I believe him, you should see his ‘truth’ eyes, scary...

So far this week, and bear in mind we are only 8 pm Tuesday night here, OK, so I have an hour on you guys in England, but nonetheless, it is still only Tuesday. My point, well I’ve, of course, lost it now. I’ll eat my dinner my husband has lovingly prepared for me, and see if it returns…Watch this space. Hooray, I remember, and dinner was delicious btw, my point was the week so far, I have both been offered Guinea-pig babies and 6 kittens. I had a breakthrough when I found that, in fact with my  already existing plethora of livestock, we are 14 individual ‘livestocks’ here, that’s a fair few, and I found myself nearly in tears, but managing to give them a resounding ‘no’ as my response, so in a way, I also got to keep my marriage in tact too, as Alex swears down he’ll leave if any more mouths to feed arrive! (and I believe him, you should see his ‘truth’ eyes, scary…) So I said ‘no’. I wonder, it set me off thinking, whether I have ‘Ever so slightly simple, accepts anything going, idiot, really’ stamped on my now 33-year-old worn, wrinkled fore’ead. I seem to be everyone’s target.

My birthday hit me hard Sunday, growing up certainly happens fast, and my life moves with such speed, it makes me dizzy man. But hey ho, sh*t happens, and as it goes, I had my best birthday ever, was thoroughly spoilt and spent it with my favourites, kids and hubby. Goodo.

Mitzi had her grommets operation today, and as usual, true French style, a suppository was in order, this time a liquid one. Funtastic. And it was that. But she was so brave, and is now plus 2 grommets, and less adenoids. 

Margo the chicken, who is fighting fit nowadays, after being very nearly mauled to death by someone else’s dog we were looking after, trots around, gay as you like, wherever her paws/claws/feet? What are they called? Suggestions? Chicken boffs? Saturday, it was the house, our bedroom to be precise. Where she sh*ts right in the middle of our ‘off white’ rug (very, very off white, more ‘grey and filth’ white, in truth), I have to wash it in the bath, as green chicken poo both STINKS and is like sticky, green, concentrated goo *borks a bit*, so I turn the tap on, and leave it on for ONE AND A HALF HOURS…(shouting voice, a complete necessary here) as I went out and forgot about it, until I got back and found we had no hot water left (funny that) and 2 inches deep in water, new look paddling pool house. Sloshing through, in sheer panic and almost complete acceptance of the fact I must have *caught* senile dementia now I have turned 33, I head towards the tap. The dining room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the downstairs toilet and the koala cage are all deep (ish) in water, and we don’t actually have koalas, I made that up, so mum and dad, and probably a few others, you can relax, but soddenness everywhere. Luckily it’s not raining, and the kids have to play outside for the TWO hours it took me to *push* the water out of the front door and garage door with nothing more than a broom. I used every last towel we own to soak up what I could, and hauled out, legs slightly bent  and my forearms doing a bit of a bendy thing under the strain of weight, the intensely heavy sodden wet towels individually out of the door to do the whole *squeezy, squeezy* thing, and re-soak. Towels are HEAVYarse when they’re wet, aren’t they?

Oh and I also changed my blog, it has taken me 4 days to do, not round the clock, obviously, but 4 days nonetheless, and I have ‘arrived’ as my son would say, the French word for ‘achieve’ is ‘arrivé’ so he often tells me managed to ‘arrive’ at something, meaning he ‘achieved’ it. Bless. And at any rate, I must go, I have had about all I can take of Alex’s ‘UFC’ fighting, and grown men kicking the living daylights out of each other’s ears/various orifices,  as he knows it’s the only time he can ever watch this genre of drama (!) with my approval, well at least I get to write my blog. Word for the week: compromise!