I have had the foulest of weeks, on the Richter scale of awfulness,it has scored a straight tens in parts, several times, but then had brief moments of recovery. Today's good news is that our friend 'Hairy Legs' is driving over from Lincolnshire to help us do some sniggering. He knows perfectly well that I will have made his favourite dinner and clinked some red wine bottles together in anticipation of collective naughtiness.
We have still not moved, my husband is as irritated as I am. He went outside the day before yesterday and sabotaged the 'sold' boards outside our house and stuck on with gaffer tape some extra words in red marker pen saying, 'for sale'. This was great for me to watch from my upstairs vantage point of being ill in bed. Actually in the space of a week it has been 'sold', 'not sold', and now 'sold' again. Some village types have been having to make lot of detours and extra trips past our front door on a regular basis, in order to peer at the sabotaged signs, and various fork tongued mutterings have taken place locally, in an area easily scandalized over nothing at all. Chinese whispers take place in the area almost daily. I am at this minute, having seen the latest batch of hand wringing worthies dragging their dogs backsides up the street, beginning to think which sort of story I may release to them next, in order to hear how it comes back to me again.
To say I have a healthy allergy to estate agents would be being kind. Having found that my emails were going nowhere and the same with phone messages, I did ring up my local branch, totally furious, and did in fact find out that actually their office was on fire, and in fact several staff had resigned over the last week including the senior members. The thought that anybody might actually tell me, seeing as they are selling my house and we are at a downright dodgy and rather crucial phase seemed to be of no concern to them. However after I had infiltrated their media section at the top, their staff did seem far more concerned about speaking with me.
I have however no energy to take his make do signs down. I am sitting here writing this perched on a box in my half packed up abode, carry on packing they said. Only to tell me the next day the buyer had dropped out on the day of contract due to those below them doing it. So...our house we are after back on the market as the teeth on edge chain does its worst. Today, all is back on again, but I have no intention of doing anything other than having fun today. This is my first full day out of bed for a few days.
In the midst of all the group wailing and gnashing of teeth regarding property conveyancing, we were given a new agent who been brought in to help at what was left of the local branch. Her remit being currently, to concentrate on myself and my much loved house, and try where possible to speak to my husband due to how cross I am. she has not cottoned on to our good cop bad cop routine. The fact that she sounds around twelve years old on the phone, with possibly a distinct lack of anything sensible going on between the ears, has only made me more hyper vigilant. It is also only made worse by her having the same name as my sisters dearly departed long gone slathering Alsatian dog.
With all this going on, I am recovering from a flare that stuck me in bed on and off for two weeks, totally vile, I won't go into detail as I am now on the mend... life always goes forward for me. Against all the odds in an abode riddled with teenage angst, (not mine or his), but the younger generation. I managed to pack one off to London between exams for a holiday with my eldest, with one at home in the middle of exams, to say that our house is all hair and teeth currently would not be an exaggeration. Unfortunately due to being laid up in bed last week-end, I was forced to miss the village fete worse than death. My son went along to monitor my husband and make sure he did not come back with any more broken electrical gadgets to help set our house on fire, and also to police inappropriate and hideous hats being purchased. One lot from a previous similar excursion disgusted me so much, I would only handle them with the bbq tongs. I was accused of being melodramatic. But one wonders in this day and age if everybody has heard of a washing machine! That is my final comment on that subject!
Things had modernized this year, my husband came back with nice selection of squashed flat gluten free cakes, why he puts everything in his pockets all the time is a bone of contention which will get worse later in this blog. The cakes were quite nice, but unfortunately somebody may have got gluten free flour and Polyfila muddled up before baking commenced. I was a sulky old cow that day, so it was nice to have a present even though they had clearly been sat on several times.
While ill in bed I managed to sell lots of things we don't need any more, I was a little puzzled to receive over thirty emails from one person regarding my table tennis table, even after he bought it there is still fuss, he drove from three counties away to pick it up. I met him for thirty seconds and that was more than enough, I handed him over to my husband so they would have mens talk about nothing in particular, including how to load a full sized table tennis into the back of a van already full with other objects, similar in age and decrepitude.
