Walking Through Treacle

It's 5.30am and my Fibro is conspiring against me. My legs feel like I'm wearing these - 

whilst being dangled over the edge of a bloody large shelf. My brain then decides to join in the argument by whizzing through all of the things that are currently playing on my mind (lack of job, wedding, the price of fish). Then BINGO! I am wide awake and camped out on the sofa with a cup of tea, Planet Rock radio and 2 expectant Yorkie's. From a personal point of view life would be much simpler if brains had an 'off' switch and then I could sleep a bit more soundly if not for those pesky heavy legs.
People probably think me slightly odd in that the impending nuptials don't fill me with a sense of overwhelming excitement at the moment. A certain level of dread yes, but that is only down to the fact that I'm convinced I'll look physically awful in whatever I choose to wear; and stress - can I call it that? It's more of a low level 'pissed off - ness' kinda stress. The type that manifests itself usually when you are having gargantuan weddings with 100's of guests and you're told you can't invite this person without inviting that one, and if you don't invite So and So's brats you'll upset them etc etc. Well guess what. If you invite just 5 people - yes that's the amount you can count on one hands worth of fingers, you will still get this level of shite from certain quarters and then seriously wish you could un-invite the perpetrator to allow you to get on and have the day You want. I have an overwhelming urge to speak my mind but I'm biting my lip so as not to worsen the non existent relationship I already have with these individuals. It's no biggy really. I'm not asking to sacrifice a child at the altar before I say my vows so why the agro? Let me make spell it out-

• I'm generally not a hypocrite so if I really can't stand someones guts I won't be 2 faced play nice and schmooze with them/invite them to my wedding/barmitzvah/birthday piss up. Believe me, if I loathe you then you don't want to be in my company when the alcohol is flowing. You might hear a few home truths.
• Just because someone is 'family' it doesn't mean they have to be there when you have stipulated that it's just a small do. Accept this people and move on.
• Traditions do not have to be adhered to. The groom does not have to wear a suit and the bride does not have to wear a hideous concoction that would look more at home covering a bog roll. We do not have to have an engagement, a show off diamond bling ring, a wedding list that will leave most people hyperventilating, a stag do, a hen do nor are we forbidden to see each other the night before/the morning of because it's unlucky. We don't have to pay a jumped up photographer vast amounts of cash to boss us around either. If we want tongue out rockin it selfies as a memento of our day then so be it.
• I do not have to take my husband to be's surname. This is the 21st century and I am the last of my family to carry my surname, so out of immeasurable respect to my parents who short of a seance can't be there, I'll hang on to it thank you.

I firmly believe that as our dosh has paid for the registry office, cake and meal we can do what we bloody well like. If I want to walk down the 'aisle' wearing my lucky pants and my favourite New York t-shirt with a bouquet of writhing grass snakes instead of flowers then I jolly well will (don't worry I won't ). If the groom wants to wear a paint splattered t-shirt, holey jeans and Converse then go for it. I'm not doing this for show or to make a nice photo to put on the wall that you can brag to your friends about. 

There's a lot to be said for eloping. That is all I can say.

I have more pressing matters to worry about today. In a few hours I'm getting my hair cut for the first time in 2 years. Not only that but I'm trusting the local college students to do it (cheapskate) and I'll be there for hours! Then later on I'm getting pierced by a trainee. A decision I may live to regret but I'm all for helping out. If I'm honest I am bricking it but there you go. Lets just put it down to a mid life crisis. If anyone has any bright ideas as to how I can get a girly 6 pack in 8 weeks then I'm open to suggestions - don't forget I'm not as pliable as I used to be. In the mean time it's back to crocheting on the exercise bike.

This is my before photo by the way :)

P.S. Ok so I have a confession to make. I didn't get my lip pierced after all. That sensible side of my brain kicked in and I realised I'd look a right Tit with 2 piercings so close together. 46 is too old to pass for an Emo after all. I did however get my hair cut. I was at the college for 2 hours and it was sooo relaxing I could've dropped off. The poor student was a little lacking in confidence but she did a wonderful job and it only cost me £4.50. Yes, four flippin pounds and fifty pence. Support your local college I say.

I Blame Men

Ever noticed how all women's problems begin with men? Menstruation. Mental breakdown. Menopause? Don't worry this isn't a bloke bashing post. I, according to my dear Doctor have started the Peri menopause! As I stared at him in disbelief he explained that this is basically the period (no pun intended) where your body eases you into that joyful stage of your life called 'the change'. My god being female is a never ending joy isn't it especially when you think 'Wahay I'm past the childbearing years' you're hit with this quadruple whammy that can apparently last 10 years. 10 friggin years of rambunctious hormones, things drying up (that'll be your skin and your foof then), night sweats (mine can't distinguish between night and bloody day) and hot flushes. Most days I could happily walk around with my bra stuffed with frozen peas. My hands, arms and feet are blue and freezing cold but the rest of me would give Mount Etna a good run for its money. I've always said I would refuse HRT but if the NHS touted ants testicles as the cure all for this hell I would happily sprinkle them on my cornflakes every morning.

