WordPress Has Not Improved, I Note.

So I may, possibly, have had to look up my blog password. There’s no shame in it. *ahem* Nor in the fact that people were thinking I may have fallen into a vat of port. (http://hairyfarmerfamily.co.uk/2012/07/12/hairy-gold-cup/#comments because WordPress is being a past-my-bedtime fuckwit and has acquired total and unceremonious vaginismus regarding insertion of links, videos and common sense since I was last here.) Chance’d be a mighty fine thing, I assure you.

 Can I do bullet points?

  •  We are all alive. We are all even reasonably healthy, currently, although it does follow a gruelling Summer of Germs. John was Man Down for a Whole Week, so much so that he felt himself obliged to visit the doctor for the first time since 2004 – and that­ visit was for our honeymoon inoculations. I diagnosed a simple but nasty bout of man-flu before we went (I did, of course, insist on driving him; partly out of concern for his whey-faced malaise, but also to get my Told You So in at the earliest possible juncture) and the Dr… well, John says he didn’t actually deny that J had a galloping case of pleurisy with tubercular complications, but sadly for J’s self-esteem, wouldn’t confirm J’s diagnosis either. In fact, there was muttering about ‘didn’t even take my bloody temperature’. Our GPs are a hard-bitten collection of individuals, it has to be said, and the milk of human kindness (specifically as manifested by the common-or-garden British GP in the form of a pity-prescription for antibiotics that you almost certainly don’t need) can run a bit thin, but none of us have died on their watch yet. J lived through the week, to be sure.
  • I think I have misunderstood the purpose and nature of bullet points. Brevity never my thing.
  • Obesity is hopefully not my thing for much longer, either. I am clawing my way slowly out of the 30-something BMI range, and am 7lbs away from a BMI of 29.9, at which I will clinically merely register a paltry ‘overweight’. I am at my lightest in 6 years, having lost some 30-odd lbs since Christmas. The saddening part is that it has not been a spectacularly visible weight loss, having deflated from an over-filled balloon to… just a balloon. Losing another 30lbs would be significantly more image-enhancing. It is all exceedingly tedious going, though, and my cake-consumption has suffered terribly. I would sell your grandmother for a packet of plain chocolate Leibniz and a glass of milk.
  • I went to London last week, and it was ace. I met up with May & H, whom I was massively overdue to hobnob with, and It Was Very Fine. (If you are ever lucky enough to persuade May to put her Blue Badge Guide hat on, you will have a most magnificent visit indeed.) I managed to get two museums, two meals (the V&A does a damn generous lunch. They gave me 10.5 potatoes. TEN AND A HALF POTATOES. It took all three of us to finish them) and a concert inserted into their schedule at late notice, and Was Smug about it. Days that good are to be treasured.
  • The concert was my beloved Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain http://www.ukuleleorchestra.com/main/home.aspx; they are the future: you can’t fight it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SX4pzqkBjBw The UOGB are permanently on tour, seemingly, and dutifully include the Midlands on their booking rosta. Unlike Pokey Lafarge & the South City Three, whom I also adore with a Frequent Play passion http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=USgGfOk6yQI, but who persist in edging around the coast of Britain like cautious crabs, and only venturing inland if they can be assured that their gig will not bring them within 100 miles of me.
  • Speaking of coast: the Hairies are off to the seaside next month. Courtesy of my parents, who can spot a end-of-tethered and fiscally Mother-Hubbarded daughter with ease, we are off to Cyprus with them for some heat and pottering about. It will be Harry’s first time on a plane. John and my mother have each responded to the challenge of keeping him happy on board a 5-hour flight by dashing out and buying tablets. The electronic sort; I am planning to rely on some of the other variety, washed down with copious wine. I do not travel well. I abhor aeroplanes with a fervent ferocity that is eclipsed only by my feelings for boats, coaches, and cars that are not driven by me. God designed me to stay in one bloody place. (I was not always like this, btw. Planes, even tiny ones, were fine until That Time With The Crosswind And The Wingtip And The Hard Bounces Back Off The Runway And All The Screaming.) Consequently, they will have to pin Harry to his chair without looking to me for help: my fingers will doubtless be white and welded to my armrests.
