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

Monthly Archives: March 2010

Catching up with times.

I should stop complaining about Easter eggs being everywhere as the Twat has just right pointed out to me that Sunday just happens to be Easter. Where did the time go? I blame my calendar really as it’s confusing with today being the last day of March and therefore there are blank squares until I turn the page over and voilà! it’s suddenly Easter. Easter and still no job. Panic mode is setting in.

Todd came home last night with a friend as they both have to visit the Scout Camp where they will be cooking over Easter. Todd was also very proud to show off his new piercing in his ear. I’m not sure what you call that particular part of the ear, but he now has a stud on the bit of cartilage that covers the entrance to your ear. It looks daft, is covered by his hair and the Twat referred to Todd as looking as if he’s banged a nail into his head. He’s not far off. I simply told the boy not to show his father which should be fairly easy as he and PHT are off to Costa Rica for two weeks tomorrow.

If I still don’t have a job by 11 April I shall be going to stay with a friend in Switzerland for 3 days which should make a nice break. Coralie is soaking up the sun in Tenerife where it is already 30°C. She has now switched from the reception to organising the animation that the Brits so enjoy. Yesterday it was Bingo which she did in both Spanish and English. Tatiana is off to Paris today to organise a school outing and to check on the Youth Hostel etc. She’s a bit pissed off as half of her class are Muslims and the girls aren’t allowed to go without their fathers, or something, so Tatiana and the others have to do all their work for them. It makes you wonder why they are studying tourism in the first place – unless they can work at a reception in a hotel, but you don’t need a degree to do that. Oh well, I’m all for further education.

And that’s it, really. It would be better to scroll on by.

Sod’s Law.

My life nearly ended last night when I realised that I couldn’t connect to the internet. Far little is worse than this sort of nightmare, but even the Twat couldn’t get it working again. What on earth does one do in such situations? Read? Watch TV? Feeling very put out, I did the latter and watched Eastenders. Ten minutes towards the end the Twat said that he didn’t know why I was so miserable – apart from the fact that I was watching Eastenders – as he’d fixed the internet what I’d broke.

He didn’t tell me he’d fixed it straight away as he appeared to enjoy watching me wallow in my own sorrow, knowing that my mate Dave was simply dying to talk to me. When I told the Twat that he was in stitches. “He wants to talk to you? I can’t get you to shut up.” Lovely. What was even lovelier was the fact that I now had a technician coming around at 8 in the morning and couldn’t cancel it.

I was up at dawn this morning so as to be ready for the technician. 8am arrived. So did 8.15am. So did 8.30am by which time I’d had enough and decided to risk jumping in the shower. Just as I was rinsing out the shampoo I heard my mobile ring so jumped out, detected where my phone was as I wasn’t, for many reasons, wearing my glasses, and after much fumbling with wet, slippery hands, answered the call – too late. Bugger. I finished my shower and just as I wrapped my towel around me, the doorbell went.

My hair was wrapped in a smaller towel and I’d just applied two blobs of moisturiser on my cheeks so had no other option other than to go downstairs barely dressed and looking like a clown. The technician barely flinched when I open the door.

He barely flinched – I was almost naked and he barely flinched.

I think I will have to make a complaint about that as he could have at least remarked on my incredible legs or massive bosom. But no.

He fiddled around with his notepad and concluded that my modem crashed for a while last night, something that even I could have told him. Miffed that he didn’t remark on my extraordinarily superb body I was glad to see the back of him.

I then realised that I still had 2 blobs of moisturiser on my cheeks.

Home again.

I’ve been away in Holland for the past week and had a wonderful time in between job-hunting. The scariest thing that I did was to go cycling – I’ve never cycled in Holland before and it is scary. Using someone else’s bike with brakes that hardly work is also very scary but at least I didn’t do my usual trick of falling off. All in all it was a wonderful week with good, home cooking, fantastic company and a lot of laughter.

I’m back now to the on-going hunt for a job and now that the weather has finally started to warm up, to let Hermie out to play in the garden when the sun shines.

It’s good to be home.

Todd’s arse.

This is what happens when I leave my son in the Twat's charge for a weekend. They go out to Churchill's bar in Brussels and my son bares all to have the female guitarist playing on Todd's former English teacher's band sign his arse.

Now who’s the bad parent?

I must be emo.

Todd got this song into my head ages ago.  The lyrics are fantastic.

Crossroads.

I feel like I’m at a crossroads in my life and am not sure whether to go straight on, turn left or risk going right.  This has been coming on for almost a year now so I think I shall carry on straight for a bit until I meet another crossroads – or get run over.

Reverse is out of the question.

It doesn’t help, you Third World Country.

Belgium seems to think that it will help this commune by cutting down on our gas and electricity bills.  Naturally, in order to do this, works have to be undertaken.  In order to undertake these works, our gas and electricity supplies have to be cut off.

It’s all very well telling us about this in advance; in fact, how very civilised of the commune.  But when you suddenly realise that there will be no gas or electricity from 7.30am – 4.00pm,  first thing in the morning by which time, if you are unemployed, it is too late as you suddenly realise that oh shit, that piece of paper on the kitchen table did warn me about this and I am now going to have to wait until this power-cut is over for my first cup of tea today and fuck the shower – I’m not exactly going anywhere.

There again, if, like the Twat, you are employed, I forgot to tell him as he usually has several cups of coffee and a shower well before that time.  Except this morning.  My bad there.  So seeing as the house was freezing again I decided to read a book in bed until the leccy came back on again, which it did, earlier than expected.  (I should thank the workers for that but I think it may be because the ground is frozen, therefore I expect several more power-cuts in the very near future.)

And talking about ‘cuts’ in bills, I was overjoyed to receive a letter entirely in Flemish which, when re-typed into Google Translation meant nothing more than a reduction in my house tax bill for the princely sum of €140.  Still, it’s better than a poke in the eye, I suppose.

And just as I was coming up here I realised that my water softener was making a very strange gurgling noise and that there was a red light on.  Knowing that my neighbours have the same water softener I braved the cold and pressed their stupid doorbell that plays ‘Green sleeves’ which sounds incredibly out of tune and moronic on the best of days – yet they never answer their door.  I have no idea why as I get on very well with them – but they are so anti-social.  So for all I know, my water softener is still making a strange noise down in the garage.

Just for that I feel like letting the Twat have his shisha pipe back to smoke at the end of the garden – but it wasn’t just them that he annoyed with that damn pipe – it was the entire road.

I’m always the last to know.

TQOTD

A friend visited us yesterday and turned to me at one point asking:

“So you’ve been pretty abstemious then?”

“Errrrr, What? What does abstemious mean?”

The Twat: “No, you wouldn’t know what that meant, would you?”

Pffffft.

It was good to get away.

Thanks to the Twat I was allowed to “go fishing” last weekend with a superb friend of mine of at least 8 years.  We talked a lot, ate a lot and drank a lot, as you do.  Getting away was a great relief from everything and I hope that I can do it again some time very soon.

The Twat, on the other hand, was responsible for my son having his arse signed by the female guitarist of The dIPLOMATS – the singer of which used to be Todd’s English teacher.  I don’t doubt that his former teacher missed that.

Mmmmm.

Perhaps I should go fishing more often.