Christmas

There are miracles afoot.
DOH has decided to make some of his emails into little love notes and to address me as "My gorgeous, sexy, beautiful wife".
Its all very stilted and amateurish (that would be 'male', then) and totally adorable. We are currently giggly, sorry if that makes any old cynic the least bit nauseous. Past experience allows me to empathise.
He is now home for Christmas, and the kids have broken up from school, too, so I am taking what may be the last opportunity this year to attack this keyboard without fear of onlookers.
You ain't seen me, right?

Merry Christmas. XXX

Early Morning Email.

DOH sent me an email.

I was so, so delighted to see that the dearest, darling master of my soul had written to me unbidden, after three days of unrequited emailing from me to him.

I heard the 'dong-ping' alert, and clambered back toward the machine over the detritus that is the fall-out from two children rushing off to school at the last minute, and felt my heart soar when I saw His name.

A warm, loved, excited, Christmassy glow settled into every inch of my being as even the rubbish on this little desk took on the gentle benevolence of mere tinsel, scattered by Disney bluebirds.

With all the anticipation of Jessica Rabbit and Snow White rolled into one, I perched both delicately and sensuously on the very edge of the seat and with the same toasty, fervent, panting sweetness, heart in mouth, eyes sparkling in childlike hope, chakras spinning like a harlot's tassles, used the mouse to open a letter from my love.

Can you confirm that my train tickets have arrived?

Very quiet here today, hardly anybody in.

Can’t wait to get home, love you lots.

I'm surprised it didn't finish 'yours faithfully'. *Sigh*.

Back to the washing up, then.

A Few Deep Thoughts

1. The eyeballs turned out to be in great health with no sign of the macular degeneration that the optician had feared. Thank You God!
2. However whilst blasting enough light to frazzle the grass on an entire football pitch into the back of said orbs, the Ophthalmologist lady managed to notice that so called cholesterol lines are there, which is quite possible as I have been lazy with the whole healthy eating thing in recent colder months, i.e. this whole hoo-ha may have saved my life from another heart attack. Double Thank You God! Even though it means no more bacon & brie baguettes at work. Honestly.
   
3. Finally, just as much cause for rejoicing, I am honoured and bask in the reflected glory, because I have very intelligent friends. I feel like a woman of substance by proxy, if that makes any sense at all (which it probably doesn't and can you all say 'imploding house of cards'?). Back to the point. Supremely intelligent friends. This I know. Thank you even more DEAR God.
4. The thing is, I am left trying to work out whether to simply be proud to associate with such insight, or humiliated that I must be cr*p at hiding my identity even for five minutes. So much for the masquerade, which remains (albeit as a technicality) in case of other people. *Cough*, Thank you, er, um, right. Am I really that bad at this?
   

Too Old To Show Nerves

I'm off to the Ophthalmologist at Hospital, today.

On my own.

Never been before.

Only had my eyes tested five or six weeks ago and in that time the process (besides prescription and first pair of varifocals *gulp*) has been:

Letter from optician to family doctor
Letter from doctor to hospital
Letter from hospital to me, with appointment date.

Knowing how the NHS tends to run, getting an appointment from a specialist less than five weeks after the GP requested it is pretty unnerving.

At least it is to the screaming coward that lurks deep inside me; the one with the unspeakable yet slightly fixated terror of going blind. You know, that one. The one that doesn't even want to get as far as the appointment desk.

DOH remains in the big city and I am going on my own, on the bus, which means on two buses, because that's how the route works. You mustn't drive to these things because if they put eye drops in to dilate the pupils then you won't be safe to drive home again.

In the meantime I could have a lovely relaxing bath.

I could tart around making my face until I feel smart (and its amazing how important makeup has suddenly become now that I need a good magnifying mirror to see my own eyes without specs)

I could check my bank balance, get to the Hospital town early and do a bit of Christmas shopping.

I may yet, if I can get my act together, but all these things take time, which dwindles, because I procrastinate.

So here I am, procrastinating and working my knickers into a proper twist, which is ridiculous for a woman of my age and capabilities.

Perhaps the issue is not so much one of 'getting a grip' as of deciding I want to. *Sigh*. Sometimes being a grown-up just sucks!

The End Of An Era

Oliver Postgate RIP.

You were my childhood.

The main characters

I thought and thought what to call various people in this blog, the idea being that this time, at least, they don't realise I am back to this malarky.

Beloved other = BO

No, don't think so.

Other half = OH.

Oh.

So I've settled on Darling Other Half. DOH. That's poetic justice, that is.

So DOH has gone back to the big smoke for work.

Youngest Daughter YD takes singing lessons at school and her tutor has just decided she is a coloratura soprano and needs to start learning the works of Gilbert and Sullivan, concentrating, apparently, on all the ditties that spend most of their time wavering above top C. Rehearsals continue as I write. Screeeee.

Youngest Son (YS - Dear God I can be so original) *cough* YS (14, Emo-geek) is fairly content. He stormed through the front door about ten minutes ago to tell me in animated tones that his new supply teacher is one of those women who "thinks the stick up her arse has a stick up its arse" (sic). He must have spent some time thinking that one up, and now that he has managed to express it without the sky caving in, yet, he has gone off like a little lamb to repeat himself on half a dozen geeky role-play forums. Yes he is skinny and pale and yes geek forums are his imperfect and slightly irradiated version of 'playing out', but without them he would still be skinny and pale but possibly also a bit bruised. Some kids were born with the attitude of a disgruntled, middle aged Traffic Warden.

I see so much of his father in him.

Squeaky Sue however, I mean YD, is pretty much all mine and therefore the source of many blessings delivered in the form of mental pennies dropping.

I have a stinking rotten cold and my most earnest desire at this point in time (well for the past four or five days) is and has been, to be comfortably propped up in a soft bed with crisp, clean sheets, with plenty of tissues and good DVDs and a constant supply of hot chocolate. Ha-flipping-ha.

So on that note I am off to make Macaroni & Cheese for tea. With bacon, and sliced tomatoes under a grilled cheese topping, and a bit of garlic, and mustard powder, and a sauce made from scratch, roux et al. I wonder if I could bribe them into accepting tinned rice pudding instead....

Maintenance

This being a new blog, under a new name, I already have a modest list of must-read blogs. I assumed I needed a new system to join (in the new name) to link to said essential reads.

I chose Google Reader.

Uhoh.

Its pointless asking if anyone has any ideas because the flip side of this new anonymity, this new freedom to be me, is that I have no 'regulars' (or readers of any sort). I suppose I'll have to experiment with the new (*new to me*) Blogger reading list facility. Blast.

Now, how to despoil the virgin page?

For some bizarre but delightful reason this feels thoroughly naughty, like racing out at the crack of dawn to be the first to plant footsteps in crisp new snow.

There, done. Time for a cup of tea.