10.30pm - prepare for eight blissful hours in the arms of Morpheus.
10.55pm: woken by dog barking its head off. Go downstairs. Try to relax dog with kindly words. Return to bed.
11pm: dog starts barking again, if anything more frantic and desperate than before. Go downstairs. See if dog wants wee. Dog barks shrilly outside. Fear lynching from neighbours. Grab dog and haul indoors. Put dog to bed in very firm tones.
11.10pm - 11.59: listen to husband's signature Nocturnal Symphony with variations. Consider homicide, or moving into spare bed.
12.01: move into spare bed. Sleep fitfully. Too cold. Keep lying on knot of dressing gown cord.
6.39am: face of spouse swims into view. He appears to be dressed. Find out his car won't start and he needs to be at Market Harborough station for 07.10 train.
7.20am Arrive home, call RAC. Shower. Unload dishwasher. Break dip bowl. Sweep up shards before dog eats them.
9.00: RAC man says will have to take car to Dealership. Have only driven car once before, but no option. 18 miles in torrential rain with every f***ing cattle grid underwater.
9.50: Counsel RAC man over layabout brother in law.
10.10: Return home to overexcited and full-of-beans dog. Wonder if it is too early for a nap, or gin.
12.40: Demented squawking is overheard. Swallow flying around bedroom. Have a bit of a thing about birds.
12.42: Attempts to rescue swallow (while maintaining stance of hostage in bank robbery) result in it getting stuck in the sash window.
12.45: Traipse around village looking for someone to help. Can't find anyone suitable.
12.55: Gird loins, think logically, free bird. Run screaming from room feeling like Tippi Hedren.
1.10: Swallow still hasn't found open window. Curse same. Ring father for sympathy.
2.00: Bedroom seems quiet, if a bit soiled. Do some work and await next disaster.
Tuesday, 28 May 2013
Friday, 17 May 2013
How to... Get body confident for summer
How to... Get body confident for summer
I have a fetish about old women's magazines. (I mean that the magazines are old, not the women.) I've just bought a job lot of 1973/4 Family Circles from eBay and it really stands out how weight loss was a major concern by then, whereas the only concession to dieting in my 1967 edition was a 4-page spread entitled “Summer’s here - it’s time for cottage cheese!”
From tapeworm pills to now, diets have always been as whimsical as fashion. The 1970s, if my trusty periodicals are to be believed, were all about meal replacement. A particularly dodgy-looking product called Bisks were heavily advertised (although perhaps not that bad, looking at their recipe section: kidney stroganoff, anyone?)
The 80s were all about fibre, before people realised that All-bran is less tasty than the box it comes in. In the 90s you couldn't turn on daytime TV without Rosemary Conley prancing about in a leotard, extolling the virtues of complex carbohydrates. Dr Atkins changed all that in 2003 with his high-protein, zero-carb regime, and overnight farm animals began to look a bit worried.
Currently, the 5:2 diet is all the rage. The idea is that you eat normally for 5 days a week then <500 calories on the other two. I can see the logic, but as I'm nicknamed The Incredible Sulk because of how bad-tempered I get when hungry, it’s probably not for me lest I lose my husband along with the extra poundage.
Gregg Wallace, the shouty barrow-boy from Masterchef, is currently being paid £££ to advertise Weightwatchers. Of course he is really on the heartbreak diet, considerably more effective than spending two hours a day calculating points to see if you can afford a sneaky Jaffa cake after tea.
~ remember that nobody but you cares, or even particularly notices, how much you weigh. (Well, your spouse might, but they swore “for better for worse” so tough.)
~ use optical illusion to your advantage. If you only have your photo taken next to big round things, like bulls or hay bales, you will look comparatively thinner. Why not keep a deflated beach ball in your handbag just in case?
~ buy clothes one size bigger and cut the labels out. Then go and have a biscuit.
I have a fetish about old women's magazines. (I mean that the magazines are old, not the women.) I've just bought a job lot of 1973/4 Family Circles from eBay and it really stands out how weight loss was a major concern by then, whereas the only concession to dieting in my 1967 edition was a 4-page spread entitled “Summer’s here - it’s time for cottage cheese!”
From tapeworm pills to now, diets have always been as whimsical as fashion. The 1970s, if my trusty periodicals are to be believed, were all about meal replacement. A particularly dodgy-looking product called Bisks were heavily advertised (although perhaps not that bad, looking at their recipe section: kidney stroganoff, anyone?)
The 80s were all about fibre, before people realised that All-bran is less tasty than the box it comes in. In the 90s you couldn't turn on daytime TV without Rosemary Conley prancing about in a leotard, extolling the virtues of complex carbohydrates. Dr Atkins changed all that in 2003 with his high-protein, zero-carb regime, and overnight farm animals began to look a bit worried.
Currently, the 5:2 diet is all the rage. The idea is that you eat normally for 5 days a week then <500 calories on the other two. I can see the logic, but as I'm nicknamed The Incredible Sulk because of how bad-tempered I get when hungry, it’s probably not for me lest I lose my husband along with the extra poundage.
