King Arthur...

Hello to One and All!
The more astute of you will notice there's been a year and a month between blogs-but i live in hope that if you look quickly at the dates, the lost year will fade into the background..
So, what have you all been up to? I've got loads of reading and catching up to do.
My world you ask?
Let me list, in no particular order,

I'm doing an Open University course in Social Policy and Criminology (ongoing)- mainly to keep up with the rest of the brains that seem to be bursting from the others in the immediate family (see below)- but also because i can't keep up with any meaningful conversation/discussion that happens round the dinner table at home.

Trying to get Darling Daughter sorted for Uni next year She's wanting to be doing Forensic Psychology ( must google :)))) Forms, forms, grants, forms, more grants, student loans. Ye Gods.

Hysterectomy. Less said about that the better. But i'm fine.

Holiday with my sister and The Writer stayed at home. He'd never have coped.

And speaking of The Writer-
King Arthur is almost ready for publication!!!!!!!!!!!!
It seems like it's been 'nearly ready' for aaagggeesss. But give it a couple of weeks and we're ready to go.
No thanks to the agent though. Haven't heard from him in months. So self publication is the way forward, particularly as it's so easy through the Web.
I'll put up the blog for it soon and there'll be a Facebook page shortly. I'm trying Twitter, but what's that all about?
The main thing though, is to stop calling 'King Arthur', 'King'. Because he wasn't one. As i've mentioned before.
There's loads more to speak of, but a years worth of stuff needs a lot of thinking about so more very soon.
Promise.

Perception.

I can't believe i've been doing this blog for over a year now.
What worries me, is that now i've written about most of the trials and tribulations that affect a writers wife, i'm afraid there won't be anything new to write about.
So, i'm playing it a bit by ear at the moment, and picking out bits and pieces that i'm generally musing about.
Today, i'll mostly be writing about Perception.
I asked Sy what he thought the meaning of the word was ( is this a question, in a question?)
'Well, Sprouty.....'
He put down his book and stared at me like i was some some sort of backwater hick (well, i'm proud of my roots)
'i thought you might be a bit old to be worrying about that sort of thing...'
Stop right there, matey.
Firstly, i'm not to bloody old, and secondly, listen to me you insensitive half-hearted bastard- i said perception, not contraception.
All said to myself, of course.
Serves me right for not giving him a five minute warning that i was going to ask a question.
We have neighbours across the road from us- an elderly couple, very sweet and polite.
Proper neighbours who you could go to in an emergency.
I don't need an alarm clock, or indeed, any sort of time piece while i have these people as neighbours.
Their sitting room curtains open every morning at 7.30 am.
Their bedroom curtains at 8.00.
He fetches his paper at 8.30.
He returns at 8.40.
he wipes down his windows at 9.00....
The day goes on.
At 7.30pm, he closes the bedroom curtains. (in Summer, it's 8.45.) He will spend 5 minutes looking out the window, and if i'm not ready for this, he will see me consuming a large bar of Galaxy, or something else of the chocolate variety.
The joys of someone living opposite- to be fair, i'm not sure how good his eyesight is, so he might just see something the size of a minky whale, eating it's own weight in minky whale food.
That or he thinks we have the most enormous cat curled up on the settee.
Come 8.30pm, he closes the sitting room curtains, having turned on the tall lamp they have in the room.
And then it all starts again the next day.
But, you see, i don't know these people.
There is definately a wife, but she doesn't do any of these jobs.
She tends to just be on 'gate patrol' when they go anywhere.
She opens the gate for him to drive the car out, and then closes it again when they come back.
They could be axe murderers for all i know.
Maybe he doesn't go and get a paper in the mornings- he might be popping out to scan the village to see if there are likely victims for when he closes the curtains at 8.30.
Because once those curtains are shut, you just don't know what goes on, do you?
You see, i perceive them to be sweet old people.
But they might not be, at all.
I can't help but wonder how they perceive me and Sy.
This is what i think they see, if they peer out when the cutains are shut, as well as open.
8.30am- me and various children spilling out the house, on a school run and off to work.
NB- i say various, because i take neighbours children to school and it depends who DD has had staying over.
Bedroom curtains shut.
11.30/12.00- me coming home after morning jobs, laden down with buckets, mop, bin bag of dusters, hoover and possibly a bag of shopping.
Several trips into house to get all stuff in.
Bedroom curtains still shut.
12.05pm- sitting room windows flung open and wild woman seen careering around sitting room with hoover in one hand, duster in other.
12.30-bedroom curtains still shut.
1.00pm-shouting heard from inside house.
1.05- bedroom curtains opened.
1.15-wild looking man seen pottering outside in his dressing gown, talking to various cats and flowers.
1.20- more shouting heard from inside house.
1.30pm- woman appears at front door, dressed in stained tee shirt, old scruffy jeans and hobnailed boots, still shouting.
1.32-man in dressing gown waves woman off and disappears back into house.
1.35- bedroom curtains closed.
4.00-curtains opened.
4.30pm- woman home- several kids spill out of car, slowly followed by woman who looks like she has a bad back.
She glances up- what we can only assume, is that she is checking that the bedroom curtains are open.
All quiet for an hour or two.
6.45pm- woman disappears in car.
6.55- woman reappears with bag of stuff. The clinking noise indicates that the man in the house needs sustanance.
Again, all quiet for some time.
10.00pm- all curtains and windows wide open- raised voices. What can they be doing in there? Can again, only assume that smelly substances are rife, and air is needed.
11.00- bedroom lights on. Curtains closed.
2.00am- sitting room light on, curtains now closed.
Shadow of man sat at computer for several hours.
4.00am. Darkness.
At last.
I don't think that my neighbours know that Sy is a writer, therefore keeps very unsocial hours and drinks vast amounts of alcohol.
If they did, and this is what they see day after day, they might not look at us quite so guardedly.
I will tell them, one day.
And when i do, i'm sure i know what the resonse will be.
'Thank God for that- we thought your hubby was a jobless scrounger who sleeps all day, drinks all evening and stays up all night watching acts of sexual depravity on that computer internet thing....'

