things to do and moan about

It's only a month to Gypsy Tart and Rock Cake's wedding and we have much to do. Somehow I have to transform the back garden from a dessicated weed patch into something gorgeous and change the front garden into something that actually looks like a front garden and not a patch of land for the accumulation of weeds, crisp packets and abandoned cans of lager. I have also got to sand the windowsills, fill the gaps in and repaint, find nice window boxes (which wont get stolen) and a few nice pots to put next to the front door (which of course needs replacing). I won't even start on the interior renovations required, but currently unaffordable thanks to a new budgeting crisis brought about by the mysterious pipe in the garden.

I had thought that we might get change out of £100 to call a plumber in to seal the leaking pipe, but I'll let Mr McMuffin explain why we would have to pay a £425 non refundable fee up front to get Thames Water's evil plumbing burglars to sort the pipe out. Obviously we are not going to pay this amount for a tiny job that even we could do, if we were authorised to turn the water supply off. It's a bit complicated, but the pipe isn't even connected to our mains supply, so we can't turn the water off and fix it, but we are still entirely responsible for getting it fixed because it ends on our land. Work that one out.

The other news is that work is wildly entertaining for all the wrong reasons and there are massive conflicts raging all around my team, but not in it. Fortunately, we seem to be getting along fine and morale is high despite the other managers seeming to be trying their hardest to fuck it all up for me. That isn't paranoia speaking, that's exactly what this horrible group of managers is like. I'm glad I'm taking the project post, even though there are some serious problems with the job it will only be for a few months and then I'll be off.

I'll be off on maternity leave and probably being forced to take in fine embroidery for ladies to supplement our income, like a good Regency character. This bathetic nonsense is inspired by my reading up on the maternity benefits available to me. My entitlement (although manna from heaven compared to my poor US sisters) is much less than I first thought and the lowest rate in London for comparable organisations. I get 90% pay for 6 weeks, 50% for the next 12 weeks and statutory maternity pay (approx £100) for 26 weeks throughout. How do people afford to take a year off or give up work? Even six months is going to be a struggle for us and I don't think we'll have the luxury of part time working even if we cut back to the bone. Anyway, I'm sure I'll find a lovely childminder who won't feed the bairn gin all day and keep them in a shed.

So I'm ending this massive ranty post on these cheerful thoughts: I have only felt like puking once in the last week. I have stayed up late (past 10pm) practically every night this week. My hormone levels appear to be more stable and I am only arguing with Mr McMuffin every other day. I actually look proper pregnant and not just as if I have been eating too many pies, even if this is bare compensation for my arse and thighs appearing to have acquired a recent flabby look. I am actually quite happy, even if my anxiety levels could do with moving from red to yellow.

second best

Our original plan of a few days in Paris to celebrate our last anniversary as the two of us, had to be shelved for a few reasons. Firstly because we couldn't afford it, then I couldn't get time off work anyway and obviously neither of us would have been able to remember the day, so even a day trip (like last year) would have been pointless. Instead we celebrated yesterday, a day late, with some food and a film.

The film was The Descent and it was very good. I had an older, very cynical woman sitting next to me and her remarks throughout the film sent me into fits of giggles, but even she had to walk out at one point when it got a bit gory. I stayed, clutching Mr McMuffin's hand and peeping through my fingers at the screen. There aren't many films that make me do that and I'm pleased to say that the director of Dog Soldiers has pulled off another stylish low budget film.

our love lives

My big sister telephoned me tonight to wish me and Mr McMuffin a happy wedding anniversary. I reminded her it was tomorrow and she told me that it was her anniversary tomorrow, not mine. Ms Ginger Cake wished Mr McMuffin a happy anniversary at work today and he told her she was a day early.

What can I say, Mr McMuffin and I are rubbish at remembering this date, even though it is the anniversary of the happiest day of our lives. I would like to remind Mr McMuffin that I still I feel that marrying him was one of the best decisions I ever made (even though sometimes I like to tell him that I only married him out of pity). Happy Anniversary, Cariad.

if a double decker bus...

...were to run you over and you were taken to hospital, what would your underwear say about you? I'm only asking this because I read a stupid article in the Sunday Times about how fabulous French women were at everything, but their need to wear matching underwear indicated that they were deeply dull.

