This Is My Affair

Because he's worth it ...

Friday, February 16, 2007

Has spring sprung?

Crystal clear really. I'm gonna scrub that man right out of my house. The minute the fat bastard is gone out come the chemicals, the scrubbing brushes and I'm off. Today I had help from all sorts of quarters and we got through wall and floor scrubbing, vacuuming and dusting, nine loads of washing, a thorough going over for the bathroom and the kitchen, furniture hauled about and cleaned behind, seven bags of rubbish collected together and put out for collection. I even started on the garden (well, I got outside, looked at it and began to draft a plan of action).

Most things can be done one to one-and-a-half handed, as I am discovering. I have to beware of under utilising my right hand while avoiding too much strain while the bones continue to knit. A fine line to tread.

The piece-de-resistance was making inroads into the slum that is his domain. Half of it has been largely cleared, vacuumed, dusted and washed down. Of course I've achieved that much by throwing and kicking the crap from the now cleard side on to the pre-existing pile on the other side. That's his problem for whenenver he gets back whether it be late tonight or early tomorrow. I left him a string of cups, glasses and mugs I uncovered that have stuff growing in the bottom, plus a severely shrivelled ex-carrot, as examples of what I don't expect to find in the bedroom of a self-respecting adult of 46 years. I threw away very little from his room (mostly cigarette packet tops - that bit of paper you have to rip at to get at the cancer sticks, and similarly obvious crap). I was quite diligent in gathering up the scattered loose change and putting it in a jar on his dresser - which I dusted and washed down. Oh, and I rescued a couple of my books which he's 'borrowed'.

Then we all sat down and ate a take away. Now it's back to just B and me, and she is up in bed asleep. I won't be far behind.

10 wicket defeat today, bloody hell! Hand aches, so that's it. Feels good to be back-ish. Hello, everyone and good-night.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Not 'armless, let alone fingerless

Lots and lots and lots of thoughts. Most of them scribbled on pages of a note book I've kept close to my chest (and stressed deeply that he'd find - a big reason for starting this damn fool thing). Most of them nearly illegible for being written with my left hand when I'm naturally right handed. Didn't know that about me before this.

Thought one. Never allow yourself to be operated on by a surgeon who doesn't share your sense of humour. Mine didn't appear to be amused when I joked as I went under that 'at least I'd broken it accidentally', which I like to think is why the second op (the one after the first quick job when the swelling went down) wasn't a success and I had to have the bones re-set; something that involved re-breaking them. So that's three times in total.

And you were wondering why I hadn't been doing much typing?

This time off hasn't been a complete waste though, because I've nailed the stupid cow he's currently stringing along.

Difference is this one's a harder cookie than the last one ... doesn't want kids and rather likes her independence thank you very much. She's also a short, rotund grandmother of three. And I think she knows I know. And I think she knows that I'm pretty sure she knows I know.


So the pair of us get on quite well actually, now that she's got over the shock of realising she's said something she couldn't possibly have heard except from him, and that it was exactly the sort of thing a husband would know but would only share with a part time bed buddy.

My only gripe is the same one I had with poor sad deluded Beth (aka The Phool from Philadelphia) ... why isn't she woman enough to get him to work up the guts to actually GO.

We had a full moon recently ... yes we really did. I checked in the paper to make sure I wasn't imagining. Last time I mentioned that I could see a purrfect full moon through the window next to me I had some damn fool dickhead from Yorkshire posting gibberish ... insulting gibberish at that.

Probably don't get much else from yorshire folk. Should have said that at the time. Darren Gough thought he'd need to pack his PJs for this spring's trip to the Carib. On that subject we've won th'ashes and thrown away the one day series that followed ... poor team selection and hubris. Though Shane Warne's blaming the coach - then Warnie thought he was eating smarties when he got caught doping himself!

What else.

He's fucked off to Ireland with his mother for a funeral. There's a very accurate piece of bio for him to fasten onto if he can be bothered. So B and I have a couple of girlie days home.

My hand?