Perception.....maybe i'm seeing everything in a new way.
Till next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper.x





'

A list....

Things i have done this Bank holiday weekend.

1-Spring cleaned our bedroom, and moved all the furniture. (Sy actually fell out of the bed the first night of the changeround...that's another story.)
2- Spring cleaned the bathroom
3- Spring cleaned the sitting room (even The Writers' desk...and i haven't even lost one scrap of paper on it, although i did manage to lose a couple of pages from a Very Important Book.
They'll turn up eventually, i'm sure.)
4- Spring cleaned the kitchen, sorted out all the old crockery and installed a new, fully matching, inherited set.) Sy and DD can't find anything anymore. But that's their problem. I like the new set-up.
5- Have done three trips to the tip, but have recycled four big boxes of stuff and seven binbags.
6- Have baked two loaves of bread, made two bannoffi pies and three chocolate cakes.
7-Have ferried DD to and from her boyfriends house three times (an hour and half round journey, each time.)
8. I know i've forgotton something....ohh yes, done another blog!

The Writer has.
1- Mown the lawn.
And broken the mower.
So why the hell is he preening around the house looking for praise, when that's the only job he has done - and ballsed it up- and yet i'm just getting on with stuff?
It's a man thing, isn't it.

Till next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper xx

That time already...

..Parents evening last night.
Me, Sy and Darling Daughter's Dad trooped off to the school.
(click on 'school' under the label section, and you'll see why this is always such an adventure.)

Five minutes late for the first appointment, and we had 4 teachers to see.
The school is heaving.

