Glimpsesofcolour

…is now mended. My local Tesco has finally fixed the flush in the ladies’ toilet, which for months has only worked if you pump it vigorously at a strange angle. Of such little blessings is the life of a reluctant domestic manager made

***Bad joke alert***
We had home group at my house tonight. There was one spare chair as I’d been expecting an extra person. When we came to the bit where we shared bread and wine, my large cat Pippin jumped up onto this extra chair and sat there looking expectant. Well, it was ‘com*mew*nion’!

When listening to the Rolling Stones in your car, do not attempt to beat time with your right foot on the accelerator. No, really. Just don’t.

A strange experience, listening to practically the whole Stones back catalogue back to… er… back. I’d forgotten all about that psychedelic phase they went through from around ‘She’s a Rainbow’* till they got back on the good old hard rock track with Jack Flash. And yes, I know Lennon accused Jagger of nicking all the Beatles’ ideas, with ‘We Love You’ after ‘All you need is love’ and ‘Let it Bleed’ after ‘Let it Be’, but honestly, isn’t ‘We Love You’ a big bad beautiful song, in fact rather better than ‘All you need’? You can’t say Jagger and Richards didn’t make something new out of what they nicked.

Well that’s enough of the rock memories. I’m not at all sure what my nineteen year old passenger thought of it all, but she wisely kept quiet as I belted out the chorus of Honky Tonk Women (which, IMO, is a much better song than Brown Sugar which gets played all the time).

*actually on listening again, I think it started with the rather fey ‘Dandelion’ which was obviously an attempt to do early Pink Floyd.

As I drove towards my psychiatrist appointment this morning*, the Rolling Stones compilation currently playing in my car had reached ‘Mother’s Little Helper’, with its reference to the ‘little yellow pill’ which indeed I do take. As I drove back afterwards, the next track was playing, which just happened to be ‘Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown’. Hmm…

*(orientation report: I missed my junction yet again but managed to repair the route by turning left later, and in the process discovered a much better route and got there half an hour early)

If you are old enough to have been a fan of the TV Series The Good Life you will no doubt remember the Christmas episode where for Jerry and Margo, ‘Christmas has not been delivered’. All being well, Christmas *will* be delivered to our house, as today I finished ordering presents, cards and paper from various charity and other catalogues, and with just one shopping trip I hope to complete the present purchasing. I am feeling rather smug.

Of course, I still have to write our Christmas letter, update our address database, print out address labels, sign 90+ cards and put letters in them, and deal with the fact that no doubt several of the things I ordered will either be out of stock or be extremely disappointing when they arrive! The Grouch’s contribution to Christmas is to cook both our festive meals: the Austrian one on Christmas Eve when we have our presents, and the traditional British one on Christmas day. Genius Brat’s contribution to Christmas has so far been nothing, although perhaps we ought to try to change that this year.

Tomorrow is another psych appointment – praying that I actually manage to find the hospital this time – and then writing for a new customer in a format I haven’t tried before, and for which I currently have zero ideas.

Further to the report of an explosion last Sunday – The Grouch says I have been so much better all week since exploding, that he doesn’t mind if I have to do it occasionally. Hmmm…

Tongue now less excruciating than it was, and dentist is referring me to the dental hospital, probably for op #3 on my tongue. If ever you feel the need to practise for being tortured when Christianity becomes illegal, I recommend having anaesthetic injections in your tongue. I’ve done it twice and I am definitely torture-ready.

Query: is blogging a bit like marital sex? You start all enthusiastic, doing it every day, and then as the novelty wears off it goes down to every few days, and then once a week, and then pretty soon… no, I’d better not go there.

Mostly owing to trying to drive The Grouch’s van on Sunday morning (because he’d taken the car to take son and friend and friend’s film critic dad to a preview), and not succeeding very well (stalled three times and nearly burned out the clutch), on Sunday night I totally blew up at him for not using air freshener spray in the toilet. This was not nice, either for The Grouch and Genius Brat, or for myself – the screaming made my throat hurt. I have a book on my shelves which I am meaning to read, called The Explosive Child. I think I need a companion book called The Explosive Parent.

It seems however that screaming can be therapeutic, since I’ve been feeling much better since then. There must be a less traumatic way, as Pooh almost said as he bumped down the stairs on his head.

Have not however been very inspired to blog. Can report that the Bodyclock is definitely helping me get up in the morning, and possibly to sleep better at night. Also, we had our second night out in less than a week, to see the film Pleasantville which was being shown by our local film buff who also happens to be the director of the Mennonite Centre. Interesting film – sadly the audience was The Grouch, myself and two staff of the place it was shown in. Otherwise life is the usual round of doctor’s appointments, osteopath appointments, child and adolescent mental health appointments, and I really must ring the dentist to get him to look at my excruciating tongue. I think I shall stick it out at him..