It's early days. I knew from a few days after the initial injury I'd probably never recover full mobility and dexterity and that I'd probably always be able to 'feel' it. The scarring's quite livid, although they did get someone in to tidy things up so the fingers are now straight and I'm told the lumps will go down. (That's the lump's where the bone came out, since you asked.)

My mood has been more erratic than ever. I've never had down days before like the ones I've had in the weeks since Christmas. For some reason I feel better tonight than I've felt in a long while (did I mention that the Fat Bastard is away?). I've got Breakfast in America on, having stumbled across it during a bit of a tidy up. Right now it's playing Crime of the Century.

Brings back strange memories of my first boyfriend, who was the son of a former high school geography teacher, who I later found out was the sister of someone very, very famous. Typing few fingered is exhausting.

Thanks for reading to then end of this and hello to you. Have a good life. It's the best you can do.

I'm off to bed.

Friday, December 22, 2006

a bit more detail ...


a very BIG thank you to those who expressed concern at my whereabouts and pleasure when I briefly resurfaced. with only one and a bit fingers at my disposal this post has been cobbled together in bits and pieces and then edited. no apologies for lack of capitals ... typing is slow enough as it is.

we are experiencing the second bout of genuinely wintery weather here, which is pleasant in a way because it makes imminent english christmas seem plausible. i'm sitting here in the house on my own and I should be wrapping christmas presents while i have the chance. for reasons explained further on i'm working myself up to that.

during the previous and very short spell of cold i succeeded in mangling my right hand (see previous post).

friday is homework submission day and b. had forgotten to take hers with her; she was sufficiently upset i promised to come back with it. by the time i returned the gates which are heavy metal things had been closed - to keep the inmates in as well as the undesirables out. due to the cold and the fact that the gates haven't been hung so they close head on, but at an angle, the sliding bolt was sticking and hard to get at from the outside. when it gave it gave with a rush and my right hand got caught behind it - blood, broken bones the result.

it is now clear how close I]i came to losing a couple of fingers, so i'm hugely grateful to the surgical staff and all the other medical staff who got me to hospital and rebuilt the hand. The worst of the scaffolding has come off but it will be come time before the bones can safely be left to their own devices.

i'm also grateful to everyone else who has rallied round. everything has been difficult, i am being awkward about the prescribed pain killers and because of that i've not been sleeping well and so on and so forth.

a friend took me out of town to a big shopping centre and helped me to get gifts together for everyone - wrapping them with one good hand and a fist encased in hard plastic is this afternoon's project. the fat bastard has actually done a little house work, not a lot, but something.

i feel like a lot of life has passed me by in the meantime. i didn't even get much of a kick out of us getting 'our' ashes back, though i did get to listen to quite a bit of it despite the time difference between here and home. i haven't been to work, the only time i got out of town was to do the christmas shopping. when did teenage boys start looking so bloody young? i feel 100.

i am missing my mum and since we're not on speaking terms i could go on missing her for a while yet.

we will be doing christmas in fairly traditional fashion ... turkey and ham and the usual trimmings, mulled wine, pudding with brandy butter and so forth. i really need to apply myself to getting these presents wrapped before the other two get home.

once again thank you to michelle and wendy and lily for posting their thoughts and to everyone else too.

merry christmas to you all and very best wishes for a better year to come, however good this one might have been!

Monday, December 11, 2006

you don't want to do that ....

what seems like months ago I managed to crush my right hand in the school gate during the first truly wintery cold morning of the year ... several broken bones are healing and the worst of the scaffolding is off. It isn't yet clear how completely my hand will recover. I'm having to peck at the keyboard with my left hand and (very cautiously) with the undex finger of my right. Damn.

No long posts for the time being.

Apologies for the break in transmission. May post gruesmone pictures, of bloated yellowed hand sans nails in due course.

Sunday, November 05, 2006


Now that we've won the Cheap, Nasty and Totally Pointless Cricket Knees-Up that has been taking place somewhere I feel liberated to smirk at the defeat of the NSW/QLD Rugby Nutters by Great Britain in the thug-fest* that is taking place in Sydney, which hopefully made raft-loads of Sydney-siders miserable. Rugby league is a stupid game played by stupid people* and watched by people who can't know better.

