Sunday 16th September 2012

So here we are in September. Autumn approaches. Christmas cards are already appearing in the shops. Why can’t retailers let us enjoy life without rushing us through the seasons? They flog summer stuff in winter, winter stuff in summer and they start stocking Easter eggs before the last of the turkey from Christmas has been used up. It gets on my tits.

My book is done, edits complete. I suppose I should feel good, but I feel flat and mildly depressed. I think I’m suffering from what Dick calls post project blues. You put a load of time and effort into something and then its done and you feel kind of bereft.

I’ve published it as a paperback and I’ll publish it as an ebook soon. Will I write another one? I’m not sure. The intention was to do so, but maybe I’ve run my course at playing author. We’ll see.

Shane was unwell earlier this month. He had a kidney infection that knocked him for six. He seldom gets ill. He gets the odd cold, but nothing that halts him in his tracks like this infection did for a few days. It unsettled and upset both Dick and I, only Dick handled it better than me. I suppose it brought home that alpha Daddy isn’t immortal and he can get sick in just the same way we can. He’s as fit as a butcher’s dog again now, thank goodness.

The weather has been beautiful over the past week, very Indian summerish, until today. I’m gutted. We were planning to go for a cycle ride in the hills and have a picnic lunch, but Dick and Shane have cried off because it’s drizzling. Bloody fair weather cyclists. If they think I’m going to slave in the kitchen producing a traditional Sunday lunch then they’re going to be disappointed. I had the picnic all ready and packed and they’re eating it. I’ll set it out in the summerhouse so we can at least pretend we got out for the day.

Monday 17th September 2012
It’s another cool drizzly day here in my portion of Blighty. The sun put in a brief early appearance and then said sod it, I can’t be arsed shining round here. I’m going somewhere else for the day, and off it went leaving sulky grey clouds behind.

The summerhouse picnic looked doomed to failure yesterday afternoon. Drizzle turned to proper rain. Dick and Shane sat there like the Brothers Grimm watching it drum against the windows while morosely munching on chicken sarnies.  Talk about miserable. There was only one thing for it. Sex! After dropping the blinds I dropped my kecks and offered myself up as dessert. It brought a smile to their faces, for a while anyway.

I fell out of favour yesterday evening just as we were settling down to watch ‘Inspector George Gently’ smoke himself silly on telly while solving crime and speaking in a heavy northern accent. They were partaking of a glass of vino when I suddenly remembered I’d put a bottle of coke in the freezer to chill down quickly for the picnic. I’d forgotten all about it and hastened to retrieve it. It was frozen solid. I was thirsty. There were no other drinks I fancied. I had a bright idea. I decided to run the bottle under the hot tap to thaw it out. It exploded. I kid you not I nearly shit myself as it went off like a bomb showering the kitchen and me in bits of glass and frozen cola shrapnel. I was lucky to sustain nothing but a small cut on the hand that had been holding the bottle.

Dick and Shane came running to see what the hell had happened. The coke bomb was nothing in comparison to the way Shane exploded. He was furious. What kind of brainless fool put a bottle in the freezer in the first place! I could have chilled the drink by pouring it over ice cubes, but no I had to put the fucking bottle in the fucking freezer and then forget about it. He really was livid. He reckoned I could have been seriously injured. He jabbed himself in the head while bellowing about me learning to think before acting. It stood to reason that frozen glass would be brittle and therefore prone to exploding when it came into contact with heat.

After dressing my hand he undressed my lower half. It’s a good job my arse wasn’t frozen and brittle otherwise it too would have exploded as his hand spanked some serious heat into it. I was very huffy with him for the rest of the evening I can tell you.

Lunch beckons and then I’m off down town to collect some dry cleaning. I live a glamorous life I do.

Saturday 22nd September 2012

I got on the men folk’s wick this morning by playing my music too loud. I like playing music loud, especially on sunny mornings. The kitchen was all a-flood with mellow sunshine and I felt like having a bit of a rock out as I cooked the brekkie. So I shoved some Bad Religion in the CD player and whacked up the volume. I love Bad Religion, especially their Dissent of Man album, which is kind of Punk meets Rockabilly. It’s brill music to bounce your way through the housework to.

Dick and Shane do not appreciate my musical tastes. The house reverberated to the sound of “Gilli, turn that fucking racket down!” I pretended not to hear.

Shane stormed into the kitchen and roared “I SAID TURN IT DOWN!”

I cocked a hand behind my ear and roared back. “WHAT DID YOU SAY, SHANE? I CAN’T HEAR YOU. SPEAK UP A BIT.”

I hastily turned the player down as he snatched up a spatula and headed in my direction with a purposeful stride. The houseboy’s ‘cheeky’ arse took delivery of several stingers.

I had to settle for singing quietly under my breath after that, while jiggling my arse and coyly fluttering my eyelashes at the grumpy ones as I served up their breakfast. It really wound them up. Dick called me a teasing little sod and said if I got through the day without being strangled it would be a miracle.

Well I can’t be sitting here all day. I’ve got things to do and men to annoy. It’s a boy’s duty to wind up his Daddies. It keeps them on their toes. Before I go I’d just like to say ta very muchly to those of you who have bought a copy of Gilliflowers.

Friday 28th September 2012

I’ve got a stinking cold. My dose is all blocked up. I’m breathing like Darth Vader viewing porn while twiddling with his lightsaber. It’s Dick’s fault, it was his cold to begin with. He started sniffing and sneezing last Sunday. By Tuesday he was over it, but I was smitten. Bad Daddy giving his boy a cold.

The weather has been shit again. Talk about pissing down. The avenue was flooded earlier in the week. Folk were trading in cars for motorboats and there were rumours of sharks circling the bus stops. It’s better today though and I’ve been pottering about the garden all morning clearing up some of the mess left by the heavy rain. We’ve got guests due this weekend and I want the place looking decent.

Bloody phone is ringing. I suppose I'll have to answer it.


Make a free website with Yola