Gregg Wallace, the shouty barrow-boy from Masterchef, is currently being paid £££ to advertise Weightwatchers. Of course he is really on the heartbreak diet, considerably more effective than spending two hours a day calculating points to see if you can afford a sneaky Jaffa cake after tea.
~ remember that nobody but you cares, or even particularly notices, how much you weigh. (Well, your spouse might, but they swore “for better for worse” so tough.)
~ use optical illusion to your advantage. If you only have your photo taken next to big round things, like bulls or hay bales, you will look comparatively thinner. Why not keep a deflated beach ball in your handbag just in case?
~ buy clothes one size bigger and cut the labels out. Then go and have a biscuit.
Saturday, 11 May 2013
How not to do customer service
Supercilious Woman in a Sash, Peterborough branch: you will never know how close you came to the mother of all tongue-lashings this morning.
Friday, 10 May 2013
Happy birthday Chronicle
We have just come home from a very lovely celebration in honour of the Kibworth Chronicle's 35th anniversary, where I was very pleased to learn that I have at least one reader, and ate my own body weight in spring rolls.
Friday, 19 April 2013
How to... Go to IKEA
IKEA is a rite of passage. You know you are a proper grown-up when your idea of “Saturday shopping” ceases to mean trying on forty pairs of high heels with your best mate and starts to mean purchasing industrial quantities of paper napkins in a giant blue and yellow aircraft hangar while your significant other trails forlornly behind you.
There are a number of Universal Truths about IKEA.
1) Nobody has ever left without buying a 100-pack of tea lights (females) or a pack of 10 AA batteries (males).
2) The lunacy of some prices means that otherwise unappealing purchases become absolute “can’t miss” items. The pets eat from horrible little beige bowls I wouldn't have chosen in a million years, but they were 39p each. 39p! Other cheapo items you may suddenly decide you can't live without include scissors, wine glasses, washing-up brushes and ersatz Tupperware containers.
3) If aliens landed and wished to study our species, they could do worse than IKEA cafes. All human life is there: all ages and classes seem content to mingle in a vaguely depressing school-canteen-like affair to get their fix of well-priced meatballs and Daim cake. I myself am a big fan of IKEA chips, but portion sizes are heartbreakingly variable. I suspect staff are trained to dish them out according to the customer’s size. This would explain why my chip allocation is barely into double figures, while Captain Lardy’s on the next table are falling off his plate. I sound bitter and indeed I am. Next time I will wear two jumpers.
4) No matter how many blue bags you have bought in the past you will never remember to take one with you, meaning you either fork out another 75p or play a fun but perilous game we have christened “IKEA Buckaroo”.
5) Men really, really hate going to IKEA. If you listen carefully you can hear their doleful murmurs of “More chuffing pillows” or “How long does it take to choose a bleddy bath mat, the footie's on soon.” Only take your husband to IKEA if you are very secure in your marriage, or he has done something he needs to make up to you.
NB There was a hilarious but very sweary IKEA map doing the rounds last month - click at your own risk!
There are a number of Universal Truths about IKEA.
1) Nobody has ever left without buying a 100-pack of tea lights (females) or a pack of 10 AA batteries (males).
2) The lunacy of some prices means that otherwise unappealing purchases become absolute “can’t miss” items. The pets eat from horrible little beige bowls I wouldn't have chosen in a million years, but they were 39p each. 39p! Other cheapo items you may suddenly decide you can't live without include scissors, wine glasses, washing-up brushes and ersatz Tupperware containers.
3) If aliens landed and wished to study our species, they could do worse than IKEA cafes. All human life is there: all ages and classes seem content to mingle in a vaguely depressing school-canteen-like affair to get their fix of well-priced meatballs and Daim cake. I myself am a big fan of IKEA chips, but portion sizes are heartbreakingly variable. I suspect staff are trained to dish them out according to the customer’s size. This would explain why my chip allocation is barely into double figures, while Captain Lardy’s on the next table are falling off his plate. I sound bitter and indeed I am. Next time I will wear two jumpers.
4) No matter how many blue bags you have bought in the past you will never remember to take one with you, meaning you either fork out another 75p or play a fun but perilous game we have christened “IKEA Buckaroo”.
5) Men really, really hate going to IKEA. If you listen carefully you can hear their doleful murmurs of “More chuffing pillows” or “How long does it take to choose a bleddy bath mat, the footie's on soon.” Only take your husband to IKEA if you are very secure in your marriage, or he has done something he needs to make up to you.
NB There was a hilarious but very sweary IKEA map doing the rounds last month - click at your own risk!
Friday, 22 March 2013
Resolutions update, 13 weeks in
I will stop using “I’m only taking the dog for a walk” as an excuse to go out looking like Worzel Gummidge’s scruffier cousin.
Erm, I kept it up for two weeks them reverted to my Compo-like ways. Best not mentioned. Success: 1/10
I will not get hopelessly drunk in the kitchen as a Pavlovian reaction to hearing “Sometime Around Midnight” by Airborne Toxic Event.
