The Baching Continues

The torrential rain that made the roof leak has gone and I really expected that it would leave autumn in its wake, but no, the bloody stinky heat and humidity have returned. This just makes me crabbie and irritable, cos it's sticky stinky awful. Naturally the grass is growing like topsy and cos it's hot the pool is still being useful. This all means that the baching jobs now include mowing, which I quite enjoy and seeing to the pool, about which I know fuck all.

So the mowing was a snap, but I expect that the pool will be a different issue altogether. The water sample was tested and stuff was needed. I pleaded useless and so the fellas will walk 2 bags of salt over when they get back from their day's labour. These are BIG bags, not those little white paper bags of sweeties Nanna used to buy us every Saturday. These are 20kgs each! And me with my sorry back! I am not sure how to get the stuff into the pool, but I am pretty sure it will involve gravity and pushing and maybe a bread knife to open them. I am supposed to disconnect the vacuum thing and tip in all the salt and sweep it around and then after 2 hours, re-connect the vacuum thing. I haven't looked yet, but I am hoping that it is designed for idiots and that if I can get it undone, I can then connect it back. We will see.

I don't know why I have never learnt to 'do the pool', especially as I use it far more than Steve. It really should be my job. Maybe once I have learnt how to do it I will be keener to take it on, but somehow I doubt it. It just doesn't grab me.

Dog has been spoiled and has not left my side except for when I headed out yesterday. She dug the hole again and I didn't rouse cos she was doing what dogs do. She knows I am an old softy about it but I reckon she might well head for them hills when Dad comes home, cos she knows it gives him the screaming irrits. Collecting up her shit brings no joy, but is a simple enough job.

The smoke alarm is still doing the occasional beeping thing and I keep ignoring it by turning up the tellie or the music or closing a door. Well actually, it just got the better of me so I trooped upstairs twice to see if I could find an easy solution, and it was easier than I thought, cos it wasn't the alarm, it was a little digital clock / photo frame Steve gave me for xmas. It was beeping like a maniac. I thought I had pushed enough buttons to turn it off, came downstairs, only for it to start up again. But I fixed it good and proper this time. I took all the batteries out. I reckon I won't be hearing from it again.

Time to hit the pool and worry about all that other stuff and nonsense tomorrow.

Sunday Shopping YES, doing the MATH, NOOOO!

'Doing the Math', well it's just plain bloody boring and whilst it's not beyond me - as luck would have it, it was my third teaching area when I started out as a guppy but I kept that info very close to my chest, it's just something that I truly can't be bothered with.

When I was 40 and Bell was heading off into the wide blue yonder for what turned into 18 months of fraught and fun and frolic, I decided that that was more than enough of doing the bills down to the penny and balancing bloody everything except the scales of course.

It drove Steve mad that I wouldn't reconcile bank statements or check credit card billings or cross reference dockets and charges, so little by little, well actually given his pedantic nature and my absolute antipathy, by big flying leaps, he became responsible for 'doing the math'.

So he's in London for his birthday and I have sent cards but I wanted to send something to open. I went hunting for my English credit cards which must be in the same safe place I hid the oyster cards and as that was fruitless and after on line looking I did not have enough pounds in my pom account, I had to use the Oz card.

I found what I wanted and bought it and then looked for a receipt in my emails.... NOTHING THERE! This was odd, even for a Math refuser like me.

I went back into the shop site and my item was still there in my basket, not processed. So I bought it, and this time it all went through like it always does, but it left me feeling like I had buggered something up. So back to on line banking only to discover that it wouldn't let me in....Oh shit!! I am never gonna hear the end of this if I have handed over all my details to some Nigerian.

I called the bank and was chatting to the lovely Sean for more than 30 minutes, well actually I was on hold for a fucking long time first. He couldn't work it out either. He gave me a temporary password which also didn't work, and then finally the math guru told me to give up for a while and try  it all again later on. Well you know what, I could have thought of that!!

So I did try later on 4 or 5 times later, before finally the password worked but I couldn't see the charge for the pressie on the account, even though Sean had no trouble with it. I reckon there must be something to click on to swap between the MasterCard and the Amex, but I was buggered if I could find it.