But we didn’t, we came eleventh*, due to the fact that we started as a small team with only six instead of eight people at our table, and then members kept absconding (admittedly, they were the members who appeared to have come only to chat, plus the woman who only ever answered one question).

Actually, due to The Grouch and myself being a fairly crack partnership and having another guy on our team who seemed to know everything, we were actually up at 3rd during the first half. Then we got scuppered by the music and film questions – all the music was the sort of 70s ballad that one would rather forget, and had been included just because it fitted the quiz theme, which was colours. In aid of which the two quizmasters were fetchingly dressed in 70s frilly shirts and trousers in luminous lime green, orange and pink. In the film round they acted out parting scenes together, because it was their last year as compères.** Two male teachers in 70s disco clothes as Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson in Brief Encounter, has to be seen to be believed.

Anyway it was a fun evening though it went on to 11.00 by which time we were turning into pumpkins.

*Out of 23 teams, so we were actually – just – in the top half. Of course we’re not at all competitive, not not us…

**I am so not volunteering to run next year’s quiz – it is a high tech job involving lots of internet searching, image manipulation and digital photography, as many questions were picture ones projected on screen.

…is harder than finding one, and that’s hard enough. Apparently I am in denial (like de baby Moses). Personally I think it’s the therapist who’s in denial that any type of therapy but hers actually has any possible benefits.

Add to that the masseuse from hell who promised me a relaxing massage and then subjected me to half an hour of agonising pain, and my weekly day off has not been entirely the restorative experience it was meant to be. Maybe the school quiz which The Grouch and I are attending tonight will redress the balance.

Today I appear to be living backwards. First of all I went to Tesco in the morning, which I would normally do in the afternoon if it hadn’t been that my cleaner is off sick. As is my wont, I started at the café, but to my chagrin found that the coffee machine had broken down. I settled for tea, and only noticed after I had filled the pot at the hot water machine, that there were in fact coffee sachets available which I could have used.

After an hour or so doing the shopping, I was starving, so I returned to the café and got myself a sandwich. Then to compensate for the lack of coffee earlier, I took a coffee sachet and made myself a coffee, which I drank after I’d eaten the sandwich. So my day, which would normally go: work-coffee-work-lunch-work-tea (or more often lunch-sleep-tea), has been exactly the other way around. This is confusing.

Following an article I read in a magazine at the hairdresser’s on Tuesday, I had also decided that I would attempt a complaint-free day today. This was made more difficult by the breakdown of the coffee machine, and the fact that organic thick-cut ham, for the return of which I have been waiting literally years, was at last on the shelves last week and has totally disappeared from them again this week. How can I sing the Lord’s song in the midst of Tesco’s uncaringness?

Not to mention the vagaries of the bus stop electronic display last night which told me 1) that a 134 (which I didn’t want) was coming, 2) that in fact the next bus was a 43, 3) that two 43s were on their way – whereupon they both came in quick succession and drove straight past the stop; then the display told me that in fact the next bus would be a 134 – then a 43 came, at which point I lost it completely and stood in the middle of the road waving both arms to make sure it stopped. How embarrassing…

The man at the lightbox helpline was very helpful and immediately agreed that they should send me a replacement bulb free of charge. It arrived yesterday and I have installed it. The light is now beautifully bright, but for some reason it didn’t come on this morning even though I’m sure I set it right. However, having set myself the task of getting up earlier, I found I was more motivated to do so anyway. Perhaps I don’t need the bodyclock at all, just more motivation?

However I’ve not been sleeping at all well, so by the time I’d done an hour’s work and been to the osteopath, I was exhausted and instead of writing the piece that’s due in at 9.00 tomorrow, I went to bed and slept for about 2 hours. I must have needed it because when I woke up I was far more ready to do the work, and produced a satisfactory piece on the Pakistan situation, which gave me the opportunity to drop in the fact that I was at college with Benazir Bhutto (though she was known as Pinky Bhutto at that stage, a fact which annoyed me as that was my brother’s nickname for me, and I felt she had no right to it). I never actually got to know her, but I once took a phone call for her and went to knock on her door, which she opened in a fetching black slip. I somehow think this memory would not enhance her political standing.

Spent the evening at singing group, learning a difficult harmony to ‘Sometimes I feel like a motherless child’. Sang the beautiful tune all the way home with guy from church who gave me a lift. Which gave me a lift in more senses than one.