I have never been renowned for my powerful forearms. I’ve never heard “Oh, look, there goes Big-forearm lady!” And a round of applause ensues as I flex for the masses…But today, I was blown away by my astonishing weakness. I jump out of the car, handbrake on, and step out the car to open the gates. This is when the car just decides to carry on regardless, and bust through the gates of it’s own accord. Ploughing through the gates like a river would do through a damn, if a really sh*t beaver had been at work. I do a huge flying leap, Mighty mouse styley, landing horizontally across the front seats with the gear stick ramming into my dinted shin, reaching round I strain with all my might to crank up the hand brake a few more notches. The 3 girls (who are ALL in the car, I might add), stare at me in shock and wonder at my genuinely super-human efforts to stop the self-joyriding car. I did it! But there are white paint scratches on the front of the car, and the gates are now pretty wanky. (I shall leave my typo, it looks funnier, I did mean, however to write wonky, but wanky’ll do!).
This morning Alex was woken by the warm sensation of the cat pissing on his shin, what a start to the day. This means a) a trip to the laundrette, and b) that Alex and I were, from 5am this morning, livid, for the most part of the day, at animals in general, tired, and man, did I not enjoy the leap out of bed avoiding cat piss at the same time. I mean, the bed? Why, oh why, the bed? There’s like, a garden, firstly, not to mention the fields and fields surrounding us. Anyway, needless to say, I don’t imagine by Alex’s reaction, the cat will be doing it again in a hurry…Or maybe he will, out of pure spite.
With various ill children, sleep is something I need, but am so not getting. I have never been good with out sleep, there is this huge fish wife inside me that is just begging to escape “Go on, let me out, let me at ‘em, I’ll show them..” I am fairly well self-coached at the suppressive technique, even if I do have to take my self off to the loo for a second or two to ‘centre’, and breeeaaathhhheeee., then to re-emerge fishy free. This is usually the time one of my cats spies an opportunity. He is obviously so deprived of attention, that every time I go to the loo, the cat does a flying leap at the door, pounds it down, with all it’s might and drags himself up my legs to sit in my lap, purring. I cannot even have a wee on my tod. You see what I’m dealing with? Flying animals who barrage their way through doors just to have a ‘moment’, kids who, well, who can ignore kids? They don’t even need to barge through doors; they are like God, omnipotent. But to be honest, I just wouldn’t change it (the fish wife is having a little scream inside, as I say this, trying to type), but I will use less obscenities, “Go away everyone, let me have a number 1 on my own, it is after all, only an effing WEE…!”
Tomorrow I am off to see a friend, who has a little farm. I shall be coming back with the clip clopping of donkey hooves ringing blissfully in my ears…Watch out Alex!