How is it May already?

Riddle me this.

How (and indeed, why) does my duvet cover manage to ensnare every item of clothing when I put it in the wash? I have to empty it out onto the carpet every single time (plus side: it’s good arm workout) and I find all sorts of things balled up in the corners, from socks to tea towels…. I’ll bet there is a scientist out there who can figure out the exact formulation as to why this happens.

Interestingly, I recently washed JUST our bedsheets, and nothing was inside it. Nada. Niente. Nowt.
Perhaps it is a form of resistance? Rebelling against being squished in with Darren’s grubby work gear.

*****

As well as the typical Spring clean, April and May have been my own personal MOT months.  

My hair was well overdue a good cut and colour, so I finally had my roots done:
Hairdresser: it’s good that you have so much grey at the front, it blends in well.
Me: thanks (offering her a cold, hard stare in the mirror)

The dentist told me that my teeth are perfectly cleaned and hinted that I would basically have received a sticker if I was a kid. OK, he didn’t actually hint that, but I know deep down he felt it. I have rejoiced in telling anyone at every opportunity how well I brush my teeth, despite the fact that I am 43.
And that no one really cares.
Not even my mum.

My 2-yearly eyeball appointment was OK. I pre-warned the Glaucoma person that I hate the eye puff machine and she very kindly tried to distract me. I suggested putting pictures of Brad Pitt circa 1993 in there, and she may or may not discuss that with her manager.

I went into the Optician’s room fully aware that my prescription had changed, but even so, when Dr Optical explained that our lenses harden as we age and to expect my prescription to increase (he tried to lessen the blow by saying “we” because he is about my age) I resigned myself to the fact that I am, indeed, aging.

Trying on glasses on your own isn’t fun, because you have to make the decision yourself. And I swear, I only tried on eight pairs, but I must have tried each pair on about six times. I think I gave myself repetitive strain injury. I settled on a lovely turquoise number and was quite excited about picking them up the following week – more for the fashion, rather than the better eyesight/less headaches – and sent a photo of them to my friend for reassurance.

Our house must be in sympathy with me because it is having its own issues. The washing machine packed up last week (anyone else breaking out in a sweat reading this?) and there is a continuous catastrophic leak (technical term apparently) which means that everything in the bottom of my chest of drawers is damp.

A couple of days ago, whilst lying in bed staring at the mould trying to break through the ceiling, Darren & I were watching a film. We were in that dozing-off stage, when all of a sudden the TV turned off. I am very happy to sleep in the pitch black with no noise, but I was a tad worried about the fridge or freezer defrosting.

Adulting, am I right?

We trudged down the hall with our mobile phone torches like Wee Willie Winkies and finally managed to isolate the issue to one area: the fridge. Darren scaled the furniture to reach the fuse box and flicked on the offending switch.

BANG

We resigned ourselves to the fact that the fridge was more than likely kaput. Sigh.

After a restless sleep and some searching on Facebook Marketplace for a replacement, it appeared that the fridge innards were still cold in the morning. Therefore, to try to solve the mystery, Darren tasked me with a science project: put something in there and see if it remains solid.

In theory, this sounded easy. But could I find anything that wouldn’t just generally solidify in any conditions (eg melted chocolate) or that wouldn’t melt if it came out of the freezer? So 8am and I was making Blackcurrant jelly (which remains untouched almost a week later) and regularly testing how firm it was.
About four hours later I discovered that it was actually the heating panel that wasn’t working.

It was a Nutella-straight-outta-the-jar kinda day.

Which also ended with a pint of mojito.

*****

Two years ago PC (pre-Covid) I bought Darren tickets to see a concert….and this month we finally made it there! I will describe the band as a mock-gospel-evangelist group who worship Sexy Jesus. The lead singer/entertainer is the right Reverend Michael Alabama Jackson; his back-up singers are the Hail Marys and their band is named Missionary Position. So that gives you some idea of what to expect….


It was weird being in a nightclub, as I haven’t stepped in one for about five years, and actually being around so many people we didn’t know was a strange feeling. Luckily it wasn’t super-crowded and we hung at the back – mainly so I could see – and the cool thing was that it was actually in a boat, so numbers were limited.

It kicked out at about 10:45 and we had a mooch around Bristol, feeling twenty years older than everyone else in town, but enjoying the scenery – some great old buildings and the river was lit up by bars and restaurants – it was generally a good vibe there. We weren’t that hungry, but it felt like getting something from the kebab shop was the right thing to do, so Darren ordered us 3 pieces of fried chicken and we wandered over to one more pub for a nightcap.

Darren stood at the bar whilst I loitered, clutching my fried treats to keep them warm. The bouncer came past and pointed at the box, saying “oooh chicken” and reached out for it. I stared him straight in the eye and said “don’t ever try to take a girls chicken” and held on fast. His hand remained on the box until I repeated myself and smiled. He laughed nervously and backed off.

*****

My God, I do struggle with these late nights and alcohol. Thursday was an impromptu glass of vino after work with the neighbours….which resulted in us finally leaving their house at 11pm, after I had consumed half a bottle of wine, half a bottle of Prosecco and some pirate rum from Tortuga. Then Friday was concert time and a fairly early journey back home on the Saturday. I could barely keep my eyes open and had to have a nap twenty minutes after stepping through the front door – a full on, clothes off, curtains closed, hour+ nap – and I still managed to lay-in until 10am the next day.

I find mornings a struggle, but I did have some recent work excitement to help me get through the pain: during the past couple of weeks I have seen four of my work colleagues IN REAL LIFE.

One bought me a little holiday souvenir (which I love love LOVE); another was just a fab coincidence; the third I have only ever met once, but constantly plague via MST (oh and she surprised me with a HUGE bag of pick ‘n’ mix #friendsforlife); and the fourth I have been speaking to for two years and didn’t know she had legs because all our communication is email/2D. She also bought treats (I love a muffin!). Happy days.

It was strange being in the office though, where every two seats was empty and there was hardly a sound. I didn’t recognise a lot of the faces, but it was quite nice to be out of the house and fully dressed. The only issue I had was that I had forgotten how to use the printer…..

*****

So that’s an update on my relatively eventful month!

Next week the Queen celebrates her Jubilee and in my opinion it’s a nice thing to look forward to. Lots of events are happening in most areas and, well, it’s a Bank Holiday isn’t it, what’s not to like? In all seriousness, I am by no means a Royalist, but there is something special about our Queen. Our female (yeahy!) monarch has reigned for seventy years and to me she is “proper Queenly” and as British as tea and scones and talking about the weather.

I live in what I affectionally refer to as “Hot Fuzz country” and will be enjoying a barn dance, tombola and a speech from the Town Crier (AKA my neighbour, the rum-pusher), as well as a huge slice of good old Vicky Sponge.

Toodle pip!