In my experience women fall into three camps; those who always wear matching underwear, those that rarely do and those we don't talk about. I resent the suggestion that those women (who have the foresight to realise that wearing odd undergarments indicates not a Bohemian like carelessness and interest in the arts, but a slatternly approach to life) are in fact tedious and anal and probably the Mirandas and Brees of this world.

Strange as it may be, the need to match underwear does not appear to be a product of parental teaching, as I am aware of a few sisters who do not share matching ideals. I find the matchers to be in the minority, but usually surrounded by siblings and friends of the non matching type. Their path is a hard and lonely one, but nevertheless it must be trodden. There is much work to do and many to convert before we shuffle off.

By the way, this post has nothing to do with any knowledge I may have from old drunken discussions about this very issue with Mrs Carrot Cake (wonderful meal at the weekend and fantastic company), Single Cookie (single handedly organising a top hen night and visionary of wedding party design) and Gypsy Tart (the soon to be married and currently my TKMaxx haunting partner in crime-they're going to reduce that bedcover more, I just know it and I shall be there when it happens).

boring me now with simple division

Big yawn, more arses with bombs trying to kill people. I bet they call themselves the 'multiples of seven gang' or something equally pathetic. Anyway, I don't care enough about them to speculate any more, I'm just pissed off that I've only had a few short years in my life when the fear of a bomb going off wasn't with me and now I've got it back again.

I'm glad in a perverse sort of way that I grew up with the anxiety of the IRA attacks, as it does make me a bit better prepared than the poor Canadians I work with, who are half convinced they'll be blown up in the next few hours and are questioning whether to return back home. Still, they'll always have good stories to tell of how they were in London during the attacks (safely ensconced ten miles away) and gain that air of glamour that comes with living a little dangerously. For the rest of us, sadly, it's business as usual.

the engines cannae take it...

Never mind babies, Scotty is dead. I grew up with him, kinda half believing that he really was Scottish. He was a crap actor but I'll miss him. I can't believe the way my childhood is dying around me

pain

Sometimes I wonder where the notion that women are cooperative and not competetive comes from. It's been my experience that while women may support each other in lots of different ways, when it comes to womanly type ordeals, sisterly solidarity can desert us.

I'll never forget the glee of the older or more mature girls when they talked about how lucky I would be to survive the monthly period hell that consisted of practically bleeding to death and wanting to die from the excruciating pain. Well, I started menstruating and was surprised to find that it was bearable. As it happens, I suffered a lot more than most women I know (except for my poor sisters) but mustn't grumble, it's got a lot better over the years and now I'm pregnant I don't even suffer menstrual migraine, hurrah!

So back to the whole pregnancy thing (obsessed? Moi? No, no, no). I am not carrying a sign inviting women to tell me about their near death birth experiences, so I wonder why they are so desperate to try to scare the shit out of me. I've laid down some boundaries, such as no one is to whimper or moan around me if they have more than one child, as they clearly too stupid to respect, having failed to learn from experience. In fact I don't want them to tell me anything, unless it's as useful as the comments from my friends, family and the parents among the small number of people who read this blog.

I probably sound like a miserable cow, but the whole thing is so terrifying, why would I need more fear? I'm not really that frightened of the pain, more of things going wrong and that's something the scary sisters never want to share unless they come through it martyred and with terrible war wounds to prove it.

everything changes...

As you may have gathered, there have been a number of life changing events in the McMuffin household and I'm going to begin another one. I've been seconded into a new post in September, as I've been asked to be involved in piloting a new shadow service (no, it doesn't make sense). That sounds like I'm someone really special, doesn't it? Sadly, I'm not. I was the only person who was foolish enough to agree to do it, although to be fair, not that many people were asked! However, after constantly working lots of extra hours and often being too busy to eat, I realise that I need a less frantic and stressful pace of work life at the moment. The good thing is that I get to keep my current job and can return after maternity leave.

We've also had more changes around the house thanks to Rock Cake and Gypsy Tart. As they want to use our house and garden for their wedding celebrations they have both been quite motivated to make it look nice. Well, that's rather generous of me, as Rock Cake's motivation was Gypsy Tart telling him she was going to cancel the wedding (and meaning it) if he didn't help with the arrangements. They've helped me clear the nasty compost and water barrel as well as various triffid like plants I found growing and are extending the paved area by our pond, so that there is seating for more guests. They are bloody brilliant at this and it's a shame in some ways that they are highly trained and skilled in their professions as they make this kind of hard work look very easy. Mr McMuffin sensibly sat back and only observed. He has to keep his hands free from accidents in order to cater lovely food for the big day.

this is a real smooth one...

