"You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart. You’re heading for a breakdown, better pull yourself apart. " - John Cooper Clarke

>Alone, again.

>Even though yesterday was a Public Holiday, here, in the Heart of Europe, the Twat still found reason to go to the European Parliament (which, like the European Commission, is open on Armistice Day so as not to upset the Germans. Personally, I think they would prefer a day off just as much as any other person). Still, when you write for a paper you have to come up with the goods.

The Twat didn’t.

He did his normal thing, mixing with the wrong parties so as to upset the other parties (his latest being upsetting the neo-Conservatives after a night on the booze with Nigel Farage. The Twat did apologise for coming home after ten, but I doubt those neo-Conservatives are going to give him the time of day again, ho hum).

At this rate, I doubt Christmas day will be spent together as the Twat’s job appears to be more important.

And before anyone dares even think it, no, I am not jealous that the Twat has a job and I don’t. I am very pleased that he does, but I tend to be spending more and more time alone; time that we could be going out together – anything. So I suppose that that is where the “Domestic Goddess” in me has crawled in, although I still can’t do much housework in case my back gives way yet again. I feel pretty useless, to be honest, and when the Twat comes home asking how my day was (bless him – he never asked me that when I was working and he wasn’t – but then, he is a twat), I feel that he is being sarcastic.

“Great, thanks Q. I got up, made supper (in the slow-cooker), fed Hermie, made a cup of tea, looked at the 6 sites online for a job, made another cuppa, watched the news and settled down to an afternoon of Jeremy Kyle, finished making the supper, washed up and checked my emails. It was great.”
“Fantastic, Hon, glad you had a good day.”

I am annoyed that I didn’t use my 30 days holiday plus all the over-time that I clocked up at my former job, but when you work part-time it is almost impossible to take time off. I thought that I would use that time to relax while looking for a job once my contract ended, and then thought that it wasn’t fair for the Twat to go out to work all day without me doing something. So I started cooking and cleaning the kitchen surfaces – it’s an ideal home to come back to.

Except that the Twat is putting on an awful lot of weight from his nights out at the pub and then his bottle of wine at home on top of food.

We barely speak.

I know that I am to blame, but apart from a size 10/42 up my arse, or seeing a doctor (please, no more meds), I’m not sure what to do. Make Q happy with a healthy meal each night – or what?

I do have to go to the post office. That will help.