  • Harry is likely to need pinning to his chair. Harry and his possible labels are beyond the scope of even my bullet points, currently. He is well, adorable and gratifyingly popular (his SENCO, in preparation for some major meetings approaching, was drawing him out on a few topics and elicited that ‘I’m just like God, because I like everyone.’) but has not transitioned well from reception to year one. Given that he is currently retaining his dedicated pt-time TA, he has coped well enough in school – bar, and it’s a major bar, sinking his teeth into his friend last Friday – but his behaviour at home has been lamentable. Ground gained is often invisible until it’s lost, I tell myself, and This Too Shall Pass. But by the time he’d peed in the back footwell of my car (deliberately. To my bewildered delight, his daytime wetting has slowed over this summer to virtual non-occurrence, although I remain trepidatious. Remember, Britons, when the Gulf Stream shifted back north for 6 glorious days in the midst of the Summer of Murk? And we all had major trust issues with the sunshine? That.) on a hormonally poorly-chosen week for me, I was ready to break like a bloody twig – and ended up in floods of tears at the school gate when a kind soul who Gets It put an unwitting boot into my sangfroid by being awfully nice and sympathetic. So, that wasn’t the slightest bit shaming, then.
  • I am the newly-elected, probably because I didn’t see the poisoned chalice approach in time, PTA chair. I can see it will be a drain on my time and energy, but it isn’t as if I have anything else to do, because I can’t get a blasted job.
  • Or: I expect I could get a job stacking shelves easily enough (although after some inexplicable non-responses, I’ve taken to wondering even about that) but I value my continuing sanity. John is vaguely regretful about this, and occasionally asks me wistfully if I’m sure I wouldn’t like to work on a checkout? He is still doggedly paying my monthly credit card bill and still seems fond of me, but it does mean that items like holidays are out of our grasp. And although I manage to fill my day with all sorts of pleasant gubbinations, I really feel it’s time I contributed financially. Irritatingly, the re-training I dismissed as Too Difficult, Too Long and Too Risky years ago could have been over with by now.
  • My ongoing guilt about money has paired with the ongoing weight-loss to lead me to push back my IVF start date all year; although upon learning last week that my infertility counsellor of many years standing is retiring in April, I am now feeling that planning a cycle immediately after Christmas might be the best plan. I will be 38 in February, and this is all starting to feel like a bit of a drag. I don’t want to be pregnant again. I don’t want not to be pregnant again. Wash, rinse and repeat.
  • Another cycle, and its likely haemorrhagic ending, will be enormously more complicated in re: Harry, than the previous one. Injections could previously be passed off as ‘Mummy’s medicine’ and rapid transfers to hospital explained as being for Mummy’s ‘poorly tummy’. It all floated over him at some considerable height. Harry, despite marked immaturity in some respects, has grown any amount of neural networks since then. He would have to be told something, for sure, but I’m sincerely buggered if I know what.
  • *casts about to improve the gloomy atmos* I have chicks! A bit gawky-teenage now, and being evicted into the main hen run tomorrow if it doesn’t bucket down, but I’ve had six small things to cluck over, which has been nice. My main hen contingent – currently a peevish mixed-bag of five + cockerel) were unimpressed with the new arrivals when I conducted a familiarisation visit. There was not-so-surreptitious pecking taking place – which I would view with a more benign eye if the chief peckers were not also the worst layers. All of life is in the hen run!
  • Lastly, (because it is midnight on a school night and although I haven’t finished I will just post this anyway or the blog may lock me out forever) for some reason I can no longer remember, I uncharacteristically once responded to a thoughtful, well-spelled (I’ve had some corkers that weren’t. CORKERS.) marketing blogger-outreach. With the net result that the National Railway Museum in York http://www.nrm.org.uk/ occasionally send me nice little bijous – a source of guilt to me, given my reprehensible neglect of this place and my complete failure to mention them, ever. So: yesterday they sent me a delightful wee Paddington Bear in a briefcase tin and a leaflet about their half-term activities – which I genuinely do fancy, having train-keen males in the house and having been thoroughly in love with York for nearly 25 years (The history! The Shambles! The walls! The Jorvik! The Minster!). I am sans cash for a trip north, but if you have some, go. York is stunning. Yorkshire is beautiful, if you pick your place. Try to hit the Minster at organ practice time if possible.
  • If you know where I live: I am free for coffee and gossip often enough, so drop in if you are nearby. I may inflict some dreadful Weightwatchers-recipe cake on you, which, trust me, is often worse than No Cake At All.
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16 Responses

