Just about. HELLO! How are you all? It's actually taken me about five minutes to write those three sentences, so dissipated has my blogging mojo become. And it's a shame, because funny stuff has been happening, it really has. Alas, a lifetime of devotion to serious liver abuse means that if I don't immediately commit it to the written word it is gone, gone for ever. (Although even my wine habit couldn't allow me to forget the Ocado story. Don't worry. I've saved it for you as a little reward at the end of this post, provided you actually manage to get that far ...)
So, news this end. Well, it's mostly been about Mr Jamie getting a confirmed diagnosis of Perthes Disease, which, alas, has nothing to do with penises (if you read it quickly though ...), and even less to do with Australian cities. Disappointing. It is however to do with his hip not doing what it should do and apparently crumbling away whilst his blood flow gets lazy and faffs around doing things other than growing and nourishing bone. My medical knowledge fails me round about then and it's now apparently just a case of Waiting And Seeing. Something which I am notoriously dreadful at ...
To helpfully distract me from Perthes related excitement, we have School Allocation Day coming up this Thursday. Living where we live, it's going to be the day when we find out whether we best equip Mr Jamie for starting school by buying him a new pencilcase and teaching him the basics of phonetics ... or buying him a new knuckleduster and teaching him the basics of cage fighting. I'll keep you posted ...
Whilst all this Mr Jamie chaos is going on, Beth sits blissfully mad and unaware in her own little world. She is turning out to be even stranger than Mr Jamie, spending this morning's trip to Waitrose sitting in the trolley growling at her own hand and clutching a bag of Creme Eggs to her face. Showing great potential, I feel. She did manage to hurl herself down the staircase this morning, falling directly onto her face whilst I helpfully screamed and flailed my arms around wildly. As ever, am nothing short of brilliant in a crisis. Thankfully she's now recovered and is spending most of her time attempting to get her hands on her new shoes, a purchase from yesterday's spending-my-entire-monthly-income-on-one-small-pair-of-pink-shoes expedition. Beth, as previously documented, is something of a shoe fetishist, and was incoherent with delight when she suddenly found herself in a shop full of several thousand pairs. Brilliantly, she clearly assumed it to be some kind of shoe 'library' and, upon being told she was getting a new pair, immediately walked over to one of the shelves and placed her old pair up there, perhaps as some sort of offering to the Shoe Gods.
Loon of the highest order.
As for me (see that rather less than tenous link there?) - well, much like Beth and Mr Jamie, I'm busy causing havoc as usually. Unusually for me, my current passion isn't actually Chardonnay (I know: troubling times) ... it's incredibly, terrifyingly ... RUNNING. I must have had some sort of personality transplant, it's the only rational explanation. I am currently training for an imaginary 10k race (imaginary because there's no way I'd inflict my crazy arsed running style on the race-going public) and am in week 4 of some worryingly intense training plan. I even went interval training last night. INTERVAL TRAINING. As a lifestyle choice I'd actually chosen to make over the alternative, which was sitting at home and necking gin. (I did that when I got back home instead, as part of a well considered 'cool down plan'.)
This is, of course (despite evidence to the contrary), still me, so it probably goes without saying that each of my running excursions comes accompanied by some sort of moment of comedy gold. Last night's was being accosted by an entire family group (grandparents, parents, teenage son and small children) who all stopped in their stroll around the block to stop in their tracks and slow hand clap me as I ran/fell/collapsed on my way past. I attempted to do some sort of sarcastic 'thumbs up' as I staggered by but ended up just punching myself in the face and lurching over to fall off the pavement into the world. I might start selling tickets to my 'training sessions'. I really am quite a startling sight.
Oh, and Neil's fine. Still lovely. Currently sporting a shaved head, in defence against the Attack of the Nits. I shall absolutely 100% refrain from passing comment.
Finally, as promised, the gleefully wonderful exchange between the Ocado Man and myself, last week, as he delivered my shopping to my door. Enjoy.
He'd arrived on time (as always: we love you Ocado) and had given me a cheery smile as he'd walked up the path and started unloading my shopping. He was one of the ones who likes to have a bit of a chat as he hands over the bags, and we started talking about the contents.
"Careful with that one love, it's a bit heavy. Lots of orange juice there."
"Oh, that'll be for my husband, he's orange juice obsessed."
"Lovely, very good for you. Cat food ... nappies ..."
"That's the cat and the baby sorted."
"Oh, got a little one have you?" ("No: I'm buying nappies to act out my own sexual fetishes." He was lovely though so I said this bit inside my head.) "Right ... careful here ... eggs on the top." He passed me a bag full of 'delicates', along with a box of cupcakes. I put them down and turned back to find him proferring me a very large pack of toilet roll.
"Lovely, thank you."
"They are, aren't they. I have those myself. Lovely smell, I think."
"Ummmm ... yes. Yes, I suppose it is. My husband chose them, but you're right, they do smell nice."
"Have you tried the strawberry ones? They're lovely, they are. Or maybe they're raspberry. I can't remember. Have you tried them?"
"Ummmm ... I don't think so." Strawberry toilet roll? Seriously? This one was 'Aloe Fresh', or some other such bollocks (although it did smell nice) ... had their range really extended to soft fruits?
"Oh, you must look out for it. They sometimes have it on offer. Oh, and the chocolate one. You MUST try the chocolate one!"
"Chocolate?! Really?" I'm all for variety in my loo roll, but this seemed like it might be a step too far.
"Oh goodness, it's just fabulous. Melts in your mouth."
"Whhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatttt ... Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. You're not actually talking about toilet roll, are you?"
"Toilet roll? What toilet roll?" We both looked at the 16 pack still nestled in my arms. "Oh. That toilet roll. I'm talking about cakes, love. CAKES."
Melt in your mouth chocolate bog roll. It's the future.