Marching On

Quickie

I'm on my way to the hospital.

The Baron has been knocked down.

Not so

Going back to work was not peaceful. Or restful. I think I need another holiday already.

And an extremely heavy frying pan.

I woke up to the Litter Tray From Hell. I probably don't need to elaborate.

So I cleaned it. Whilst I got their breakfast ready, the little bastards proceeded to refill the tray. How, I don't know, since it looked like all six had already shat out their entire body weight, but clearly they had saved some back just for me.

So I cleaned it again.

Then discovered the Baron had eaten most of the contents of the fridge and left the rubbish in out in the living room. With a forced smile on my face (determined to start the day off properly) I cleaned that up.

After that came sandwich making time. This would have gone better if the Baron had not left the bread open, as personally, I prefer not to have stale bread. Took a handful of fruit instead.

I finally left. And got stuck in a major traffic jam, caused by a melting warehouse. One and a half hours to travel three and a half miles.

I arrived, busting for the toilet.

That is when I found out the lift weren't working and I had to drag my arse up three flights of stairs. With my laptop and file bag. With no lights working on the stairwell.

I got to the top, thinking I would nip to the toilet before going in.

No such luck, as someone has put a fucking keypad on the toilet door, and I have no idea what the code is.

So I go in. Drop my stuff, get that damn code and run to the toilet.

Several meetings later (where no-one knows anything) I am left alone. With nothing to do, as people are assembling the paperwork I requested (requested several times over the past month).

And then it is time to go home.

Sat on the other side of the traffic jam. Get somewhat desperate for the toilet (my bladder is beyond pathetic)

The Baron stole my parking space so I had to drive out again to find one. Walked home in the rain. Couldn't see the keyhole as the arsehole hadn't turned the outside light on. Nearly broke my neck tripping over the post that he didn't pick up.

Cleaned the litter tray again. Fed the monsters, who are clearly starving to death and must therefore cry piteously whilst I spend all of ten seconds getting their food out of the cupboard.

And the clincher?

"What's wrong with you? You seem in a bad mood"

I'm going to fucking kill someone.

Hot cold hot cold hot cold

One minute I am cold, the next I am roasting alive in my own skin. Then just as I remove the last piece of clothing I can remove without flashing my wares to the world, I am plunged back into the icy depths. And so the cycle continues.

The Baron claims he is dying from a cold. He is currently dying on the sofa downstairs. Alone. I do not feel particularly sympathetic to his impending doom since I had to pick up the manky tissues he had strewn around the computer.

I'm also fairly sure that dying people do not eat two big bowls of lemon chicken soup, a packet of crisps and four peanut butter sandwiches whilst watching Star Wars. Just my gut feeling.

Cold begone!

Hungover

Last night wasn't too bad at all. The fucktard didn't bother to show up. Quelle domage.

Those who did are our oldest friends, and we had a great night. Lots of drinking, eating, and chatting. Plus they all love cats, so we didn't have to keep them upstairs.

So I am somewhat hungover this morning, and I have the post party debris still to clear away downstairs. Our guests offered to help, but we decided it would simply be easier to leave it until morning.

Here's to a great 2005!

New Year's Bloody Eve

The Baron decided he wanted a party in our new house.

So yesterday he invited a few people over. And then he told me about it.

I sighed, and mentally started planning. Drinks, food, kitty hidey holes, and cleaning.

Then he announced that he invited his fucktard brother over, and his wife.

Fucking great. Just the morons I want to welcome 2005 in with.

He went to work, I prepared for the party.

And tonight he announced that it is very likely that his fucktard brother will be staying over.

Wish me luck. I am going to need it to avoid starting New Year in prison.

Happy 2005, folks!

Enough

I am not the only one struggling with the urge to batter my live in annoyance to a bloody pulp with a blunt object. See? And see?

I went to bed having left a tidy kitchen. I awoke to find the Baron had eaten half of the contents of the fridge. But had he put the remains in the fridge? Bollocks.

He had piled them on the counter directly above the cupboard that houses the bin.

He refuses to clean the cat litter trays. He doesn't clean the toilet. He doesn't even replace the toilet paper. He doesn't turn his socks out for washing, or empty his pockets. He has never ever done a load of washing.

All he does is work on his clay modelling project. Don't get me wrong, it is really good, but it is taking over the fucking house. The conservatory is completely unuseable as a room as he has taken it over. The house reeks of fiberglass filler. There is kitchen roll strewn about.