Achieved on two occasions! Success: 10/10
I will come up with a semi-convincing answer to the question “So, what have you been doing with yourself all day?”
Realised there's absolutely no point doing this, because however comprehensive a list is supplied thehusband interrogator will scan it with a slight sneer that suggests they could have done it in half the time AND gone for a 10 mile jog, even if you know they haven't operated an iron since 2007. Success: 5/10
I will NEVER again use Cambridge park-and-ride.
Achieved. By not having gone to Cambridge. 10/10.
I will not buy any more body lotion until my current stockpile of nine unopened tubs is used up.
Achieved, but a struggle. Superfluous day cream was bought instead. Success: 8/10.
I will not go through my parents’ fridge, sighing heavily as I discard bottles of ketchup that expired in 2008 and miscellaneous furry cheeses. In fact, I will stop commenting on other people’s hygiene full stop, as it is surely only a matter of time before somebody punches me on the nose.
Achieved, by the hand of fate. Poor old Mum broke her ankle and by the time I went to visit, my aunt had cleared out the fridge. It was quite a shock to find it full of edible food.
I also maintained a fixed smile when someone was banging on about there being no need to use washing powder because some weird hippy eco-pellets that "aerate the water" do the job just as well. (These have been proven by Which? Magazine to be no better than nothing. But my smile did not slip.)
Success: 9/10. One point deducted for judging her inside.
Erm, I kept it up for two weeks them reverted to my Compo-like ways. Best not mentioned. Success: 1/10
I will not get hopelessly drunk in the kitchen as a Pavlovian reaction to hearing “Sometime Around Midnight” by Airborne Toxic Event.
Achieved on two occasions! Success: 10/10
I will come up with a semi-convincing answer to the question “So, what have you been doing with yourself all day?”
Realised there's absolutely no point doing this, because however comprehensive a list is supplied the
I will NEVER again use Cambridge park-and-ride.
Achieved. By not having gone to Cambridge. 10/10.
I will not buy any more body lotion until my current stockpile of nine unopened tubs is used up.
Achieved, but a struggle. Superfluous day cream was bought instead. Success: 8/10.
I will not go through my parents’ fridge, sighing heavily as I discard bottles of ketchup that expired in 2008 and miscellaneous furry cheeses. In fact, I will stop commenting on other people’s hygiene full stop, as it is surely only a matter of time before somebody punches me on the nose.
Achieved, by the hand of fate. Poor old Mum broke her ankle and by the time I went to visit, my aunt had cleared out the fridge. It was quite a shock to find it full of edible food.
I also maintained a fixed smile when someone was banging on about there being no need to use washing powder because some weird hippy eco-pellets that "aerate the water" do the job just as well. (These have been proven by Which? Magazine to be no better than nothing. But my smile did not slip.)
Success: 9/10. One point deducted for judging her inside.
Wednesday, 13 March 2013
How to... Enjoy horoscopes
Obviously nobody with more intelligence than a daffodil actually "believes" in horoscopes, but a lot of otherwise rational people seem to read theirs anyway. Like mediums, the astrologer's only secret is to generate stuff that is so open-ended that it could apply to anyone. (If Shelley Von Strunckle predicts that I will experience changes that are unsettling at first, but ultimately beneficial, one more time, I will run naked down the A6.)
Here are your stars for this week - let's face it, they have just as much chance of coming true as any others.
Aries: on Thursday you will be startled by a pheasant. Lucky outfit: pyjamas.
Taurus: a tall dark stranger will come to read your electricity meter. Don't leave your handbag in sight when you make him a cup of tea. Lucky musical: Oklahoma.
Gemini: have you checked your tyre pressures lately? You really should, you know. Lucky bath salts: lavender.
Cancer: on Friday you will cook a disappointing breakfast, but Saturday's will be much nicer. Lucky country: Germany.
Leo: all eyes will be on you, Leo, when you accidentally get toilet paper stuck to your foot in a public toilet. Lucky Revel: coffee flavour.
Virgo: you've been overdoing it. Try to relax a bit more. Have you considered taking up macramé? Lucky utensil: fish slice.
Libra: usually the “beautiful” sign of the zodiac, you will suffer an unsightly facial blemish midweek. Try not to pick at it. Lucky tree: sycamore.
Scorpio: a slipper-related accident is waiting to literally trip you up. Keep two 9s dialled on your mobile, just in case. Lucky TV gameshow: Pointless.
Sagittarius: you will have a lovely surprise when you change your duvet cover. Lucky scratch card: Scrabble.
Capricorn: check your change in Holland and Barrett. An otherwise uneventful week. Lucky supplement: Glucosamine.
Aquarius: you will get the urge to rearrange your living room furniture. Get your son round to help in case you trigger an attack of lumbago. Lucky fruit: pear.
Pisces: make sure you chew your food thoroughly to avoid mishaps on Wednesday. Lucky Monopoly token: ship.
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