Marching On

Oh yeah, baby!

Thank fuck for that.

We are exchanged! Can I hear a big OH YEAH BABY!!!!

Teeny Weeny Bit Stressed

The exchange of contracts still hasn't taken place, and we are supposed to be moving in two and a half week.

I haven't packed a damn thing yet.

Hollie will not come out from the sofa.

The Baron is being a pain about all of the above.

My sister is planning on leaving her partner (my friend) and is being a bitch about it. Leaving your partner of four years, whose best friend has just died, BY PHONE is evil.

I have run out of chocolate.

Peace

'Twas a peaceful weekend.

What else could you ask for?

Note to self

After three weeks with no playing, it is unreasonable to expect to play your guitar without developing a ginormous blister.

Lesson learned.

Holy Crap!

The Baron has given up smoking too! So far he's managed 48 hours without a fag, or any of those give up smoking aid thingies.

Heaven help us both!

(and the latest from the RSPCA is that Willow is to lose her eye on Monday. Along with her girly bits too.)

Househunting

We have found a house we like, offered and been accepted. We did a fair bit of paperwork today relating to that to speed things up. And to celebrate, we went to peek at our future house.

The current owners were outside, and saw us. Not only did they see us, but they recognised us, and so we have spent the afternoon drinking tea, being shown round in detail, going through the fixtures and fittings that will stay and getting the gossip on our future neighbours.

The draft contract relating to the sale of our house went out today, so we should exchange before we go away.

So not only is it two weeks to a holiday (on Friday), but our move is looking a lot closer.

Can I hear a huge WOOHOO??!!!!!

Three weeks to a holiday.

Three weeks to a holiday. Three weeks to a holiday.

That is today's mantra.

'Tis official

I am a small child magnet.

Five minutes ago, I heard childish mutterings outside the front door. Aimed at Harvey.

Now, remember. Harvey is pure evil. During daylight, he bites, he scratches, he hisses and he swats. If you are under five, he does this after dark too.

So fearing an angry mob and their weapons of choice, I go to warn the kidlets not to bear tender young flesh near the psycho cat.

Not only are they trying to poke him out, they are chasing Miss Ellie round the garden. Frankie and Charlie are hiding under the car. There is no angry mob in sight, let alone any responsible adult. Hehehe.

I'm mentally preparing my child friendly tirade, when......

"You're the cat lady? You have so many cats! Do they poo a lot?"

Shit. Even children under five in the neighbourhood know of my reputation, as a cat shit shoveller. Methinks that letting them try to poke Harvey will be sweet.

But do they continue? No. I'm more fun to torment.

They sit on my doorstep and tell me about their cat, Tigger. I know Tigger. Tigger sneaks in the catflap and eats my cats food. I know all about Tigger.

(In fact, I plan on stealing him.)

Then the conversation moves on to my cats. My car. My overgrown front garden. My rather cool nail varnish.

I am sat on the front doorstep with a five year old and a three year old (in snazzy Bob the Builder 'jama's) and there are no parents in sight. I was watching the delivery of a set of triplets on tv, and they had just made the first incision. Can I leave them? Can I?

Bollocks can I leave them. So we sit and tell cat stories. I show them how Harvey plays catch and fetch. Normally we do this with flowerheads, but thanks to my new friends, we found out that Harvey will chase a plastic Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.

We chat about how important it is to be nice to animals (might as well indoctrinate them early) and then I see Daddy in the distance chatting.

Thanks mate! You enjoy your evening, whilst I prevent your kidlets from being savaged by the Wild Beast of the West. I don't mind. Well, actually I do.

So I watch the kidlets trot off to Daddy. Peace. In I toddle and start feeding the cats. I turn around and.......

The kidlets are back. In my house. Shit. It's like a bad dream brought to life. I really must remember to shut the damn front door.

As if that wasn't bad enough, they settle down on my sofa and start watching the tv. What the hell do I do?

Finally, luck shines upon me and Daddy is at the door calling them out. Thanks Daddy.

Why do I always get left with other people's kids? The Boy. The children at the wedding. The strange little girl from up the road. Now these little boys. Do I emit some honing signal that they tune into? Answers on a postcard if you will.

My hair

I want to tell you about my hair.

I have hair. Lots of fine hair all over my head. Not that unusual.

The vast amounts of static I generate are noteworthy, but still not that unusual. Painful at times though.

The cut is shoulder length (ish) with layers. Nothing outlandish.

Colour? Now we are talking. My hair is chocolate brown naturally, and last summer I had some highlights put in, but they are almost all grown out. Again not, not hair that turns heads.

So, in the interests of making my hair that bit special, I invested in some permanent hair colour. By L'Oreal. Because I am worth it.

I chose dark brown, and the dye came with highlighting equipment for "multi tonal depth". Or some bollocks like that - I should read packets with more care.

I checked the colour swatches, and checked the examples on the box. WIth chocolate brown hair, I could expect beautiful glossy brown hair with lighter brown highlights. Lovely, and just what I wanted. I've been most colours of the rainbow, and am happy with nice brown. I just fancied something a little more sultry.

My sister and I and slapped the dye on. We waited the requisite 25 minutes to allow the colour to develop, washed it out, towel dried it and applied the highlighting cream to well chosen strands of my hair. We waited the 20 minutes that took to "develop a natural colour" and rinsed. Conditioned. and looked in the mirror.

I do not have glossy brown hair with lighter highlights. Oh no. That dream died when I looked in the mirror.

I have fucking scarlet hair with dark red highlights. I look like a 16 year Goth with severe angst. Scarlet bloody hair. With red highlights.

I have to go to work tomorrow. And all I own are black suits that makes my hair glow like burning embers. I won't be hiding in an office tomorrow - my hair shall light the way to wherever I hide.

Piss to L'Oreal.

Good things that happened today

1/ Finally had a haircut. I no longer look like Cousin It.

2/ Bought an outfit for the stupid wedding. Technically it is for work since I refuse to buy an outfit for the wedding, but it happens to be ok to wear to more formal occasions.

3/ Bought two pairs of my favourite shoes.

4/ The Boy returned home from his Dad and gave me a big cuddle.

5/ Ellie escaped! It was funny - the cat flap is set to let cats in and not out, so she waited for Frankie to come in and nipped out at the same time. Then she got scared and cried to come back in.

6/ The Baron cleaned my car, inside and out.

7/ Finally mastered the bass line to By the Way (Chilli Peppers). Sore fingers but deep satisfaction.

8/ It's the weekend!