Heavens to Betsy, did you ever have one of those weeks? Setting aside the pertinent, but true, observation that it is becoming more apparent by the day that I am having one of those lives, I must tell you that this week will go down in history as a helluva time and that all those still standing at the end of it deserve medals of the really, you shouldn’t have to put up with this nonsense kind.
Ok, so where shall we start? With the fact that I have been incredibly grumpy which may or may not be hormonal, but is probably my sisters fault because I blame the poor darling for everything? A something that might just be a sisters perogative but makes for un-harmonious relations of the family kind which the rest of the world considers catastrophic and which we consider par for the course and understand that in between the “you are an idiot” insults, there are softly whispered shrieks of I love you so very, very much, do you hear me you mad cow??
So yes. I have been grumpy. And then I stuffed so much wet washing into the tumble dryer the belt snapped and my beloved machine died and a new belt had to be ordered and it hasn’t arrived yet and the whole house is smoking with knickers and towels and cardigans draped over every radiator and this is the very sort of thing that can make a housekeeper crazy?
Until that is said housekeeper steps out in the freezing cold weather intent on putting out a few little fires of the messages kind and finds that the car won’t start because the battery has died and that will be another £100.00 please? Oooh and you would like to report the matter to your Dad/Mum/Kath/Anyone who will listen but you can’t because Vodafone has gone on the blink and when you make a call you are met with complete silence and no-one can get through to you at all and no, dear Vodafone doesn’t know what the problem is and no it doesn’t make you feel any better that your entire family and the whole of Merseyside can’t use their phones either because they are not you and they are clearly un-hormonal and relatively sane human beings and thus can proceed through their lives without needing a phone surgically attached to their person.
And then there was the day the television wouldn’t play nicely and the custard I ordered for delivery by my nice organic veg box people burst all over the place and drowned a head of celeriac and ruined the life of three little beetroot. Don’t even start me on the mess that is my email account.
Heck I have never needed a wife/personal assistant/girl friday/all round dogsbody more. If only to stop me apoplectically punching my ex-husband type man every time he sets foot in the house and declares both his failure to understand why Finley’s most recent diagnosis matters and his intent to reduce his child maintenance payment again. Oh dear. One of these days I am going to have to punch his lovely lights out. In the meantime I will probably go on serving him cups of tea and force feeding him home-made chocolate cake.
I could cry. And I have. In shame for feeling distressed over all this trivia. For the constant, relentless need to analyse everything everyone says and to take every little crisis as proof positive that my whole world is falling down. Because apart from my absolute failure to recognize and be grateful for all the small joys in my life in the process (this was the week I won an iPhone 5 for heavens sakes!!), there are more important things to weep over.
Tonight, unexpectedly, my Dad’s brother is dying in hospital and my Dad’s eyes are sadder than I have ever seen them.
Things break. That’s all there is to it. Tv’s, cars and tumble dryers. Heck hormones can even break a girls personality.
But when people break all our lives are brought into stark relief and everything else ceases to matter.