We find the English teacher and take stock of the queue of parents waiting to see her.
She is running 15 minutes late.
I turn to the men.
'Let's go and find the R.E teacher. Perhaps we can then come back to Mrs English.'
The two of them look shiftily at each other.
They know this is a bad plan. If we don't get back to Mrs English on time, we will lose our slot.
But they follow me anyway.
Mrs R.E is smashing.
She is ready for the fact there are 3 parents, and has 3 chairs ready.
Massive improvement on last year, and i'm impressed.
We spend 10 miutes with Mrs R.E and speed back to Mrs English.
There is still a huge queue.
I adopt my alpha female pose and ask the parents waiting what time their appointments are.
She is still 15 minutes behind.
'Right- lets go and see Mrs Geography. Come on men, keep up.'
i'm on the way out of the room as i'm saying this.

'Yes Miss' comes this little voice.
I spin round and glare at the men.
'Which one of you said that?'
They both stare at me innocently and as i turn to belt up the staircase, i hear them sniggering behind me.
Feckin schoolkids still, both of them.
'Don't you hate her when she's got her bossy head on?'
'Yeah, some things never change..'

I'm kind of used to this now.
Sy and DDD get on so well, that they will happily trade off stories about me to each other.
But i'm watching them.

We sit to see Mrs Geography and have to wait a few minutes.
While waiting, another dad appears.
Mrs G is now free and i launch myself at her desk, but as i get there, Single Dad is too fast for me.
He slides easily into the chair in front of her and i feel like the loser in a game of Musical Chairs.
But only for a second.
i tap him on the shoulder.
'I'll think you'll find we were before you.'
I'm not sure what actually made him vacate the chair.
Could have been one of four options.

1.The tone of my voice may have been enough to unsettle him, without him actually turning to take a look at me.

2.It might have had something to do with the fact i had ben to a funeral earlier and i was still dressed in head to toe black with my big black (Captain Jack from Doctor Who's) coat billowing around me, and my red hair looking very windswept.
I like to think i had an air of Cathy from 'Wuthering Heights' about me, but to Single Dad, i probably looked like a mad version of somebody from a Dickensian novel.

3. Maybe it was because DDD was stood behind me, and seeing as he's six foot tall, shaved head and has the air of a door supervisor (well, that's what he does do actually.)

4. All of the above.

Anyway- he moved.

We saw Mrs G, all went well, and we scurried back up to Mrs English.
Who was still running late.
'French teacher!' i cry.
We find her room, there are ten sets of parents waiting to see her.
Bugger this.
Darling Daughter had told us that her cookery teacher was most upset that we hadn't wanted to see her.
So, we went and found her instead.
All on her own, in the Library.
Nobody seems to want to see the Cookery teacher.
She was so chuffed to see us, even though we had no appoinment, that she offered to make us a cup of tea.
Poor soul, i think we must have been the only people she had seen all night.
We declined the tea, but had a quick chat about DD's cooking (which is rather brilliant, actually)and made our excuses.
'One more shot at Mrs English?'
The men are looking thoroughtly pissed off by now, and i lose my rag.
'Look you two- this is your daughter's schooling we are here to talk about. It's not about you two. Now grow up and be the dads that you are supposed to be!'
The parents that were privy to this outburst must have gone home and talked to their children about this.

'Have you a girl in your year with a surrogate father? Only we heard.....'

Mrs English still had a queue.

We had been trying to see her for nearly an hour.
'We're pulling out, men..'
I felt like William Wallace. If only my face was blue. Actually, i'm glad i had my coat as it was bloody cold in there. So my face could possibly have had a tinge of the aforesaid colour.

On our return, DD was waiting nevously.
'Everything alright?' she asks while chewing her nails.
'Yep- you're doing ok. Don't worry.'
I went through to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
'One thing though- we didn't get to see a couple of the teachers. Can you get them to call me to talk about your work?

There is no way i'm going through that again.

Till next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper xx

About last night....