So Friday saw me leave the 'perfect job'. There were flowers, there were cards, there was gin! there were tears, furry alpacas, chocolate and more tears. Never has a Temp been made to feel more fabulous and appreciated than I was and it has broken me to walk away but the job is not mine to be had. Don't get me wrong, every day I hope and wish that their returning Admin girl decides it's not for her after 3 months in the jungle saving small critters, gets bored and buggers off. I'm not being mean. I loved the job, I loved the hi viz wearing blokes and all of their quirks, I loved my nutty boss and my fab work colleague. I even loved most of the drivers and the smell of composting rubbish. What's to feel guilty about especially as the dead cert jobs the agency had lined up for me have turned out to be anything but. Let's face it, I don't fancy being jobless again and contrary to popular belief I would rather earn less and be monumentally happy at work than earn over £20k a year working for some huge company that struggles to remember who you are let alone the fact that you have a life outside of their 4 walls *cough* Asda.

It's not all been doom and gloom in the cow shed. Ok so Kimi broke a toe and a claw but on the plus side I got to practise my pet 1st aid skills several times a day - much to his disgust. He's on the mend now but obsessed with nibbling at his phantom claw. The wedding arrangements are pretty much done and dusted though the bride-to-be is no thinner and currently unable to utilise the exercise bike thanks to crippling fibro, so there is still no dress. At this rate I'll be limping down the aisle in a Metallica t-shirt and leggings, not that it would bother me or the ball-and-chain-to-be. I do however still wish we'd just got hitched on the quiet as some people are intent on voicing their opinions again and again about our choice of guests. Has anyone ever un-invited people to their wedding cos I sure as hell will give it a go if that's what it takes to keep this as our day. Don't be fooled by this pink, fluffy haired exterior. I can turn into the Hulk at the drop of a hat....Raaaarrrr!

Actually that's probably what I'll look like on the day :)

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

So I have 3 weeks left in the perfect job and I'm trying not to think about it too much but it's pretty hard when you're willing the real employee not to want their job back and their colleagues say stuff that makes you think they might not return or stay very long if they do. I've made it clear that I love the job and the people and would drop everything no matter how far in the future to come back to the place. There's not much else I can do and there aren't any Witches or Voodoo men in the village to help out at times like this so I have hope and a lot of it. It really would be the icing on the cake and for once I'd be able to say that life was pretty damn perfect - marrying the bloke I've loved since day 1 in the way that we want to and working with a nutter of a boss and with a cracking bunch of people. We may not own this place, have flash holidays and cars or be rolling in money but I wouldn't change things for the world if that job became mine all mine. 

The budget wedding of the century is pretty much planned and paid for and all in the space of 2 weeks. 2 weeks!! I could mince around and call myself a Wedding Planner and earn a lot of wonga from this stuff but no amount of money would persuade me to work with Bridezilla's and their bloody Mothers with tens of thousands of pounds to spend on bad taste and tat. I made all 3 invites which was quite fulfilling, we've picked thee most 'un weddingy' music which made the Registrar whoop with joy, there is no engagement ring that cost 3 months salary (not all women want to shove half a carat of bling into everyone's faces), the cake will be splendid in a very geeky way, the bride and groom will not be decked out in regulation wedding finery and Sin of ultimate Sins we will not have a proper photographer (stupid selfies and any face pulling pics will be encouraged and most welcome).The only 2 people we're out to please is us. I can't wait and part of me wishes we'd just registered our intent to wed, waited the 28 days and then dragged 2 poor sods off the streets of Market Harborough and forced them to witness our nuptials for nowt. 

I have 3 Kilner jars of flavoured gin and vodka festering away nicely under the sink which should be ready by November. The wedded couple, the Best Goth and the witnesses may well be a wee bit hungover and very merry. Here's to dysfunctional weddings.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Sometimes life is a bitch. I have 6 weeks left in my perfect, much loved job (who knew that landfill could make a girl so happy). I'm quietly hoping that the mere child I'm filling in for decides not to return after the guys on site expressed how much they want me to stay. I may well cry. Anyway, I'm making the most of it. I love my job, I love going to work and it pains me to take any days holiday - when did anyone claim to be able to say that ! When life is this good grab what you can. 

In a week when the Foo Fighters announced they would play 2 dates to make up for their cancelled Wembley gigs (we had tickets) I had a bit of a romantic brainstorming moment. I decided that I would be a 21st century female and ask the bloke in my life to marry me. Not only that, I was going to do it at the Foo's gig during 'Everlong' assuming they played it of course. It was a perfect plan until I decided to contact the band via Twitter. I thought blocking my other half from seeing my stuff would keep it all secret but I hadn't counted on his phone alerts so the cat was well and truly out of the damned bag and running riot. It's given matters a kick up the arse I guess which is fine as we'd never planned on having a HUGE show offy, look at me in a vile white meringue frock kind of ceremony anyway. If funds permitted I would be on the 1st plane to Las Vegas to get hitched by a fake Elvis, but budget is the word of the day so it could be held in the Free From aisle at Tesco for all I care. People gave up asking if I was 'courting' donkeys years ago so I always felt like the lost cause. Therefore I won't feel guilty slinking off to do it on a whim. Who says these things have to take a year and 10's of thousands of pounds to plan?!