I don't like rugby league for a host of reasons but mostly because smug bastards from Sydney and stupid people from the Deep North do.

And sometimes, like this weekend, because they're good for a hearty snigger.

* what follows is an extracted from a match report:

Up until that point GB had dominated a brutal opening phase of the match that saw Australian forward Mason floor Stuart Fielden with an early punch.

Mason escaped with a telling-off from referee Ashley Klein and then, with 10 minutes gone, led with the elbow in a very late challenge on Long after the GB half-back had kicked the ball.

Again Mason, who had now been guilty of two incidents of serious foul play, remained on the field.

Or if you don't rate the B(ritish)BC's version then try this from an Australian media outlet:

Australia last night lost to Great Britain here for the first time since 1992. In a match that started in drizzling rain, and was remarkable for forward Adrian Morley surviving a game without being put on report for almost knocking someone's head off, the visitors conjured up a massive boilover, 23-12, to throw the series open.

Bah Humbug Number Two

No Christmas 'Do' with work colleagues again this year.

Last year I'd only been there a few days when the invitations came in. Yes, that's invitations, plural. In bewilderment as much as poverty I declined them all. I'd already been stung in saying yes to the Secret Santa Stupidity only to find out that the stipulated spend was £15.

This year the same sort of farce has been developing. I could see it coming and so said yes to the first invitation I received and that I could accept (no clash, within reach, etc etc). I didn't make a song and dance about my decision making process or the result, but when that came out this week all hell broke loose. Quite bluntly the rest of the management team made it clear I should tell the organiser of the event I'd accepted for that I didn't want to go to her (and the adjective used was poxy) Christmas meal - I'd prefer to swan off with the rest of the White Shirts (all 7) for a slap up meal out of town.

So in a spectacular example of cutting off the nose to spite the face I've now said I'm not going to anybody's sodding Christmas dinner. If they can't set aside their differences and their tribalism for one evening, and at Christmas of all times of the year, then I don't bloody well want to sit down to eat with them.


Bah Humbug Number One

The opening salvos have been fired ahead of the first skermishes of what promises to be the usual War of Attrition. He's already limbering up for the usual excessive drinking, eating and throwing money away on various things utterly useless.

I'm already tensing up in anticipation. This being November it is card writing season, particularly for those abroad. Of the remainder most are within walking distance.

I love doing Christmas cards. I have a lengthy list of people who, for one reason or another I don't have a great deal to do with from one year to another but who never the less occupy a small but nevertheless enduring place in my heart and memory.

I'd also go to church: I put my lacadaisical attitude towards formal observance down to having been raised with such a mixed heritage to draw on, and so much of it conflict-strewen. I'm prone to likening myself to a kid at the sweet counter not sure which sugar and E-number confection to pick. In truth this reflects a characteristic in me also to be observed when I drive into an empty car park and drive about for a good five minutes before deciding where to park.


I'd also go to church but that would only open up a can of worms so it's a jolly good thing winter has finally and very belatedly turned up. The past week has been a shocking, er, shock to the system (the central heating system, that is) which has had to go to work. Now it looks like snow, though we're too low-lying and southerly to be in for it yet. Anyhow with a bit of luck it will be bitterly cold and I can use that as an excuse to avoid traipsing up the hill.

Last year we went with friends (the same friends we went camping with). I've only just remembered that. Perhaps there won't be conflict and we'll just fall in with them (they'll take their 11-seater so we can get a lift).

And I've again managed to get out of working on Christmas Eve.

So why the Bah Humbug?

Well, I'm already coming under pressure to spend money I don't have. I'm already coming under pressure to consume alcohol I don't particularly wish to drink. I'm already coming under pressure to cook mountains of food we've no serious prospect of consuming. I'm already coming under pressure to purchase and accommodate piles of Stuff! that he has to have, though within day he'll be bored with it and within a week it will either be lost or damaged.

Bah! indeed.