on me uppers

Howdy Doody.

I find myself with time to spare, so a little catch up is in order.

I should like to note the arrival of the new heir to the throne.  I am a big Royalist, and it makes me happy to see the British Monarchy thriving and drawing interest from around the world.  I am also happy that I have earned myself £45 from betting he would be called George.  Heh heh. 

This is a turning into a great summer.  Having spent many summers whining and spitting furious embittered rants at the sun, heat, and anyone within earshot, this year is different. 

Different for a few reasons.  Firstly, I have had my colours done, and gained some confidence in the clothes I am buying and wearing.  Secondly, I have lost over a stone in weight meaning that choosing new clothes in my colour spectrum has been from a wider range of styles than previously.  Thirdly, I have been wearing shorts.  That's - shorts.  Short shorts.  For knocking around in the hot days at home, out and about, and walking to the park to play tennis in.  And not worrying about pale cellulite-covered flabby thighs.  They are still a bit flabby, but thinner in width, and lightly tanned from my fourth reason that this summer is different - a week in Lanzarote in June, meaning that my English summer got off to a good start by not having to work on pasty body parts in the confines of the back garden for weeks on end with endless layers of factor 50.

O joy to the world. 

This is the new wardrobe I am dressing myself from, give or take:

And this is me today:

In teal and aubergine.  If Picasa Photo Editing let me, I would have whittled a couple of inches from my hips and pasted on a smile, but hey, you can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear. 

We have been making impromptu trips to the seaside, which has been simply lovely.  There are so many beaches within ten miles of us, it is wonderful to live in Devon.  The sea has been divine this summer - cold, but not icy.  Refreshing in the extreme, and the smell - the smell whilst swimming in the sea is beyond compare.

Only one of these Mr Whippys is actually mine.

Really.

Today we ventured into town for a long overdue eye test for me.  After many years of wearing glasses due to short sight, I had my eyeballs zapped in 2006.  Since then I have had no problems with vision, but find that lately I am having to squint at small print and hold jars and packets at arms length to read them clearly.  The optician told me with some glee that I could do with getting reading glasses now.  READING glasses??!  I tried to argue the toss, but he rolled his eyes, sighed audibly, and in a very pained voice, said, 'don't look so depressed - jeez.  It was going to happen sooner or later anyway.' 

Fuck me! 

Is this the standard of eye care I can look forward to in my dotage?

I very sulkily, and with much ill-grace it has to be said, chose the cheapest pair in the shop.  I can't see me getting them out the drawer anytime soon, particularly as Oliver fell about laughing as I was trying them on. 

Might as well buy myself a one-way ticket to Shady Pines Rest Home for Gentlefolk and have done with it. 

A lunch in Starbucks was a tonic after this - I had a £10 gift voucher for my birthday (thank you Kim!) and as our chosen foodies and drinkies came to £9.95, I could not have been happier.  The only thing which would have made it better was if I had noticed that Starbucks was actually situated opposite the opticians in the High Street as I came out, and not, as I thought, half a mile away opposite the museum.  Buggeration. 

Lastly, we went top shopping in H&M.  It's good to take Oliver with me - his unique perspective on suitable clothes is always helpful.  In between admiring himself from several different angles in the changing room mirrors, he throws me a 'yeah, that's alright, get it', or 'oh God no, that's awful' and an occasional 'that shows your flabby bits'.   Truly he is an invaluable personal shopper, as he doesn't seem to give a shit about my feelings, only what I look like on the outside. 

That's my boy.

a change is not ALWAYS as good as a rest........

Once Mark starts a job, things really start to rock and roll.

We (the Royal we, obvs) are converting the loft into a room for Oliver, thereby offering him more room, more privacy and Mark and I get an office to share from his old room, to boot.  Happy days.  I knew I would have to not whinge and whine about mess, inconvenience and actual, physical work as things progressed, but even I was stunned by the sudden announcement that I would have to clear the office in preparation for the ceiling to come down - like - almost now.  Cripes, it's only day 1.

I am often overwhelmed by the enormity of tasks.  In fact they usually become insurmountable as I stand and observe with growing horror.  I obviously knew this room would have to be cleared out as that is where the staircase will be going, but had given no thought whatsoever to when or how this was going to actually, physically happen. 

Whimpering like a girl, I went with a heavy heart to gaze upon the chamber of horrors. 

I leaned against the door for support, lest I fell into a state of hyperventilation and gibbering.

And the computer lives in there too.  Zut alors.  Not only did I manage to disconnect the four zillion and twenty two leads and wires that go with it and move it to it's new (and very snug) location, but I also re-connected it and got it working again.  Yes - Internet and everything.  I am a computer genius.  Bill Gates eat your heart out.  The printer foxed me though.  I had a spare lead when all was said and done, and the printer wouldn't come on.  After some cussing and mechanical pokings I thought to myself, oh fuck it.  Don't need it anyway.  It seemed to work much better several hours later after Mark connected the spare lead from the printer to the mains.  Haaaa haaaa.

To cut a long story short, 'tis done.  The sense of achievement is huge, I don't mind telling you.  Our bins are nearly full of shite that I clearly should have been living without anyway, but everything is stored neatly into boxes, and I feel like a really Good Person. 

In fact, buoyed up by my sense of worthiness and accomplishment, I announced over lunch that I would cut the hedge.  With garden shears, no less.  No electrical equipment necessary.  It took fucking hours.  But I did it.  Not with much good grace I have to confess, but I didn't moan out loud, so that's good.

Look how bleeding long and huge it is. 

 

Meh.

 

 

And there's one to match the other side. 

Don't even go there. 

Literally.

And look who I found whilst a-snipping.

Mr Big Spider having his lunch.

And at the end of day 2, here is where 'we' are:

Laters.