Square Peg in a Round Hole

Maybe I'm doing it wrong but I've always believed that respect was 'earned', you don't just demand it because of who you are or the position you hold. My way of thinking though has got me dismissed from my job of 7 months which I must admit came as a bit of a shock. Don't get me wrong I had a huge amount of the R word for my immediate boss and my co-worker and considered myself to be pretty damn loyal to our small team. Oh it was all going so well until our major client demanded that we move into their new premises, then all of the arse licking senior managers started to crawl out of the woodwork to be seen to schmooze with all of the right people. Sadly they didn't see the existing staff as being the 'right people' so we've had weeks of unprofessional blustering and bullshit and threats of disciplinary action and accusations of corruption have been commonplace. The most senior of these 'managers' is one of those nasty, ball breaking women who doesn't care who she's stepped on to get where she is. Her manner and way of talking to and about people was lousy to say the least and I made the fatal mistake of standing up to the acid bitch. Between them, the 3 witches from Macbeth have managed to concoct a surprising amount of shite I'm supposed to have said and so get me shoved out of the door for not fitting in or was it my attitude or the fact there was no place for me in their restructuring of the office? Who knows and who cares. If you're going to lie about remarks I'm supposed to have made then at least make the effort to use words I would use you idiots otherwise it's not terribly convincing to those who know me. 

I'm trying to remain optimistic and I'm job hunting like a maniac. There has to be an employer out there who treats their staff well and who doesn't spend the entire working day doing internet shopping or looking on dating websites (I'm sure the wife would be happy to know that) or bragging about how they're paid a disgustingly large amount of money for doing nothing. Managers who do that don't deserve respect they deserve a smack around the back of the head with a baseball bat if you ask me. 

The Resurrection of King Richard

Blimey I haven't blogged/bored the pants off people in over 3 months! I have thought about it but just sat staring at a blank screen thinking I having nothing of worth that people want to know. Hell I think like that all of the time! Anyway, November was an age ago and soooo much has happened since then - some good and some bad. We're no longer living in the tiniest dwelling in the village as we've moved 300 m down the road to shack up in a converted cowshed. If I still had it I could park The Beast in our living room/kitchen which also happens to be bigger than Pippin Cottage was in its entirety! The dogs are happy monsters who now have their own garden to run amok in and a very long hallway to run up and down like a pair of crazed haggis. At last I have a study/craft room which still resembles a packing box dumping ground but I'll get there. The Fibromyalgia (if it is that) is still with me but now I have a Tens machine so I can electrocute the bugger whenever I see fit. The Rheumatologist has now referred me for more tests at a different hospital so on it goes. But.......yesterday I finally finished this......

...my backwards King Richard blanket :) which I can't even remember starting it was that long ago. A lot of pain has gone into this so I will treasure it. My dilemma now is which unfinished project do I tackle next? Due to the state of this poor bugger I think that decision is already made. Scruff (was Fluff) the childhood bear rears his (unattached) head!

Under all of that manky acrylic fur still lurks some of the original Deans/Merrythought mohair but it's probably bald as a coot by now. His head is no longer attached to his body and he has 1 eye and 1 ear. I hope I look better for 46 than he does. I have new cotter pin joints and a fat quarter of mohair somewhere in the spare room so I think it's time to lavish him with some TLC. After that I've promised Kimi I will knit him a Freddy Kreuger sweater

Enough said.

Creaking Like a Rusty Gate

Let's not beat about the bush. The crafting side of life has ceased to exist. Apart from the few poppies that the Craft Coven have whisked up, there is no crocheting or knitting flying through my fingers and it sucks...BIG time. This is no creative lull, it's an all out bloody crisis. Not only am I being treated for Rheumatoid Arthritis, not yet confirmed but my Dr appears to enjoy using me as a guinea pig where stupid drugs are concerned; but after an appointment with a specialist (finally) it is now thought that I have Fibromyalgia! Oh deep joy. Is this Karma? (thanks Blimp you bitch) or is it just crap luck that at 45 I have constant joint and muscle pain? I won't ask what I did to deserve this as I'm sure there are several (hundred) people out there who's arms will shoot in the air ready to give an answer. I'm never going to run a marathon or get anywhere fast and my days of making stuff are numbered thanks to hands and fingers that won't work. Does this get me out of making any more shitty, white, flouncy baby blankets? Yes - it can't all be bad then. I can live with this shit providing it's with humour. It's harder living with some peoples patronising attitude that it'll 'all be fine in a few weeks'. My answer to that is google it and then come back and tell me it's gonna be fine. Where's support when you need it? Running down the road at break neck speed probably. My one saving grace is a bunch of like minded 'geeks' who go by the collective name League of Extraordinary Penpals (LEP to those in the know.) If it wasn't for the re-discovery of the joy of penpals, the warped humour and mindless discussions about anything from the meaning of life to your favourite pen on our FB page or the endless stream of letters crashing through my letterbox and the support of strangers....I can safely say I would go mad.I need a new creative sideline. I wonder if I could paint masterpieces by lodging a paintbrush in my bellybutton?