I knew I was recovering from my flare when I started planning a trip to the local town, I tried to convince myself that it was urgent that I purchased one of my cats a new hairbrush, but of course we were not going to drive ten miles just to do that. Minutes after having such a self indulgent whim. I did find one bought on a previous occasion, as I upended boxes from cupboard I do not normally dare look inside. The cat is not pleased with her new routine, but being 17 she needs help with her best fur coat, she is alright when I brush the top of her, but becomes hissing and undignified when I attempt to brush her trousers or anything else underneath.
After I had done a couple of days of physio I was rather pleased to realize by yesterday afternoon that there was a plan brewing for us to go AWOL. A friend of ours combined with many more, were having a 50th birthday party in a field in the middle of nowhere and at the last minute I was deemed fit enough by myself and him to go. I would say I am a bit tatty around the edges but in other areas on form. We felt like a couple of teenagers sneaking off, the car rattling with bottles and piles of slithering bedding etc. Once halfway there, his phone died and the SatNav went down with it. This should not have been a problem, as we have been to this same field so any times, but it is muddling when the event is given a different name. After we had driven round and round in circles ending up down lanes no wider than my kitchen table, reversing with twigs poking in through the windows. We were finally there. The crescendo of husband and wife bickering subsided and we immediately felt most hilarious and in the mood.
I made my usual obvious and expected arrival by skipping over lumpy turf in the wrong shoes, cricking my ankles with every other step and leaving a trail of clothes behind me. I realized it was the right field as soon as I could smell clouds of sandalwood and patchouli. Round the next corner lots of old mates came into view plus a motley crew of similar types all looking pleased to see us. A sea of cheese cloth, and earnestly knitted hoodies and and abundance of hairy legs and Birkenstock sandals. This array pleasantly broken up with the odd Mahican and wild hair dye. Almost immediately a man came out of the bushes with a sideways scuttle and got me in a clinch. As he hugged every breath out of my body he announced that it had been too long since he saw me, I was meanwhile secretly thinking it had not been long enough. My husband is very good at reading my facial expressions and even my mind at times! His own version of 24/7 monitoring, which is of course normally my job.
Distant memories of some of my most inappropriate copping off from the early 90's came flooding back. This prior to my 'we are having a casual relationship with no strings attached' from 1992 when my husband and I started dating, we have been together ever since we mutually set out those rules, and two more children down the line, we are going nowhere other than with each other. However it is hilarious seeing ex partners, and between us, ahem cough, one or two or perhaps three or four do sometimes come into view at these gatherings.
Once ensconced at the party we had a great time, I had to eat my own body weight in crisps and hummus. Despite my best efforts to read the labels on packets checking for gluten free, not easy in a darkened cave of a home made marquee, viewing dishes and containers by flicking candle light with no glasses on. I failed miserably so had to admit defeat and eat something urgently to soak up my new investigations with red wine. Later on I found a fruit mountain under the table and started on that. At some point during wild dancing, it became clear that we should drive home and not stay over due to demands at home, but this did not matter at all. Also I was cold.
For a while I was kept amused by the antics of a woman wearing what appeared to be a set of cheesecloth curtains who did a sort of beguiling twitchy dance aimed at my husband. I did some slightly territorial friendly snarly smiling at her, whilst wondering if I should dip dye all my old dish clothes and come up with a similar outfit. We had great teenage fun and drove back in the small hours. The miles slid by as we wrestled with my husbands trousers due to what he had done to them.
At the half way point on the journey back, he suddenly remembered that I had demanded some bananas earlier in the evening, and he also had an urge himself in that direction. He announced in a mournful tone, that there was a large banana wedged in his trouser pocket the side nearest me. Having raised his backside off the seat he then stuck his hand in his pocket to pull the banana out, the banana would not budge it had become squashed and was resisting all efforts to be liberated. I was told to take charge. As hard as I tried no banana, but instead handfuls of mush and slime, which I proceeded to try and throw out of the car window only for them to come back and straight onto me, mainly my hair. The car looks disgusting this morning what looks like some sort of ectoplasm all over the car seats and the passenger side window. His trousers had been abandoned just inside the back door complete with banana skin hanging out. We slept the sleep of the very wicked and woke up feeling most pleased with life.
We may have to be out of here in two weeks, and hopefully fingers, toes and legs crossed, we will be. After today's quota of clutter shifting I shall make a very fun dinner and spoil my husband rotten and await the arrival of our friend Hairy Legs... why he is called that is another story and too long for this one, also it is possible that I may have forgotten why in some parts.
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