  1. That’s it! Next time I’m in your neighborhood, I will be dropping by! (Of course, the odds of me being in your neighborhood are somewhere between not at all likely and highly unlikely, so don’t worry about the cake just yet.)

    The thing I’ve noticed about school and regressive behavior is that school is terribly tiring. There’s all that sitting still and paying attention nonsense – it’s very wearying, apparently.

    Glad you are still alive…

  2. Good to hear an update from ya!
    Hubs will be coming home for his mum’s 70th BD** over Thanksgiving but unfortunately Z & I won’t be able to accompany him…Z started high school this fall & only gets a 4-d holiday (go figure: last year they got an entire week!). This may get me more black marks on my wifely report card but it can’t be helped.
    **St Austell
    When I calculate that I’m currently investing almost $1K/mon in hay under our continuing-drought conditions, I won’t have any funds for trans-Atlantic airfare any time soon :-(

  3. I missed you!

  4. I disagree about the weight loss actually, I thought it was definitely visible and noticeable last time I saw you. Which, incidentally, was too long ago for my liking.
    Also – the weightwatchers apricot cake thing? I think you gave me 3… all eaten by the time I got home. If you want dreadful, you should really try my home-made, blood sugar controlling attempt at, well, flapjack I suppose. Made from oats, dried fruit, all bran, coconut and – soy milk. Hmmm. Oh, bowl of butter icing, wherefore art thou?

  5. I absolutely cannot wait for another visit and sampling of HFF Cake (TM). It seems like it might be 2014 at best unless lottery win is in my future.

    Am green with envy at the weight loss. Go you! Not one single pound of that would have been easy. I’ve a theory that lost pounds hang around like a flock of greasy pigeons and attach themselves to other weak individuals at will. At least ten of yours have made their way across the globe and found me. Despite being on bread and water diet. Sorry, pear and water…it’s gluten free, dairy free, soy free, and additive free, so unless I make it myself – no bread for me. Still, it has managed to stop the Niagra Falls of Post Nasal Drip, so not all bad news.

    And should have warned you about sitting on your hands during PTA meetings. I’ve done that role… and I wish you all the very best with your ongoing sanity, if you have any left.

  6. Congratulations on the 30lbs weight loss – I am in awe. I remember when I once went down under the BMI of 30 and danced round the room singing, “I’m overweight! I’m overweight!” And II had a flight like the one you described and for me too, flying has never been the same carefree experience it once was. Enjoy your holiday and good luck with everything else. xx

  7. Hi,

    You popped up in my reader, and I am just trying to recall where I’ve seen your blog before. It has been so long wordpress hasn’t remembered my name website etc. That, my dear, is TOO LONG.

    Love the reliance on tablets for traveling I’d go with the electronic version but the husband definitely favours the water soluble type.

    Don’t think about a haemorrhagic ending. If it happens you will deal with it, but can we please live in a world where it doesn’t?

    Enjoy Aphrodite’s isle.

    xx

  8. Oh! I had just recovered from the Green and now I have it again. I refer to your trip to London, of course.

    I’d like to do bullets too, in response, but will confine myself to nodding sympathetically and cheering where appropriate. Cyprus! YAY. Flying? Bleah. I loathe it too. Middle-age has brought with it a terrible, morbid ability to imagine disaster. But let’s not dwell on that! It’s really very safe, the flying.

