I really am terrible. I am. I'm not even going to apologise or make false promises this time because, I am - a self confessed - crap blogger. Crap blogger, taker of crap photos, but you all know that my family are so crazy that now and again, there will be a little gem that makes it worthwhile that you stuck around. Plus I do have a good excuse why I haven't been around for a little bit. So we'll ease back in slowly. How about my foul mouthed, permanently peed off 6 year old?
Monday Morning, getting ready for school
Adam: Can we go to the park after school?
Mr G: No. No we can't.
(Methinks - Harsh. But... question was aimed at Daddy, not wanting to undermine parental responsibility...)
Adam: Why not?
Mr G: Hmm. Let's see. What was it you called me last night? Before you flounced up to bed in a temper? What was it again? Oh yes. A drama queen...
(Methinks - Oh Stephen, grow up! He's 6! And for the record, you are privy to the occasional RADA moment...)
Mr G:... and an a**ehole.
(Methinks - Fair enough then...)
Priceless moment of the week - Mr G watching Robin Thicke's 'Blurred Lines' video. The uncensored version. 4 minutes and 31 seconds of *shocked face*. Thank you BT Vision.
Priceless moment of LAST week - me winning a bondage kit in a competition. That conversation went like this.
Me: I've won a bondage kit.
Mr G: I'm too old for this kind of sh*t.
Me: We'll see.
Don't ask about Weight Watchers. I'll be back next week. I'm still paying for the ruddy thing by Direct Debit. Anyway...
On a lighter note, I have stopped smoking! It's 10 days since my last cigarette. I gave up in September 2006, and I stopped for 18 months. New Years Eve 2007, which was a sad and quiet one for us as we'd lost my Father in Law a few months previously. Just Mr G and I, very melancholy, a few beers, Jools Holland on the TV - I fancied a cigarette and I was fine the next day, it didn't restart any urge in me. Cue a period of huge stress in March 2008, and I got complacent. I'd had some before and I was ok. Wrong. One, here and there, soon grew again to 15 - 20 a day over the years, and before I knew it, it's 2013 and I'm wheezing like Muttley from Wacky Races in bed every night. Not good. So - although constantly on my mind that I should give up, and tomorrow would be the day, it never was. Why?
Having 'successfully' given up smoking before - I'd like to compare it to childbirth. I've had four. One Caesarian, three normal. And they bloody hurt. All of them. Pain like I've never known it. And for someone like me, who is so squeamish of needles, blood, hospitals, anything medical, giving birth on gas and air alone - it stung a bit. But did that stop me having another child? No. A couple of months later, it wasn't so bad after all, was it? Less than three months after giving birth, I know what would be a good idea! Getting pregnant again! And let's face it, the random crap I was coming out with on the gas and air was worth it alone, hilarious and - in parts profound - if only I could remember it. I'm sure I had the solution to world peace while I was high on that stuff. Minute I stopped chugging it... *gone*.
Mr G: Why are you laughing?
Mr G: What are you looking at? (Prises up and looks out the window)
Me: Tree. Bahahahahhaahahhahah.
Giving up smoking however. The first time. Took three weeks from my last cigarette to waking up and going about my routine only to realise much later in the day that I hadn't actually thought about it once. So - if you look at it that way, not too bad. How quick can three weeks go, right?
That is why I delayed, and bartered with myself, and gave myself get out clauses and so on. It was bloody horrendous. All you people out there, who, like me are marvelling at how quick your life is flying by? Stop smoking. If you don't smoke, start, and then try to stop. I have never known time to go so slowly. Both then and now. These last ten days, I'd have normally seen off about 6 weeks by now. I'd be on my Summer Holiday now, if I'd continued smoking. I'd be on a beach, instead of in the rain, in Wales. I digress.
So I don't know what happened the other Sunday. I'd woken up after a night in with friends, mouth like a bear had crapped in it, hangover from hell, and about 10 cigarettes left in the packet. Lovely sunny day, and I was incapable of boiling the kettle to make coffee so I sat outside with Allen Carr's 'Easy Way to stop Smoking' (Ho bloody ho). And I read it from cover to cover. Dawn to dusk. I had my last cigarette 10.30 pm.
In principle, his book is brilliant. Complete common sense. He does debunk and dispel myths about smoking and the addiction. However - what I couldn't grasp was his theory that after reading his book - I would actually enjoy the process of giving up smoking. Don't get me wrong. I'm happy to be an ex-smoker. I'm happy I took the plunge. I don't regret it. Any pangs or urges I might have, can be countered with being able to breathe without squeaking at night (after such a short time too!) or smelling stale cigarette smoke on someone passing me and realising, that doesn't smell too good. The money I'm saving every day. But ENJOYING the process? Ok. I've been so tired, having to take myself off to bed at any given hour of the day or night. I only woke up 30 minutes ago? I don't care. I'm going to bed for 5 hours. You have no clean underpants? Turn them inside out, they'll do for another day. Weepy. Lethargic. Homicidal to the extent that has only been seen once before, when I took the contraceptive pill and it turned me into a complete evil piece of work. Snappy. Irritable. Stomach cramps. Flu like symptoms. Complete apathy towards everyone and everything. Yeah, Allen. It's been a blast, mate. Loving every minute... So that's what's taken up some of my time. Getting easier by the day, I'm glad to report.
Things I have 'acquired' in the last three weeks... an ice cream maker. I took it out of the box today. 23rd May that came, so that shows you how much of a ray of sunshine I've been! A camping toilet. Everyone has been warned not to crap in it. Someone will. And it probably will be me.
Me: But Sweetheart! It was 4 in the morning. I could have been murdered walking to the shower block! Now, be a dear and empty it for me, you know I have a weak stomach when it comes to faeces...
A cool box that keeps food frozen with the aid of ice blocks for up to 5 days. I didn't take note of the measurements before I hit the 'one click order' button. Put it this way - don't bother looking for a coffin for me when I die. My friends walk in and they're like 'Whoa! What the hell?' I don't actually know if it will fit in the car. We may have to buy a trailer for it. It's just *there* in the living room like a weird contemporary coffee table. Oh, and a steam mop. My kitchen floor wasn't actually black. It was light grey... So in three years time you may get an ice cream post from me. Or an amusing anecdote about blocking the 'Kampa Khazi' - I kid you not, I didn't name it. Like something from 'Carry on Crapping'... and on that note...
Ta ta for now...