I just had to post this one. Do you think anyone ever falls for this stuff? The English is awful, it's in capitals, and the lies are inconsistent. In one sentence they are a girl and in the next they are a boy. I find the whole thing slightly insulting. Do these conmen really have such a low opinion of us all?

FROM ZUBBI LUCKY ,
ACCRA GHANA,

ATTENTION:

PERMIT ME TO INFORM YOU OF MY DESIRE OF GOING INTO BUSINESS RELATIONSHIP WITH YOU. I WAS SEARCHING FOR A GOOD AND RELIABLE PERSON WHO WILL ASSIST ME IN THIS TRANSACTION.

I AM MR. ZUBBI LUCKY , THE ONLY SON OF LATE MR. AMADU ZUBBI. MY FATHER WAS A VERY WEALTHY COCOA MERCHANT BASED IN ABIDJAN, BEFORE HE WAS POISONED TO DEATH BY HIS BUSINESS ASSOCIATES ON ONE OF THEIR OUTING TO DISCUSS ON A BUSINESS. WHEN MY MOTHER DIED ON THE 21ST OCTOBER 1984, MY FATHER TOOK ME SO SPECIAL BECAUSE I AM MOTHERLESS.

BEFORE THE DEATH OF MY FATHER ON 29TH JUNE 2001 IN A PRIVATE HOSPITAL IN DAKAR SENEGAL. HE SECRETLY CALLED ME ON HIS BEDSIDE AND TOLD ME THAT HE HAS THE SUM OF
US$10,500,000 (TEN MILLION FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND UNITED STATES DOLLARS) DEPOSITED
IN A FINANCE AND SECURITY COMPANY IN ACCRA GHANA,THAT HE USED MY NAME AS HIS ONLY DAUGHTER FOR THE NEXT OF KIN .HE ALSO EXPLAINED TO ME THAT IT WAS BECAUSE OF THIS WEALTH THAT HE WAS POISONED BY HIS BUSINESS ASSOCIATES THAT I SHOULD SEEK FOR A FOREIGN PARTNER IN ANY COUNTRY OF MY CHOICE WHERE I WILL TRANSFER THIS MONEY
AND USE IT FOR INVESTMENT PURPOSE.

DEAR, I AM HONOURABLY SEEKING FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE IN THE FOLLOWING WAYS.

1)TO SERVE AS THE GUARDIAN OF THIS FUND SINCE I AM A BOY OF 24 YEARS

2)TO MAKE ARRANGEMENT FOR ME TO COME OVER TO YOUR COUNTRY AFTER THE MONEY HAS BEEN TRANSFERRED.MOREOVER,I AM WILLING TO MAP OUT A VERY GOOD PERCENTAGE FROM THE TOTAL SUM AS COMPENSATION FOR YOUR EFFORT AFTER THE SUCCESSFUL TRANSFER OF THIS FUND TO YOUR POSSITION.

FURTHERMORE, YOU CAN INDICATE YOUR OPTION TOWARDSASSISTING ME, PLEASE YOU SIGNIFY INTEREST TO ASSIST ME.ANTICAIPTING TO HEARFROM YOU SOON.

THANKS AND GOD BLESS YOU YOURS FAITHFULLY,

MR ZUBBI LUCKY .

overheating

We're all melting down South and work is unbearably hot, making my legs swell up until I'm scared someone is going to brush against me with a pin and I'll pop. McMuffin mansions is considerably cooler and fortunately my legs soon return to normal proportions in an hour or so of getting home. Poor Slinky can't even seem to cope with this level of heat and has taking to flopping on any available surface and stretching to ensure as much of him as possible is exposed to the air. He's been very grumpy and has invented a few new sounds to indicate his extreme displeasure with the weather. So far the weather hasn't taken any notice of him.

Oddly enough, we're not that busy at work when it's really hot and people seem too lethargic to abuse their children until the temperatures drop. The last cool resulted in a high number of 'battered babies', which was most distressing and is still keeping us very busy trying to protect them from further harm. Of course, I'm now dreading the next temperature drop professionally, yet trying to balance this fear against my wish to live with a less fractious cat. On balance perhaps it's best to sacrifice Slinky's comfort as in any case I'm just too hot and sticky to do him any harm.