    I am so glad Harry’s popular. That is right and proper and hopeful – as for the other stuff, I can only think: he’s come so far, he’ll keep coming along. In the meantime, a large whisky, and hugs of solidarity.

    Have a lovely holier.

  9. I am so happy to hear from you again. And you have so many interesting things to say. Good luck with all the plans. I will be waiting to hear about them as well.

  10. Should my mother ever decide that we are allowed to stay at her house (as opposed to staying in my father’s deathtrap basement teeny spare room with no space for cot, which is good enough for Less Favoured Child even *with* soon-to-be-toddler), I’ll be coming round for coffee. You know I will.

    Enjoy Cyprus, too.

  11. I have no idea why WordPress is such a twatweasel to you. It always behaves for me. (There, now I’ve Tempted Fate, and it will Screw Up, and then we can do proper solidarity).

    Anyway, dear heart, so lovely to SEE you! With eyes! Looking lovely and all! And how lovely to READ you! I am spiffed, actually SPIFFED, that you’re back. And I’d tell you all about carpets any day.

    Weight – I’m currently going through a bit where my ars
    e is shrinking but my belly isn’t, which has the unfortunate effect of making me look FATTER. GAH. When we’re both menopausal old bats, I say bring on the gateau by the metric fuck-ton.

    Poor old J. When you’re not Brung Low on a regular basis and therefore growing calluses, being Brung Low can leave such a painful welt. Glad it wasn’t double pneumonia with pleurisy and galloping consumption, even if he isn’t.

    And I have no idea what one would say to the Neurologically Enhanced Harry about a Bad Sad Event. It’s a bastard son of a bastards’ bastard bastard that a gemstone of a person such as your good self can’t plan for IVF without also having to ponder the Tits Up version of events. It makes me sad. It makes me angry. I think I might have to kick the entire Universe in the stones. I too never ever ever want to be pregnant again EVER, and can’t bear the thought of never ever ever being pregnant again. Let’s hold hands and stare bravely into the middle distance.

    Onwards! En vacance! There will be Other Adults, and you can quietly ensure you are seated in a different row on the plane, or, if necessary, on a different plane, and then there will be Sea & Sun and with any luck, deck chairs. I wish you splendiferous holidays and much lounging in said deck chairs with a bananananananananana daquiri.

    • As you can see, my shrinking arse has created A Disturbance In The Force, to balance the mutinous belly. Oops.

  12. You are so bloody brilliant at this blogging lark, I actually feel like I am sat here chatting to you. Glad all seems to be ticking along for you in most areas. I shall keep eyes peeled for any potential job ops to suit your fabulous wealth of talents.
    No movement yet on our little quest, just chugging along in our little lifeboat and hoping that something will emerge ;-)
    I would dearly love to see you soon and have a catch up, last time was such fun! Perhaps when you return from Cyprus (which I am incredibly envious of) xxxx

  13. Have a lovely mid of vacation time (aka after flight and before next flight). VERY impressed by how much you lost in weight. I don’t even get weightwatcher cake and do not get lighter. Good luck with PTA, not sure if doing it once means never again however.
    Glad you are back on line and will be holding my breath and hoping daily for more….. you are even more addicting than chocolate. Which says quite a bit!

  14. *Runs up to HFF’s blog and hugs it. Repeatedly.*

    And you too, HFF. Some things suck. But oh dear I did giggle when Harry widdled in your car. But I sobered up when you cried.

    *More hugging*

    Have fun abroad! We tend to let the Air Crew take some of the slack in entertaining the Star on long journeys. I figure Harry is also charming enough for you to get away with this.

  15. It is so lovely to have you back, HFF! And not to be greedy, but if I give you cornbread and butter beans, may I please have a pictoral slice of Harry’s 5th birthday cake???

    The Carolina Chocolate Drops might be just the thing to round out your appetite for Pokie LaFarge and the ukelele orchestra, but do skip the ad in the beginning.

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