I could scream...

But I won't, dear readers, instead I shall take all my frustrations out on this blog post.   There have been a few funny moments these last few days but I feel so overwhelmed that I could crawl under the duvet and just cry.

My whole house - the entire house - is wrecked.  Every single room.   I did skirt around the issue that we'd started stripping the hallway before my 'Autumn clean'.  Well, we reached the bottom of the stairs, and had to stop because of the double mattress that had been there, on it's side, since the end of July.  Caitlin had a high sleeper bed, but it was too high for her room, so we bought her a double bed.   Mr G decided we would dismantle the high sleeper, erect the double bed, and then we could continue with the paper stripping.  The thing is, putting a double bed into Cait's room - the smallest room in the house - means that she had to lose some of her furniture.   Which means she now has clothes everywhere and nowhere to put them.  And the boys room has a mattress, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers that doesn't belong to them.  So, yesterday morning I was making a good start on her room and Mr G decided it would be a good idea to decimate our bedroom too.  Incorporate the leftover furniture into our room.   And then he comes out with this.   And the sentiment behind it is a bit rude but... I'll keep it as clean as possible. 

Mr G:   (Fiddling around with headboard)  There you go.  Now when you're... erm... not underneath... you can look at a picture of Adam Woodyatt.

Now, I must explain.  Mr G had hung a photo frame slap bang in the middle of our headboard.   My British readers won't need an explanation as to who Adam Woodyatt is, possibly my overseas ones won't either.   He is the actor who plays Ian Beale in the soap Eastenders.   He is a brilliant actor, and when I've seen him on TV as himself, he comes across as a lovely guy.  But.  It's Ian Beale.  And to say I was mortified that my husband thought I wanted to look at a photo of him when... you know...  The look of abject horror on my face.

Me:  What.  The.  Absolute.  Eff word?

Mr G:  What?  You've got a big thing about him, haven't you?

Me:  Er, no?  Adam Woodyatt?  Seriously?   Have you been smoking crack?

Mr G:  Maroon 5?

Me:  That's Adam LEVINE.  LEVINE.

Mr G:  Who's Adam Woodyatt then?

Me:  IAN BLOODY BEALE!

Mr G:  Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

*Edit - for the benefit of those who need the gravity of this explained with pictures...

Adam Levine

Adam Woodyatt

Mr G was already seriously pissed off with me yesterday, because I'd fallen asleep with my MP3 player on.  I try to listen to an hours guided meditation at night.  Unfortunately, it's a 4 beautiful gigabytes of meditations, mantras, affirmations, audiobooks.  Sounds of nature...   And I'd had a bottle of wine, on a school night.  So, I think I fell asleep 3 and a half minutes into the meditation.  At some point I'd woken up and just thrown the MP3 player on the floor, making a half hearted attempt to switch it off.  And failed.  So...

Mr G:  I didn't sleep last night.  That bloody MP3 player.  I couldn't switch it off.   Some bloody woman wailing.

Me:  That would be Maakaral Shivaya Namah mantra.  Yes she is a bit... shrill.  Why didn't you wake me?

Mr G:  I did!  You said 'Oh, sorry babe' turned over and went back to sleep.  I couldn't turn it off.

Me:  Well you should have woken me properly.   Taken it out of the room.  Taken it downstairs.  Put it in the bathroom.   Or, OR!  Here's a novel idea!   Take the bloody headphones out of the MP3!  Oooh look!  Silence!  *Sarcastically mime pulling headphone jack out of imaginary MP3*

Mr G:  Here's another novel idea!  *Sarcastically mimes wrapping headphone wire around imaginary neck and pulling tightly*

That would be my neck, yes...  Oh well, back to the clearing.   Meh.