So I had to email Stevie with all this strange news and probably have not made his day. I am sooo hoping that the pressie proves worth the trouble.

The sale of the Century

The weather fairies have been kind and Belly's garage sale has been a huge success. This means that she has sold a lot of stuff and has cash to burn, but I reckon the real indicator of success is that she has had a fine time. There were a number of her friends who rallied to help and I can see how that would increase the levity factor. But perhaps the real reason for her success is that in at least this instance she is nothing like her mother.

I have attempted this sort of interaction with the locals twice and only 2 times have I needed to be restrained from hitting someone with an ugly chipped jug or similar bit of tat, and only a few times have I told complete strangers to fuck off out of my place, because I would far rather give whatever it is they were wanting to a charity shop or dump it, than sell it to them for any amount of cash. The first time I cannot recall if any money was made and the second time amazing money was made. Both times though I would clearly have been better off if Belly had taken charge.

There is something about people at a garage sale, or a demolition sale, that give me the irrits. They all want something for nothing. And I get it, if I don't want then why can't I just give it to them, well because I paid for it in the first place that's why, and just cos I don't want it anymore that doesn't make it worthless. I mean I don't want the Mona Lisa , but I wouldn't give it away at a garage sale.

They all had enough of a good time to have decided to front up again tomorrow for one final fling before the leftovers get taken off to the charity shop. I do very much hope that she rewards herself with a nice bottle of wine and a takeaway tonight. She deserves at least that much for being a wonder bug, polite thing under circumstances that make me overflow with rudeness and bile.

So the Baching begins

'I'm leaving on a jet plane', was Steve's song yesterday as he headed off to Blight for a month's birthday visit with all his mates...There can surely never be an argument against a birthday that might last but a week huh.

So now it is just Dibley and Me in the big house.

The rainy storms of the last few days, which culminated in a big hula-balu last night, have allowed me to question our sex roles. For example last night about 1am I heard this odd bleeping noise and as I was the only one capable of rationalising it - dog was sleeping soundly, I dragged out of bed and investigated. Yeh it was the bloody smoke alarm that has always been wonky, but Steve had replaced 'em all before he left, so I was buggered if I knew what it could be. My solution did not involve getting out the ladder and a phillips head screwdriver, my solution was to go back to bed and close the door. The rain and the closed door had the same affect as turning up my car radio when I heard a strange engine noise years ago.

This morning there was a big puddle under the fridge and after I had established that there was nothing wrong with it, I threw some towels onto the floor and soaked up the wet. Once before, we had a leak somewhere in that corner of the house, so as my back is still making me into some crooked old cow, I am incapable of scaling up the kitchen bench and using the 'CLAW' to grab the electric plug and then lying flat out on the floor and dragging the fridge out of it's little home, so to enable me to dry up under it. I have to hope that the heat transfered at the back of the fridge will be sufficient to dry up the floor and that there is nothing rotting in the wall behind it. Once the final towel has been washed and dried and put away, I am sure I will forget all about it.

The pool was overflowing but I reckon now that the heat is back, evapouration will see that righted lickerty split, the rubbish bin has been placed and emptied and returned and the one little pile of dog shit is still sitting on the grass but I will defo collect it tomorrow.

All the washing is done and the kitchen and bathrooms are lovely and clean and as I stand here...still no sitting allowed! I reckon that there are just many ways to an end. We might all have different methods but so long as the jobs get done, it doesn't really matter at all.

Back Aches and Noise

Being told that I have only 2 options for passing the day, that is lying down or walking, makes me aware of just what a lazy fucker I am in an ordinary day, cos I clearly spend most of the time seated on my arse doing god knows what.

After spending time spread eagle on the floor with Zig and Bell, making garage sale signs on very a large bits of cardboard, I could hardly walk, and so yesterday, through a bit of a drug haze and a few tears I took myself off to the physio and yes Adam told me my back was fucked AGAIN. He seemed to think that until I get my knee sorted I can expect this sort of thing to happen more often than not. Oh JOY!

