Bad Weekend...

It's been nothing but a crappy weekend in LMPPs household. D has constantly working, coming home to sleep & then back for more work for the last 2 weeks (his boss is on holiday) & I think last weekend broke me. I want my husband back.

Saturday was spent cooking & baking for the freezer, we don't 'do' ready meals, unless its cottage pie. Saturday night was spent in front of the telly, watching the crappy crap crap of Saturday night telly. Sunday was spent at work with oooooh all of 4 customers. Sunday night was spent in front of the telly.

How exciting.

D's boss arrives home tomorrow night. Then I'll have to wait a few days while D sleeps & then I should have him back. Hoorah!!

......

It's cold, it's cold, it's cold!!!! My feet are cold but mt hands are strangely toasty warm.

Not the point, it's still cold & I had to de ice my frigging car this morning.

Cooooold!!

serves me right...

Because I'm such a lazy ass mofo, I finally broke down on my way too work this morning on the worst possible road you can break down on.

People in Bristol will know of Beaufort Road in St George, the 'short cut' which is used by everyone & their poodles so in reality it is probably more stuffed with traffic than the 'stuffed with traffic' main road and therefore not much of a short cut really.

Anyway, residents park their cars up one side of this road, there is traffic calming measures all down it & if 2 cars want to pass each other in opposite directions you have to inch very slowly past hoping your wing mirror doesn't want a full on hump with the other, or the side of your car. So there's me, trundling down this road, stop, start, stop, start when my car stalls. And it won't bloody start. And then the sickening realisation when I'm desparately praying for it to start on the next try is that maybe going out & freezing my tits off in the icy, crappy weather, buying petrol the night before instead of snuggling down on the sofa in the warm with the cat, a large bowl of crisps & Eastenders on catch up TV was probably a really good idea.

I counted 30 beeps, 3 effing & blinding white van men, 4 middle fingers & a wanker sign while I waited for my dad with emergency petrol.

Honestly, I never knew the british public could be so warm & understanding. Fuckers.

Sickness & Stuff...

It seems that it is time for my monthly bout of illness. I had to leave work early yesterday because the sicky feeling wouldn't budge & my tummy is churning evilly. So I went home & crawled onto the sofa with the blanket & a very reluctant cat & tried to watch some telly.

I say tried because D choose that exact moment to come home from work.

Why is it that men seem to try harder to get amorous when you feel like crap? When I am well, D doesn't try as hard. It seems that being ill is a massive turn on for him.

So for about 45 mins, I lead on the sofa trying to ignore D and his mating dance.

Eventually he gave up & went back to work & left me feeling incredibly guilty for not giving in.

Goddamn men.

Books Glorious Books...

I absolutely 100% love books. I own hundreds of them & I have bookshelves in nearly every room of my flat & my Husband despairs of them. He hates books, especially since I have a tendency to leave them lying around everywhere. He threatens regularly to chuck them out which is much like waving a piece of bloody steak in front of a hungry lion.

The reason why I'm blabbering on about my lovely books is that some have gone missing. Seriously, I know what books I have & what goes where and there are definitely some missing. D has denied even touching them but I'm thinking that the momentous row we had last week about my laziness & 'not putting those frigging books away' may lead me to believe that my darling hubby has quite sneakily disposed of some.

One of the books that has gone missing is, quite embarrassingly, my Cat Counsellor book. I bought it purely because it was buy 2 get 1 free at WH Smiths & that Darth was demonstrating some peculiar behaviour. (Which turned out to be a life threatening bladder condition, which the vet told me, not the sodding book) Anyway I wanted to read something about why cats paw at fluffy cushions to convince my mum that Darth is quite sane & I can't find it. Anywhere.

Side note: The aforementioned fluffy cushion was bought for me by D to celebrate our 6 month anniversary 3 years ago & cost about £40. (hey, it is a nice cushion). Since we acquired our little bundle of fluff, that very expensive cushion has been commandeered by him & woe betide anyone who goes near it. The occasions when I do get to pick it up (usually when Darth is asleep but I do get the one eye open treatment) it's sopping wet from kitty drool so I tend to avoid it anyway.

Another book that is missing is my new Jeremy Clarkson one which I'm particualry upset about as I haven't finished reading it yet. I do like a bit of Jeremy at bed time!

Someone is messing with my books. I will keep you posted.

Are you being sarcastic...?

Last night at that happy place known as work I served an unsavoury gentleman (read dodgy). My thoughts were accurately justified when after pulling 3 pints of Blackthorn, he paid me with a fake £20 note. When I say paid, I mean tried to pay me with a fake £20 note.

Sorry but no.

So I told him that I couldn't accept it & asked for other means of payment. Jobs a good 'un.

Later, my boss asked me how could I tell it was fake. The chap had complained about it to him.

Imagine a £20 note, not the new style. The holographic logo was light blue & stamped on instead of embossed. The paper was normal paper not the money stuff. The ink ran when he dropped it in a wet patch of beer on the bar & the printing on the back of the note was on the piss. It was obviously fake.

Apparently, since I didn't check it with the ultraviolet light then I still could have been wrong.

So I checked it with the ultraviolet light & guess what? It was a fake.

Really? No shit Sherlock.

It did piss me off. I was forced to look stupid in front of the smug, grimy little twat, & he had a wedge of these stuffed in his pocket, while my boss told me off for not using the ultraviolet lamp.

Last night was a bad night anyway.

Can't be arsed...

This whole blogging thing is beginning to bore the crap out of me. I think it shows.

Anyhow, I am not a quitter so I'll persevere until it's no longer irritating. I think it's down to the lack of interesting things to say. I read other blogs & they are funny & full of stuff that I like to read, whereas mine seems dull in comparison. But, I will from now make an effort to post at least twice a week, boring or not.

Saturday came & me & N went to watch some pretty fireworks at a fairly shoddly organised firework fair. There were more burger vans there than anything else. The fireworks lasted for 1/2 hour & were quite weedy so I was quite disappointed, I like my fireworks to be massive!

The highlight of the evening (for N) was when a 3 year old twatted me in the head with a glow stick.

My highlight was seeing masses of bats divebomb people.

Random Weekend Thoughts:
What does it mean to dream that you can't open your eyes?
Why is it so foggy?
Why did Vue Cinemas let 12 year olds in to see a 15 rated film?
Why did said 12 year olds scream incredibly loud screams at non scary parts of the film?
Why did I bother going?
Why did my dad choose to call me at 11.30pm & scare the crap out of me just to tell me to drive carefully today? Usually, a call that late means one of them is ill.