car takes up a smidge more space than a bike and doesn't quite tuck into a hedge as neatly as a ped, and when a Truronian bus is hurtling through the lanes towards you, launching yourself into the back seat, doesn't actually move the car out of its way.

Oh, no. That was just me.

Thursday, 9 April 2009

W.O.M.A.N Let's Say it Again...

Oh, the delights of being a woman. Had my ultrasound scan today to check that all bits are functioning properly. Nobody thought to tell me it was gonna be an internal examination. I was expecting the normal pregnancy kind of scan, where you hike up your shirt, shriek as a tube of ice-cold gel gets splurged on your belly and relax while the nurse runs this mouse-like thing over your stomach.

Well, you know what thought does? Yep, gets you in the arse very time.

I was greeted by an elderly nurse snapping on industrial strength Marigolds all the way up to her elbows. By the time I'd dropped my drawers and plunged underneath the 'modesty' blanket, she was armed with a three-foot-long probe-thingy ornately decorated with a condom.


"Um...I'm allergic to condoms," I squeaked.

"Do you wear rubber gloves?" she barked.

"We-ll, not usually for sex, but sometimes for washing the dishes."

"Then you'll be fine! Now, brace yourself, dearie; I'm going in..."

I won't go into all the grisly details, but let's just say a pulsating cavity-probe rummaging around in my more intimate areas certainly brought back vague memories. I seem to remember something similar happening in a former life.

If only I could remember the details...

Monday, 6 April 2009

Beer, the Beach and Teenagers...

Last night I delivered my seventeen-year-old son and six of his mates to the beach for a party. Armed with tents, sleeping bags and enough beer to drown a small army, off they trekked belting out songs from Reel Big Fish.

I sat in the car park and murmured, "Dear God, I don't ask for much; I live in a tiny house full of crappy furniture, hungry teenagers and a dog with ADHD. I have no ambitions, no talents and no sex life. I'm old and wrinkled, but I get by on a good sense of humour. Please, please, please don't let anyone drown, fall in the fire or vomit in my tent. Thank you, love Sar XX"

Of course my stomach was in knots all evening. By midnight I was in bed, my clothes laid out ready to leap into like a fireman who's on call. I couldn't sleep. Just kept drifting. Every hour I'd sit up, heart beating like a bass drum. Was that my phone? Did I just hear a siren?

By six am, I figured they must be asleep and trouble had been averted.

I just picked them up, wet, cold, hungover, but ALIVE! I'm so relieved, I'm cooking them all a fried breakfast.

Thank you, God.

Sunday, 5 April 2009

Happy Birthday To Me...

Happy Birthday to me
I'm not yet forty-three,
I may be old and wrinkled,
But I don't smell of wee. Yet...