Random musings

This blogging thing is becoming weirdly compulsive. It's Monday evening, I'm knackered and I really should be slumping on the sofa, but instead I find myself on the wonky chair at the sloping table with no real idea of what I'm writing about today. The reason the chairs are wonky and the table sloping is the universal truth that once people find out that you are in need of furniture they suddenly remember that table/bookcase/hostess trolley (not really - haven't seen one of those since Mother used to rely on hers in the late seventies to keep the sunday lunch warm if she got too drunk to remember to serve it...) that's been cluttering up their place for the last umpteen years and offer it to you in an altruistic attempt to offload the damn thing before they absolutely can't avoid taking it to the tip any longer. When I left the Ex and set up home here I had no furniture whatsoever - Mother (for all her faults she is thankfully in possession of more credit cards than sense) leapt to the fore and provided half of Ikea, but we didn't get round to the whole table-chair thing. So a friend's boyfriend selflessly offered a "loan" (one of those loans where at the end of it you find yourself off to the tip with no real idea of how you got there) of this dining set that must have had the coffee morning oohing over it in 1964 when it made it's debut at his Granny's house. Tablecloth notwithstanding, it's a veneered marvel which would no doubt have been a valuable prize on Sale of the Century in it's day. So here I sit, rambling on, while Small Person rocks out to Green Day's American Idiot in her room next door (ah, the pride of hearing your almost-five-year old singing loudly about the "subliminal mindfuck America". There's nothing like it...).

It was a fairly eventful weekend - which began with myself and the Other Half being scarred and inked in the name of body art - I am very pleased indeed with my new tattoo - and rightly so as it hurt like a motherfucker and prompted me to once again vow "never again". Well, at least until we get back off hollybobs and I go in to get it finished. The Other Half is wandering around grinning like a man demented - he is permanently secretly delighted that his office-drone exterior belies the tattooed rock god that he of course is underneath, and (apologies to anyone who knows us!) I have to admit it's a very sexy combination. We then skipped off to the pub and drank a great deal of beer and subjected the pub to our taste in music on the jukey, and poked gentle fun at the goths, which always makes for a top night out. Bless the goths - while I'm sort of proud that there's still a thriving subculture out there, I always want to chuck their cheeks and tell them to cheer up a bit. Which would have infuriated me at their age but from the lofty perspective of my thirties it would be damned funny. Except then I'd be battered to death with rubber spiky rucksacks and great big shoes and that might not be so amusing - although on a diet of angst and Evanescence (don't get me started) they probably wouldn't be able to summon the energy. So maybe worth a try.....

Anyway, I got a text late Friday night from the Ex asking if he could bring Small Person back late on Saturday due to a planned trip to Pleasurewood Hills (bleak concrete wasteland between Great Yarmouth and Lowestoft - fun only if you are seven and have spent your formative years in a council-run orphanage) - fine by me......until she arrived home sporting a huge purple shiner that would have made Basher from Whizzer and Chips envious. Granted, the Ex had done everything possible following her undignified exit from the clown slide (on her face apparently) in taking her to the first aid post etc. However, this was scant consolation a) at Blockbuster yesterday afternoon and b) at school this morning when various people failed to disguise their horror/pity at this dreadful mother dragging her beaten child around. I felt inclined to steal a line from Ian Cognito, a comedian I saw at Glastonbury years ago (more of Glasto another time...) - if I want to discipline my kids I hit them where it won't show and if they play up when we're out I just press the bruises....but that would have ensured an even faster call to Social Services and the swift recindment of my invitation to join the PTA. To add to this stress, the Other Half's tattoo is making itself at home on his arm by swelling up and getting very hot indeed. Factor in his appointment with the neurologist at the hospital this morning and it's no wonder that last night found me more than a little strung out and unable to sleep. Thankfully, Small Person is on the mend and was returned to me after school without the aid of a social worker, the tattoo is (allegedly) healing nicely, and we were assured that the Other Half is no more likely to drop dead without warning than I am (which gives rise to the paranoia....what's wrong with me.....) so all should be well. I'm one of life's pessimists - me and him have been through an awful lot to get to where we are (if I told you you wouldn't believe me) and I'm halfway convinced that I can't be this lucky and have a life this settled. Slight reaction to tattoo - that'll be septacemia (sp?) then. Small Person with a black eye - undiagnosed fractured skull. You see what I'm up against here??! It's a combination of guilt and a deeply entrenched gloomy outlook on life - both of which I'm trying to let go of, with varied success.

Right, time to grit my teeth for a spirited round of the Hungry Homer game before tucking a protesting Small Person into bed. Valium, anyone.....?