I experienced a rather different me last night.
As i mentioned a while ago, one of my ladies is in hospital with a broken elbow, the consequence of a rather nasty fall.
The elbow is now mended, but she has other complications, so she is still in hospital, over two months after the original fall.
The last time i visited her was New Years Eve, and while i was there, i asked her if there was anything she needed.
'Warm clothes please- my son has brought in all my summer stuff-he hasn't got a clue..'
I knew what she meant.
'And as many pairs of knickers as you can find.'
Well, a girl can never have too many pairs of knickers, can she?
So, yesterday afternoon, i scurried off down to her house, dressed like a yeti (it was still minus two at 3.00pm) and started the mammoth task of finding some 'winter clothes.'
I have been telling her for over two years that we need to sort her clothes out-she has more clothes that don't fit, than clothes that do-but after an hour and a half later, i had found what i'd hoped was a 'warm clothes selection.'
Because of this winter vomiting bug, visiting has been reduced to one hour a day- between 7-8.00pm, so me and Darling Daughter set off in the Arctic conditions at 6.30.
Roads are trecherous, but we skid our way into the carpark of the most monsterous place you have ever seen just before 7.00.
We finally find our way to the ward my lady's on, and wait to be let in.
They lock the doors on the wards there now- and if there are no nurses around at 7.00 to let you in, you have to peer mournfully through the glass until you catch a glimpse of one and then hammer like buggery at the door in the hope they will hear you.
A nurse finally saw us at about 7.10.
As we scurried in, me clutching the bag of stuff, a loud voice boomed out at us from nowhere;
'YOU HAVE NOT USED THE ALCOHOL SPRAY-PLEASE USE THE ALCOHOL SPRAY'.
Darling Daughter yelped and i dropped the bag. A disembodied voice was telling us we were unclean.
Actually, we had used the spray twice on the way to ward, but i suppose you can't be too careful.
I was also in agony from using this spray- my hands are cut to ribbons at the moment (not too sure why, but there you go...)and everytime the stuff hit my hands it felt like somebody sticking my hands on a broken bottle.
I couldn't find my old lady.
There are at least four wards and eight or nine side rooms, so i tracked down a nurse and asked her.
'She's moved- either to the day case unit, or to the building over the road.'
Darling Daughter and i scuttled off through to the day case unit- on the other side of the hospital.
We found a nother nurse.
'Is she here?
'No, but i remember her...she's over the road in the other building.'
I was impressed that she remembered who my lady was, but as my lady was a nurse herself, i'm not sure she was remembered for the right reasons....i bet she's making their lives hell.
We grabbed the bag, and made our way down the stairs and across the carpark to the other building.
This was after trying to find someone to tell us where it was, with no luck.
Darling Daughter found a discarded map on the floor on the way out, so that helped a bit.
By now, it's 7.20pm.
And i had anticipated visiting for just half an hour, so we are now looking at ten minutes visiting.
Shit.
We get to the other building and find the ward we are looking for.
More Alcohol spray.
As i approach the nurses station, i glance up at the patient board.
And, ominously, i can't see my ladies name.
No nurses around, so i ring the bell on the desk.
Bloody hell, you'd have thought i was starting WW3.
They came from everywhere, looking so mutinous that i checked behind me to make sure one wasn't bringing up the rear with a bedpan, ready to smash over my head.
'You haven't got my lady, have you?'
One picked up the phone while the others melted away.
'She's in the main wing on the top ward.'
'But that's where i've come from- 20 minutes ago- they said they hadn't got her'.
'Well, that's where she is.'
Back to the main building.
Up the stairs.
More alcohol spray. I could have cried.
More peering through the glass on the ward door.
We were spotted and let in.
'My lady- she must be with you..' i gasped.
'Oh, yes. Over there.'
And there she was, in the same place as New Years Eve.
But in a different bed.
At last.
We mooch over.
'I wasn't expecting visitors.' was her opening line.
Odd, i thought- she had asked me to bring these clothes in for her tonight.
' i've brought your clothes in for you'.
'What clothes- i didn't ask for any clothes.'
'But...'
'You'll have to take them home again.'
Darling Daughter was cowered in a corner- i was getting worried about her.
I glanced at the clock.
8.00pm.
Time to go- half an hour after i had wanted to leave, and the time visiting ends.
'I'll take them back home for you.'
We left the ward.
More alcohol spray.
In the foyer, i put my parking ticket into the machine.
£2.50.
£2. bloody 50 for up to two hours.
Darling Daughter hadn't said a word while all this was happening.
We got back out to the car, de-iced it, and drove to the barrier.
The barrier was up.
I needn't have paid £2. bloody 50 to park.
As we left, and got onto the bypass, a car cut me up. I didn't comment.
Darling Daughter squeeked.
'What's happened to you mum?'
'What do you mean?'
'We have just had the worst nightmare, and you haven't exploded yet...does that mean you are saving it all up ill we get home?'
She looked terrified under the lights on the bypass.
'No.' i said.
And i meant it.
For some reason, i did not 'Go Off On One'...and i really have no idea why.
The whole hospital experience was enough to send a saint over the edge, but not me. Not last night.

