One Rule for Us...

"I just hate it when he drinks" Mama told me. "In fact, I do not know of any woman who likes her man when he is drunk. I just cannot think of a single one."

"It's true. I hate it when The Boyfriend is drunk. Hate it."

"But on a Sunday afternoon, too" Mama continued.

I nodded. "I know. It sucks".

There was a reflective and companionable silence.

"But you know, I am not sure if by drinking like that on a Sunday afternoon, it is not unlike some sort of self-punishment" I said. "You know how if we are a bit pissed off then we sit on the sofa and pig out on chocolate and then regret it afterward, but sometimes you almost want to feel bad for eating like a pig?"

"Yeeeeees"

"Maybe Papa getting a bit drunk was his way of being pissed off and punishing himself"

"Yeah, maybe."

"So tell him you don't like it" I said.

"But I'd still eat chocolate, and not expect him to drink" she told me.

"Hmmmmm" I vaguely agreed. "So what you having then?"

"Double vodka coke, please."

Recipe for Happiness

Take one multi pack Mars Bars. Melt over low heat with generous dollop of butter. Mix in half packet Rice Krispies. Set in base of Pyrex lasagna dish or similar. Melt two family size Galaxy Bars of chocolate. Pour over base. Leave for an hour and half in fridge to set. Enjoy.

Breakfast at Tiffany's

"Listen...you know those days when you get the mean reds?"

"The mean reds? You mean like the blues?"

"No... the blues are because you're getting fat or because it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?"

"Sure."

"When I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump into a cab and go to Tiffany's. Calms me down right away."

Holly Golightly may visit the jewellery store to cheer herself up, but that isn't for me.

I have got a bad case of the Mean Reds. I know what I am afraid of though. I am afraid of saying goodbye to my girls.

This afternoon I put on my elasticated waist trousers, got me some fishcakes and chips from down the road, and sat with the Sunday papers and a diet coke whilst listening Ella Fitzgerald.

I feel much better now, and a little less 'red'. But I am still afraid.

Time It Right

Do not get me wrong- it is not that I do not want The Boyfriend here. I do. It is more that it would be a lot nicer if he were here when he is supposed to be, rather than what fits in with his plans before he goes off walking to Switzerland for a month (blah, blah, blah) because his presence, quite frankly, does not correspond with my Sunday Afternoon Behaviour. It is very annoying.

Examples.

The Boyfriend had dropped me off at work this morning because he needed the car to drive to the middle of the Peaks to pick up a tent (for his trip to Switzerland- blah, blah, blah) from a friend with the necessary. I queried his timing.

"It is very ambitious that you will be back in time to pick me up at the end of my shift" I told him. "I am not going to nag, but take this as a serious threat of violence. If you are not back in time to pick me up BANG ON THE DOT of closing time, I will not have sex with you tonight".

"I'll be there" he said, earnestly. "Don't you worry". It sounded like he meant it. I said no more.

Roll on 4 p.m. As expected, The Boyfriend took my threats about as seriously as the Met took the Tibetans i.e. Not Very. He was nowhere to be seen, mobile conveniently going straight to voicemail.

An hour and a half after the end of my shift, and my boss got a bit sick of me moaning about his Non Arrival and drove me home herself. Obviously, I had no house key because I keep it on my car keyring, as normal people do. It started to snow. I was not happy.

I had to go and sit in Verbose Aunties living room, which was all very nice and wonderfully kind of her but I just wanted to be at home, in the warm, reading the papers with freshly washed hair. Instead I was inadvertently having the politics of grandma-dom illustrated for me in a Very Loud Voice. I was very cross by the time The Boyfriend finally pulled up. Since he is going to Switzerland though (blah, blah, blah) and will be gone for a very long month and a bit, I thought better than to yell. Must be nice, I thought to myself. That is very important, niceness. Especially to one's boyfriend who might get eaten by Swiss bears in the very near future.

So I was nice when he made my tea for me, even though it meant that I didn't have time between getting out of the shower and having tea ready to blow my hair out, so it has gone frizzy.

I was nice when he asked me to do the washing up.

I was nice when he said,

"If you eat anymore of those chocolates, fattie, then I will dump you" even though I had only had eleven and Roses are really small anyways.

I was nice when he made me re-read the same line in a Sunday Times article (read: Mail on Sunday) four times by asking, "What shall we do tonight?"

I was nice when he yelled at me for laying on his tummy too heavy when we were watching the telly.

I was nice when he moaned about watching that West End X-Factor thing on BBC1.

I was nice when he was mean about my blog.

I was nice in the office, locked away separately from him, by myself.

I was very nice in there.

Aquarius

"Hey!" mama shouts through to me in the kitchen, "Listen to my horoscope for today!"

"...You must contend with the irritating behaviour of someone who seems to think that it's clever to be annoying. Leave them to their own devices and they will soon get bored and, hopefully, stop doing it"

When she finished reading she guffawed for a VERY LONG TIME and then said, "So even Sally Brompton knew you were going to piss me off today!"

Humph. I thought we'd been having quite a nice time, actually.