So he got out the expensive version of heat cream and gave my back a good seeing to, not too many tears in that and then sent me on my way with the instructions to lie or walk and keep up with the drugs.

So today as Steve got himself sorted for the OFF to Blighty, I have alternated between couch and walking the house. Occasionally the walking has been useful as I went in search of some missing essential and other times fruitless and more than a little aimless.

Steve is still packing and as he is a big boy I have no doubt that he is more than capable of doing it without supervision, and if he forgets something I am sure that he will be able to sort it out when he gets to Mike`s place.

I am pleased that sometime ago we agreed that I would just drop him at the train station cos I am pretty sure that my back would not allow for 3 hours driving to and from the airport.

So I am wondering if a tree falls in forest and there is no one there, does it make any sound, and similarly, if it just me in the big house and I groan on about being sore am I really making any noise.
If not then that means I am not aching. Yippee to that thought!!

Scary Movies Suck

It was ironing day today to get Steve's stuff sorted for London, and that meant turning the tellie on and suffering through shitful morning TV including infomercial after infomercial about how to be thinner and cuter and younger and for only the cost of a small car. I suppose I should be pleased that it took longer than I thought and consequently for my viewing pleasure I was thrown into the horrors of "The Invasion" Nicole Kidman and Daniel Craig, how bad could it be huh?

Well I don't do well with horror movies. I have absolutely no problem 'suspending disbelief' and falling headfirst into the gore and the misery and the general mayhem and horror. Years ago I went to see a double bill of 'Misery' and 'Silence of the Lambs'. I spent a great deal of the time with my hands over my eyes and more than once I fell off the chair onto the floor. I felt sick with fear.

Today however I thought it would be cool cos it was DAYTIME and I was ironing and there were so many ads for rubbish no one needs. The premise was simple enough, some alien disease making the world into Stepford people and Nicole and her son were anti the idea and the kid was immune so quite helpful to mankind.

The ironing was done so my arse hit the chair and I watched the last half, ads and all. Well even though it is a pretty shit movie and even though it was bright daylight and the ads were a constant interruption,I still managed to squeal like a stuck pig and throw my arms around like the maniac with a knife in Hitchcock's shower scene.

It's always a good idea to test yourself from time to time, and what I discovered today is that
I am still just a big baby about scary-manary movies.

Simultaneous Alzheimers.

I have a bit of a migraine today so things have been all a bit of a blurr. To take the edge off I thought I would stand around in the shade and the breeze, with the hose and wet the grass and the trees and pretend to be a gardener.

The neighbours in this neck of the woods are pretty friendly and Joan walked by and stopped to compliment me on the growth of the star jasmine and say a quick hello to Dog. Apparently this is something she does even if there is no one out wetting the grass, saying hello to dog that is, I don't know about the stopping to chatter, - it is possible.

She told me about the slide down the Alzheimer's ride her husband was on. It did not sound joyful the first time she told me and it certainly did not sound any more so the second time she told me. She told me a story from her youth and it was entertaining to a degree the first time and less so the second time.

She said she was lonely and that there were days and sometimes weeks when she didn't speak at all. I presumed that lively conversation with her hubby was a thing of the past. I was happy to listen and comment while the hose did its best to resurrect the grass.

I am left wondering though what happens when the dreaded A hits the whole family. Who is left looking out for fire hazards and remembering where you live.

This must surely be becoming a very real situation what with the aging population and all. Or maybe this could be the answer to the whole dilemma - 2 or more people living together not remembering each other, or each others stories, they could be simultaneously interesting and interested. They could say mean hurtful things that no one would take to their graves, and so long as safety was covered they could all live happily ever after.

It is a trite idea, and I only mention it because of the terror I feel when I think of it happening to me. An Elliott trait I'm afraid, that some find endearing and others find repugnant, is to make extremely light of any shitty situation.

The selling of 'Programmes' at my dad's funeral is perhaps a reasonable example.

Still hard to believe that I didn't make enough money to retire on, the church was full to pussy's bow.