They say you learn something new everyday. Well I’m not entirely sure exactly who, ‘They’ are, but I think They’re right. Certainly in my case.

I’m as inquisitive as they come. I like to learn, I like to know stuff. I’m a little obsessed if truth be told.



I did not, however, intend on acquiring any new knowledge at all today. Cos it’s Sunday. I suspect that when ‘They’ wrote the rule about learning new things every day, they forgot to add, ‘except on Sunday’s.’

Because everybody knows that Sunday is the Sabbath, which means it serves as little more than a day in which the alcohol can sufficiently vacate our bloodstreams in time for Monday’s to commence. It’s written in the bible you see.

And who am I to argue with that? If the big man upstairs insists on my complying to the rules of the Sabbath, by lazing around in my PJ’s, with my brain switched off, then I really should obey. After all I might never go to Heaven otherwise?

Well, at the risk of facing the flames, I have a confession to make. Today I broke the rules.

It all began when I forgot to get drunk last night. And that was because I was too busy suffering a hangover. Which might be because I now have some blonde highlights in my hair, (‘They’ also claim that blondes are somehow not as intelligent as brunettes,) which could possibly explain why I got my dates muddled up and got pissed on Friday night instead of Saturday.

To be honest I don’t suppose it matters how it happened. All that really matters is that I have broken the rules. Because I accidentally learnt a few things today.

The first piece of knowledge I acquired today was the meaning of the word, ‘Anthropologist,’ which was provided for me, amongst others, as a suggestion of words to be included in tonight’s blog post. The knowledge came directly from Wikipedia, one of my favourite sources of knowledge on the world wide web.

The second piece of knowledge I acquired was that seeking suggestions for words that I might use in my blog post was not a sufficient method to use in trying to cure writers block.

Thus the third piece of knowledge that I acquired today was that the statement ‘works well under pressure’ should probably be erased from my CV. Because tonight, after asking you guys what words I should include in this blog post, I discovered that I don’t work well under pressure at all. In fact now that I have a list of 10 words to include in this blog post, my brain is entirely void of appropriate content, I have spent hours trying to locate something even half intelligent in my empty head, but there’s nada and now I’m rambling, and I seriously doubt that any of this will make much sense when it’s finished.

The thing is I haven’t written a ‘proper’ blog in a few days now, and a couple of you have written to me asking why, which has made me feel a little guilty. And so, even though I am tired and poorly and quite obviously lacking in wit, intelligence and humour today, I felt I ought to write a blog post for you anyway, cos it’s so long overdue.



I haven’t got a lot to blog about. I have Steph flu again have spent much of my time in my delicious bed with ‘Connect FM’ to keep me company. My life hasn’t been greatly interesting and nothing dramatic has arisen (thank god and touch wood) - normally when my life is plodding along at a normal rate (which is pretty rare,) I let Divine Inspiration write my posts. Trouble is my divine inspiration has taken leave of absence and until she returns I’m afraid I don’t have anything worthy to share with you.

Well she’s been gone a while now, my divine inspiration and I hope she comes back soon, cos if she doesn’t I might have to get myself a proper job. I didn’t realise it but I’m pretty crap without my divine inspiration. And asking you guys to suggest words for me just won’t cut it.

Not that I’m blaming you. Indeed you picked fine words for me to include. And ordinarily I could find myself incredibly inspired by items such as Banana’s and Swallows, (although looking at them both in the same sentence I’m struggling to think of anything non-pornographic.) And if I’d had my brain I’m sure I could have written something extremely political and poignant about the Army, or indeed something sweet and whimsical to include the word, ‘serendipity’. Instead though I have produced this. A post about a load of bollocks.  

And now I know why they say Quality is more important that Quantity. (‘They’ really are very wise, aren’t they?!)


Fear not, I'm sure plenty of chocolate, ibuprofen and sleep will coax my Divine Inspiration back, and I promise never to blog in her absense again :-)

Steph x



P.S I'd like to apologise to Claire for not including your word, it was the hardest word of them all . . . ! Hope the picture will do instead?! :-) lol

 

My husband, Jay, hasn't exactly got, what you might call, a way with words. I mean, he tells hilarious jokes, (he never forgets a good punchline, unlike yours truly,) and he can do great accents, (my favourite is his Irish one, it's delicious -I would have married him in seconds if he'd used that on our first date!) and when he's working he uses a silver tongue in all his sales pitches. Yet when it comes to describing things Jay will almost always favour his own terms, sound affects and actions over the language of a standard Oxford English dictionary.


It took a while before Jay and I truly understood each other. Not that we have a lack of communication or anything, it's just that I am, in Jay's words, 'a posh Surrey tart,' with a love of the English language and he is a typical west -end London lad that knows and uses virtually every form of cockney rhyming slang ever invented, (and some that I'm pretty sure he's invented himself.)





You want me to give you an example don't you? Hmmmm, well he once called me and said,

'I've just gotta rub over me Baked Beans before we go out tonight. Should I wear my Scooby's or my Gloria Gaynors?'




