Up Up and Away

You would really think, that having known I was going away ( somewhere) for these past months, that I would be a little more on the ball about things, but no.
I was pretty much shit for brains all day yesterday, running around looking for things,
Couldn’t find my camera battery and charging gizmo, couldn’t find the red rucksack, couldn’t find anyone to help find these things until I pointed out to 2 young boys that I also couldn’t find all the DS software that I have appropriated.
That lit the necessary fire under them. Then I remembered that the software and the camera thing are all in a zip-lock bag together. They were here on this shelf, or maybe they were in the kitchen drawer, then I vaguely remember seeing them on the desk upstairs. Sadly, just as in Elvis’ case, none of these sightings panned out and we came to the conclusion in the end that the zip lock bag must be in the red rucksack and that someone must have broken in and stolen it as we slept.
Never mind, the camera will just be one less things that needs cranking up everyday, and my photos are all pretty crap, the camera on my phone will have to suffice for any magic kodak moments we might have.

So I’m off in about 40 minutes, best wake the lads and keep repeating, ‘tickets, passport,money’.
You know I will try to update from the road, others manage to do that, I know there is away….
meanwhile, be good everyone, play nicely, and there is always Twitter.
xxxxx

The Weekend Comes.

Up at dawn’s first crack, tending my crops. Morning Glories just started poking through, rocket shoots, coriander shoots, beans still racing up the fence.
A glorious day weather wise.
Kev has already had, not one, but two meltdowns. One over a polite request to please change his filthy T-shirt, the second over my failure to inform him that there was a smidgeon of potato chip pie, left over from last night, and thus he had ordered the french toast option for breakfast.
He told me that I am ‘the devil’, he may be right, maybe I am, how does one ever know for sure that they’re not, apparently the devil comes in many guises. Not so bad I think, my friend told me yesterday that her daughter called her Dad a ‘ drunken pube’. Very original, where could she possibly have heard that?
I have thrown him out into the sunshine to play. He’s probably scouting the baseball ground for a lost 10 yen so he can phone Childline.
Meanwhile Feet and Sleuth are taking it easy today after a heavy day of shopping and eating yesterday.
They’re surveying the hordes of ‘stuff’ they’ve bought and working out the logistics of getting it all into two small suitcases.
Not much time to post today am running around at Feet and Sleuth’s beck and call.
They’re off on Monday, when normal programming will resume, but then of course I’ll have nothing to write about.

Trashed.

The place is trashed. Our rennovations start next week and I need to pack up the entire house into boxes. I see this as my big chance to finally really dump all the crap we have.
I had to kick the man out for trawling through the rubbish and saying ‘ but we need this’. We don’t , we really don’t, we really really don’t need that spoon.
I told him once that if I was ever on life support he should just unplug me and never look back, he claims he wouldn’t be able to do that, he isn’t good at ‘letting go’.
I believe him, he still has a collection of key rings he has had since grade school. He still has ALL his original Ritchie Blackmore posters. I on the other hand can get quite chuck happy, especially with his stuff.

My friend came over to help pack-up the keyrings and posters all our stuff, which was such a help as I couldn’t then sit down every five minutes to read another magazine I had just found, or to re-read an old letter that had turned up.
While we were chatting she mentioned how busy things get in the evening and how her husband calls her to say he is at the station and then she dashes around to run a bath for him, he comes in , she pours him a nice cold beer, then while he is in the bath, she makes him a fresh dinner, which she serves to him and listens to news of his day as he eats.
It made me think that perhaps my own little routine of preparing my husband’s dinner by taking my feet off the table and pointing to whatever food the kids have left without averting my gaze from CSI, or Bones, or House or whatever the programme du jour is, may be lacking somewhat
So I have made a major effort this evening and done a full roast, and hopefully he’ll be home before I fall asleep drooling on the sofa.

Anyway, thanks to my friend almost everything is packed, just need to get the chicklets to lug it upstairs for me ( bad back!)