And this is after I asked him at the weekend to get it all into the garage. He spent the weekend fartarsing about, supposedly cleaning, yet nothing actually happened. The room is still unuseable.

And the final straw? He turned the thermostat up last night to help his model dry. I didn't know. I couldn't sleep because I was so hot. I finally got up as I was so miserable, and went downstairs to get a cup of tea.

The fucker had turned it up. Right up. The whole house was heated to 95F.

I have had enough.

Ill

I am at home. A shocking head cold, coupled with the first period I have had in ten years without the comforting barrier of artificial hormones has wiped me out.

Well, technically it is the strong painkillers I have taken that have knocked me out, but who is splitting hairs? Not me.

So I am snuggled on the sofa in my woolly blanket and whichever cats feel like a cuddle - that is one of the great things about having six cats is that there is always a furry hotwater bottle to be had. There aren't that many great things about having six cats that you wouldn't get with a more normal number of beasticles, but that is one.

I have to look after the Boy this evening as my parents need to take their dog to the emergency vets. I'm not looking forward to it, but I suspect Sam is looking forward to his appointment even less. Still, it is only for a couple of hours and then I can return to bed.

So from my sofa, I raise my cup of tea to all of you who don't have the luxury of taking time off sick and have to get on with it. Because the kidlets are getting on with it.

Fucktards

The Baron's brother is a waste of good oxygen. He is selfish and lazy, cheap beyond belief, and moans like an old woman constantly about everything. The last trait seems to run through all the males in that particular line..............but I digress. He is a fucktard.

This is the same brother who, not content with dragging us all out to Ireland for the wedding and refusing to help pay for his parents (leaving us to pay), is still demanding a wedding present. Not asking, but demanding. An iPod, to be exact. I don't fucking think so, you tight fuck. Manners mean nothing to this arsewipe.

He has been moaning that the Baron never goes down to visit him and his wife. The Baron has offered on numerous occasions, but as his wife has her family over constantly, it is not deemed appropriate for the Baron to visit, who has unsurprisingly stopped offering to visit.

We moved house three weeks ago. The Baron's brother has not been here. In four and a half years he visited our previous house once. His wife was in the area over the weekend, and he came to pick her up. Did he come over to see his brother? Did he bollocks!

He did have the nerve to phone us and ask us to pick her up and take her home (an hour's drive each way) because he wanted a nap and to watch the X Factor. But once over in the area, he couldn't be bothered to come here. Too much fucking effort.

But naturally we should be willing to make the drive down to see them whenever it suits his wife's family diary.

So tomorrow is the Baron's day off. Guess which fucktard relative he is going to visit? His parents were initially coming over for a visit (so according to the Baron, I should be frantically tidying up. I don't clean for my parents, so why he thinks I am cleaning for his, I don't know), but since they found out that the Baron is going down, they are going to. No doubt to avoid paying for their own petrol.

I will be working. I planned to work at home tomorrow and was being forced into the visit, but luckily for me, a major fraud has been detected at one of my clients and so I have to go back to London tomorrow to start the investigation off.

I've just had a phonecall. Turns out that fucktard's little wifey (She of the low self esteem who married a turd she knew had cheated on her) left her glasses at her aunt's house this weekend. Like you do. Guess who has to go out of his way this evening after work (when he finishes at midnight) to collect them?

The same person who always gets taken advantage of by his family.

The one, the only, the Baron.

Fucking hell

I feel ill. And saddened.

Goodbye clean air.

Goodbye to a meaningful right to choose.

Goodbye to any real homosexual rights.

Goodbye to civil liberties.

Goodbye to more lives lost in a meaningless war.

Still, people get what they vote for. And if people vote for a smirking little fucktard who can't string together a meaningful sentence, and wouldn't know the truth if it was smacked round his smirking little face, well that is what people get. And deserve. Well done, USA.

It is s shame that the rest of the world must suffer the consequences. War on terror my arse. The world's biggest terrorist has just been given free reign for another four years.

Thanks.

I need a drink

I am not a happy bunny this evening.

The cats are in cattery. The Baron is working late, and I am lonely. I miss my babies.

The house is depressing. Boxes and bags everywhere. I want out. The pub sounds fantastic. Open roaring fires, and copious amounts of alcohol.

Except.........there has been a noticeable lack of roof falling this week. Enough to have prompted a little test. Which has so far not proved anything conclusive as the first fucker didn't work. The second was negative but since I am on the pill (with some big accidents this month) I can't be sure of dates. So I daren't drink until I am sure.

And, oh God, do I need a drink.