Tuesday, 17 May 2011

'We’re not ever having them in our home again, Roger’


Listening to the peacocks pewing, I felt almightily impressed with myself for knowing that word. Funny, now I am in complete and utter self doubt as ‘spell check’ on Word has underlined it insistently in bright red. It’s only other option it has given me is ‘pawing’, and I know full well you have to have paws to warrant that. I must now go on a swift ‘Google’ quest to check, before I put this up and thus make a complete Tinsel out of myself *laughs to self as possibly only I get this* (brief fill in: my son referred to The Little Mermaid as having ‘big Tinsels’ in her shell bra).



You know what? Scrap the above paragraph, it took me ages to find it-and it turns out, they do not ‘pew’ at all. My son had visions of them pretend shooting each other going ‘pew, pew’ like his useless-at-making-shooting-noises mum. The real name is ‘lou-lou’. So peacocks do not ‘pew’, they ‘lou-lou’ (golly my blog is turning into a right Really Wild Show, remember that show back in the 80’s? With the mad dude with a speech impedement and peroxide hair?). I suppose it had to be a posh noise, peacocks are posh after all. In fact in searching for what their noise was, I saw a question from someone asking whether peacocks were of a loud or quiet nature, he was after a quiet bird to keep as a pet, and although a peacock was his outright preference, he lived in a tower block and didn’t want the neighbours to alert the land lord he had pets, thus a quiet bird required. I made the livin gin a flat bit out, but it was stupid anyway. Idiot, as if you aren’t aware that a peacock makes a noise.

The Really Wild Show- remember it?? It was WILD...roar.

Following my bronchitis, which I just had to forget I had in the end, what option do I have with my bunch of keen Whippets on amphetamines? But I now have Monty with larangitis, and Mitzi came out of school red eyed and hot and floppy looking (noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, sinks slowly to knees, forgetting age…gets stuck) so I may be able to get Lola to school tomorrow, but not the rest. The girls came home with 3 Birthday invitations tonight. Great, they’re popular (well in that they have not managed to get a naughty kid, 'we’re not ever having them in our home again, Roger’ reputation amongst the parents) but at the same time, OMG, THREE, all in the same weekend, and all with presents to buy, and no pound shop (that's a joke...or is it...?). So again I cry ‘Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo’, as I think of the after effects-they are sent home by parents going ‘yes, it went really surprisingly, as they got hold of the real whisky, and liqueur chocolates, but you know, they’ll sleep well, goodbye now’ and with that, you are left, stranded on the outside, with a child you fail to recognise, having drunk themselves silly on fizzy pop, eaten sweets like they thought they warded off broccoli or something, they then enter the house, they puke on occasion, on entry too. Then to fly around the house, e-numbered and super sugared up till you can’t take it anymore and they end up in bed, still fully clothed, derobing would just not have been worth it, and once, without even brushing teeth too-I know, after all that sugar, bad mother, in my defence it was not after the puking incident.

Esmie's 2nd Birthday party last Summer, the gypo encampment we offered waifs and strays (well, friends) in our garden.

Monday I did the school drop off, then onto pick a parcel up from the Post office from ‘I’ve been chewing wasp arses my entire life, and now they’re beginning to sting my tongue’ face, then back home to put second wash load on, to chuck back in remaining ill kids in car, to pick up Make-up lady to take her to the next town where she needed to get to. I then came back, put littlest and illest to bed, did a translation of a letter for the authorities that be in Russia (the local school bus driver and his wife adopted a boy from Russia 2 years ago, and there’s a report of progress to do for the 2 years following adoption, so today I did it for the last time), and I hope to god in the heavens that he does not bring round 2 HUGE badger sized chickens that I have to cut the head off to eat (even though I’m vegetarian, as I explained once before in a blog, the way my husband and I are vegetarians is  like this: if you know me, know I am a vegetarian, and you invite me round for dinner, I would feel comfortable telling you I’d prefer a veggie dish…if I do not know you, you do not know I am vegetarian and you invite me for dinner and you have cooked me meat, I will grtatefully eat it. For me, it would be worse karma to refuse your efforts and thoughtfulness, than to eat the meat. I hope this makes sense, and that I have put it across in the right way, I mean to offend noone, honestly! So on this occasion last year, I ate chicken, as to have turned round to him and said, thanks for the chickens, but I’m gonna cook ‘em up for the dog’, I believe that would have been far worse. So there we go, it’s like that. The day carried on and finally ended at 7pm tonight when I had had enough. Everyone went to bed, and they were asleep by 7.30, which in this house is a rarity, and a treat, every once in a while…! A quiet house …ooooooo, think I’ll go and blog.

Night all, Tamsyn x

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