Daily Grind Plus with Added Chores

Today has been rather like one of the lines from the immortal ‘Ballad of Barry and Freda’ by Victoria Wood.  You know, the one where she wants him to melt all the buttons off her flame proof nightie and he can’t because he’s ‘got a lot of little jobs on hand’?  Well, sadly it was the ‘lot of little jobs on hand’ bit we have been re-enacting today rather than melting any buttons.  Such is the pathos of my daily life.

The house is beginning to fall to pieces.  In small and subtle ways.  The top floor shower leaks, the toilet doesn’t flush properly, lots of bulbs have gone.  There are lots of interesting pen marks up the stairs, the gate to the decking has dropped, the French windows stick  etc, etc.  Lots and lots of small things that we haven’t quite gotten round to, what with bereavement, insanity and trips to Norfolk getting in the way.  That and the fact that I spend all the available spare funds on books.

Today we finally decided that we needed to do some of the things.  Some things that would make us feel like we were actually making an effort rather than throwing a big blanket over it all and putting the kettle on.  I hoped Jason would protest and say; ‘No. Find that blanket and let’s head for the hills.’  Sadly not.

This means that we have cleared out the garage and been to the tip.  We have weeded the front garden.  I have cleared out the cupboard under the stairs.  I have gone through heaving mounds of paperwork in the study and now you can actually see my half of it.  Jason has filled out three feet of probate forms and changed lots of light bulbs and the kids have whinged, moaned, screamed and fought because we made them tidy their room, and throw away some clothes.  We are very fierce parents indeed.  They hate us.

As we were creating a lot of dust I have also cleaned, everywhere.  I am knackered.  In between all this excitement we have been to Maplins and bought complicated electrical equipment so that Jason can turn the outside lights on from the kitchen. I am bemused. He is exhilarated.  I have read twenty pages of the Highway Code. I am now wiser in that I know that there are such things as Equestrian Crossings, although I have never seen one.  I have not retained any more of the information.  On that front the report card reads: ‘Could do better if tried harder.’

Tilly is currently experimenting with Veet and her legs.  I had forgotten how horribly acrid hair removal cream smells.  It is making me sneeze and feel sick in equal measures.  She was hysterical with nerves, despite professing a strong desire to remove hair from her legs.  She has a lot of it, it is quite dark, kids at school have been teasing her.  I decided acquiescing to her demands rather than killing them would be the easiest option.

I really don’t know what she thinks is going to happen if it ‘goes wrong’.  I remember trying it out at her age. I went round to my friend’s house and we did it together.  I didn’t tell my mum.  We just bought some and slapped it on and sat there smelling vile.  It was fine.  Well I was.  She had much more sensitive skin than me and came out in an unsightly and itchy rash which lasted two days and meant that she went to bed wearing her skin tight jeans so that she wouldn’t scratch herself to ribbons in the night.

Tilly is so nervous I wonder if she thinks that her legs might dissolve if she leaves it on long enough.  I am fascinated that she hasn’t got more derring do in these matters.  I think back now to the time when I bought a packet of henna and left it on my closely shorn head for four hours just to see what would happen.  She would never dare.  Probably just as well.  I was luminous orange for about six months.  Still, what lasting harm did it do? Look at me now, half mad and looking like Yvette Fielding.  Probably caution was advisable.