I'm wondering then, if this is going to be the year i try to be a calmer, more focussed Sprouty.
It would be nice.
But i guess it depends what happens to day really.

Till next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper.xxx

In the (christmas) spirit...

Thank God for that.

The stress and worry is now over for another year.

Don't get me wrong- i love Christmas on the whole- and i'm always the first one up, every Christmas morning.

This year it was a 6.00am start.

The stress and worry was because i didn't know for sure whether i would get Sy away from his computer long enough to eat Christmas dinner with us.

This year, for the first time ever, we had friends to join us. We used to visit family, but that was even more stressful, as we spent half the day in the car, and had to eat two full Christmas dinners....it was always the sprouts that finished us off.

So, the day started nicely- i got up, made the vat of coffee, opened the bottle of scotch and fed the cats.

I woke up Darling Daughter (can you believe, i have never, ever had her wake me on a Christmas morning- not even when she was little... can't decide if i am blessed or i have bred a mutant strain of a child. Whichever, there would be many parents who would kill for the gene, i'm sure.)

I woke up Sy, told him it was Christmas (see earlier post regarding waking The Writer up) and finally, we were all downstairs opening the presents.

This year was fab- loads of books (of course), mountains of hand-cream (yet to see if any beat udder cream), bottles of Champagne (have hidden most of these until a book sells) and several tins of scottish shortbread (Sy had told nearly everyone that he liked the pictures on the tins- i hope to God he eats all the bloody shortbread too...me and Darling Daughter only do chocolate hobnobs.)

As we opened presents, i could see Sy furtively looking towards the computer.

I could see he was trying to work out whether he would manage to get on it and do some work while i was cooking the dinner.

And i worried about this.

Because i knew that if he went on it, even for five minutes, that would be that.

No Sy for Christmas dinner.

So i was ruthless and brutal. Just for once.

'You are going to help me in the kitchen today' say's i.

'But you never want me in the kitchen at Christmas, Sprouty' came the plaintive reply.

'Well, i do this year. We have friends coming...remember? There are things i need you to do.'

Sy came into the kitchen and sat forlornly at the table. In fact, he looked so dejected and lost, i broke a kitchen rule, which is to never allow a book at the table.

Once he had one of his new books in his hands, he was much happier.

Dinner went well, the friends came and went, everything was tidied up and that was that.

But Sy was still itching to go online.

I can't blame him really- His stuff on Authonomy is doing really, really well, and he was missing his friends on the forums ( now he's discovered them, he keeps banging on about them. I nod and smile and, inside, scream that i know how fab forums are- how does he think i've kept myself occupied all these years while he's been writing?)

I figure by late afternoon, it might be safe to let him fire his baby up.

But, horror of horrors, the internet security package has expired.

On Christmas day.

And to be fair, we knew time was running out, but you know what it's like....

'You can't use it' say's i.

' i know. i might lose everything...' say's Sy, looking ghostly white.

'We'd better leave it till tomorrow..' say's i.

'Yes' say's Sy, while twitching quite furiously.



What i didn't tell him until this afternoon, was that we can have free security off the web, if you know where to look.

I did think about telling him earlier, but i was enjoying the fact that my husband was actually talking to me properly.





Till next time,

Shakespeare's Housekeeper xx