Which roughly translates to,



'I've just got to iron my jeans and should I wear my shoes? ('Scooby Doo's') or my trainers? '




Gradually, as time has rolled by, we've managed to find a compromise between our two languages so we can chat like any other couple, though I still use terms he finds hilarious and he still says things like, 'tune, by the way,' when a good song comes on the radio or, 'it ain't about that,' when he finds something he doesn't like so much.




One of my favourite characteristics that my gorgeous man possess though is his ability to do Blockbuster sound affects. Seriously he can make the strangest noises. He can simulate a car or a plane or any other motor for that matter, and can make machine-gun noises that wouldn't be out of place in any violent movie. I think it's a talent he shares with the majority of his kind, (the males species that is,) because I've noticed that lots of boys can do it. (Perhaps they learnt at the secret lessons boys had at school, the one where they also learnt to set their farts on fire and to make paper aeroplanes that really can fly?!)




Anyway the point is I am now pretty much used to the way he communicates and thus wasn't surprised when he just pointed out that instead of his life being, (*whistles* a happy tune,) it's more, ('dun, dun, DDDDUUURRRNNNN!!!')




(What he means to say is that instead of everything being easy and simple in his life, it always seems to be complicated and dramatic.)




And this, I'm afraid is where I have unknowingly influenced him. You see my life is always a little dramatic too, I almost always take the hard route and those things that old people are always on about, that are 'sent to test us,' always seem to be sent directly to me. (Perhaps I should redirect my mail?!)




Drama always seemed to follow me around, yet now it appears to want to follow Jay too. Which is why my husband is currently stranded approximately 170 miles from home up in Middlesbrough.




It's a long story, (which involves the loss of a car key and the lack of a spare,) and the conclusion is that instead of being home with Mummy and Leo, Daddy is wearing yesterdays clothes, smells like a tramp, (I imagine, because he forgot to take a towel to use after taking a shower,) and is awaiting the arrival of the spare key which should be with him before 9am tomorrow morning, (according to the very nice lady at the post office whom also kindly informed me that I'd forgotten to actually seal the envelope containing the spare key. Ooops.)




So anyhow I am now technically home alone. Little Leo is spending the night away with Nanny Sandie, (which was arranged during the bizarre hour during this afternoon when it was suggested that I would act as courier and rescue my hubby by taking the 4 hour (and £77!!!) train journey up to meet him,) and Lorelei is still down at Nanny Annie's (and I'm missing her like mad!)




I've got my Tilly and my Jack (both of whom act like Rottweilers, will keep away the burglars and thus will, for one night only, be allowed to sleep on my bed tonight!) – I've got my Tinkerbell (although she hasn't been home for a while, dirty little stop-out) and of course I have Woody and Lucky (the two ducks in the garden) but other than that I'm on my tod.




I'm a 21st century chick. An independant woman. I don't need a man. I enjoy my own company and will saviour this time alone. Ah who am I kidding?! I miss them all already. And I don't quite know what to do with myself.




I have toyed with the idea of drinking Jay's Stella's in the fridge and then belting out a few tunes on the karaoke machine (yep, we must be the only family in Britain to have a karaoke machine in our living room! lol) but singing solo to a couple of mutts seems a little sad, even for me.




I have also toyed with the idea of clearing Lorelei's room and getting cracking on the makeover I'm going to perform as a surprise for her when she returns home. (I've been all inspired by 60-minute makeover and have concluded if they can do a whole house in an hour (give or take the tea break they have half-way through, lazy buggers) I can certainly do a room in 2 weeks!) - Yet I just can't bring myself to tackle the mountains of bits of plastic and play-dough and broken or unused toys.




The telly is somehow displaying billions and billions of channels but still absolutely nothing worth watching and the housework is beckoning but I'm on strike. No way am I going to spend the evening scrubbing thank you very much. (Though I am aware that it is Wednesday and therefore I need to 'do the bins.' Yet since this is Jay's job I'm not really sure what, 'doing the bins' actually entails . . . anyone? lol)




I could go out. Except I have about a fiver in my bag and cash-card is up north. I could invite some friends over, (except we've nearly run out of toilet roll and I don't think it's very good etiquette to invite guests over and ask them to bring their own.)




What did I used to do before I became a Mummy and a Wife? It seems an age away . . . let's see . . . If i wasn't in the pub, or out dancing the night away I might have been in the gym, (Katy and I used to go together. We'd weigh ourselves first, then work-out, then weigh ourselves again, then go and have a Maccy D's to console ourselves on the discovery that we hadn't lost an ounce. Lol) – or failing that I think i would have been at home pampering and preening and beautifying myself.




Yep. That's what i'm gonna do. Stick my ipod on shuffle. Spend an hour in the tub. Deep-condition my hair. Exfoliate. Moisterise. Face-Mask. Slip into my softest PJ's and chill . . .




And just like that. Suddenly I'm not feeling quite so lonely after all ;-)