I was half way through a blog yesterday, also at the same time chatting to a certain lady I like in Scotland, who understands my venomous humor - when a violent sneezing spasm made me press the delete button. I was far too irritated to retrieve it. So here I am again in a 'dear diary' moment. My latest short lived allergy attack, came courtesy of two very very cold and deliciously fruity glasses of white wine, from the previous evening. There is no rhyme or reason to this sort of autoimmune flare, I drank exactly the same thing two weeks ago, with no such nonsense taking place. The reaction which had come on in the night literally blew my husband out of bed and to the other end of the house and lasted until this morning!
I am in the middle of teeth or rather fangs on edge phase. Today an inanely grinning man arrived and spent over half an hour peering in through my windows, while nailing a 'sold' board outside my house. This is good news, but the alarming speed of the housing chain moving, when I have not found anything at all to move to in town is vaguely alarming... If I even think about what is in my loft I would probably be driven to taking drastic action.
The last 'for sale' sign blew down the road in a gale weeks ago, and was then splintered into many pieces by my friend's over sized tractor. I have noticed that the new status of 'sold' has set the village forked tongues off again, lots of ladies driving past with their cars in the wrong gear, noses pressed to the windows trying to not look as if they are looking in... I may well alter the sign to say something more poetic!
There are some positive things about living at Beastly- on -Sea, but currently the negatives are pushing me towards a rather scenic town with a good, and vibrant music scene. I do however, in my current abode, hold the current localized record for keeping nosy parkers at bay. One particular lady has been trying to enter my house for 13 years. The first day I was here, her explosive purple appearance combined with a dreadful sort of walk up the front path, set my personal security systems off. My radar proved to be correct, she busied herself with endless reasons for visiting, including writing me very angry letters about not folding my raffle tickets correctly or indeed only delivering them one hour before commencement of the Village Fete worse than death. Her particular mindset not noticing that I always bought the complete book each year. However I shooed away her intense village karma by drawing rather an accurate caricature of herself, which I applied inside the side, front and back doors entitled 'do not let in on any account'. I am the only house she has not managed to get into.
I dragged myself into town yesterday to view a new house possibility, but as I explained to the well turned out agent, (Gucci handbag, and Hunters green wellies), noted forensically by myself. I would rather toss a match in followed swiftly by a steam roller to make it more suitable for my requirements. I noticed her nervous twitch before she descended into hysterics of the right type. She said she would utterly adore showing me more properties, which is most surprising as i was in full flow in my most uncensored form.
It has been a funny old week, earlier on, a few days back I became obsessed with the idea of making a gluten free Bakewell tart. My late mother was the queen of Bakewells. As soon as it came out of the oven, I hated it on sight and had to resist the urge to stamp on it. All the family said how nice it was, but not as good as a normal one. I was so offended by it, that I shall never have allow a gluten free Bakewell to darken my cake hole again. I shall make lots of the real thing to help take the taste away, although I won't have any myself. After my Bakewell huff calmed down I vowed to only make chocolate brownies from now on. Even smothered with best vanilla ice cream could not disguise its terrible texture. If I was not selling it with the house, I would have kicked the oven in.
I think cooking when I am not well can go wrong. I ended up with a flat hole and incinerated toads again the other day, but funnily enough the second attempt was rather good...Tonight as I am better we are going to have a family feast and have neighbours around for a drink. I can't have any in case it sets off my sneezing again. I am still in recovery from kidney infections, bronchitis and antibiotic allergies. I am meeting a sister in crime next week in London who has AbFab tendencies and we can have an endless gluten free lunch to cure all the things that have gone wrong.
My man meanwhile is leaving a trail of lost things everywhere, keys to the house, hats, bags, files of paperwork and even a window to the house, I left it open in a gale and it was obliterated as I drank coffee down the road, the endless fuss to mend it have driven him mad. He left it in a local town in order to get the replacement glass cut. Two panes of glass and a glass cutter who can't count or measure and cut us something nowhere near the size. He sheepishly arrived today having decided to do it for us, I nearly dropped it in the hall earlier so the sooner it is back in place the better.
So now I am on a roller coaster to find a house before new people move into ours, I am but tumbleweed blowing up the road. When not having ridiculously whimsical day dreams, I am jolted back to reality with phone calls from estate agents who then proceed to offer me useless houses in villages, this when I have clearly on paper and on the phone stated the only two places we could possibly live in town. Also of course having told them why I can't live in the back of beyond any more due to the varying medical needs of myself and the children. Money for old rope, I am infuriated already! I have only asked them to look for the last half a week and already I am irritated beyond measure.
Also our house has always been Dither's holiday home, plus lots of other friends who pile in here on mass from London and all over. We are overly prone to wild parties and I have no intention of stopping. Shopping around for somewhere suitable for drum kits and multiple pianos is not easy, let alone a bedroom for me to sulk in. The house I saw yesterday made me cross the minute I went in, by the time I got to the master suite, or rather Guinea Pig hutch, (due to 1970's fitted bedroom furniture), I was beside myself. Wish me luck, the hunt is on.
More wittering soon.
ps please save Sainsbury Activ kids tokens for me: Address for postage on request, thanks x