Monday, November 16, 2009
Written 15th February 2007
This morning I was driven to work by what may be the Cheeriest Bus Driver Ever In The World, Ever. I got on, and he trumpeted 'Good Morning Dear!' in a loud carrying voice, with a big happy smile on his face. I was a bit startled, as Lothian bus drivers tend to just grunt at you before 9am (which I completely understand, and do not blame them for), but I said good morning back, and proceeded upstairs to hide behind my Metro.
Some of the fancier Lothian Buses have new fangled PA systems, which the driver can use to tell the passengers things. For example, that the bus is approaching a particular stop, or that the bus has broken down and we should all get on the one behind, or that whoever is dinging the bell should stop this minute or they're getting chucked off the bus. You get the idea. The driver this morning had his speaker switched on, and he treated us all to regular updates about the next stop, and what shops and services we could expect to find in the vicinity. For example, 'next stop is Haymarket Station, where you can get on a train to Fife, Glasgow or Stirling. You'll also find a bank, coffee shops, restaurants and some bars, although it's a bit early for me! Next stop, Haymarket.'
I don't know if this was some kind of experiment Lothian Buses were doing, combining commuter transport with guided tours, or if this man was just eager to help. Either way, I liked it. But I'm glad he doesn't do that route every day.
Friday, November 06, 2009
Written 15th July 2007
The Boy and I have been a picture of domestic bliss today. We got up early and had coffee and croissants outside in the sunshine, then while I washed the dishes he went to Homebase to buy a edge trimmer. When he came back he mowed the lawn, while I did some weeding and raked up the leaves from the tree in our garden that thinks autumn lasts from October to August.
Then I did some housework while the Boy watched the golf. All very nice and civilised.
However, underneath this veneer of happy industriousness, runs an undercurrent of brooding menace. because at various points throughout the day I have been sorely tempted to use the Boy's new toy
to surgically remove both his hands. I figure he would be tidier that way. I mean, if he was limited to only picking things up with his teeth, he couldn't leave ALL HIS WORDLY POSSESSIONS on the kitchen table. I wouldn't say I was houseproud but I like things to be in their place and I get a warm fuzzy glow from a clean, tidy surface, free from clutter.
Examples of things that have irritated me today:
- I cleaned and tidied the kitchen (which is where all the clutter in our house seems to end up eventually) from top to bottom. The Boy comes in from the garden to unpack his strimmer. There are various plastic bags, some pieces of string, an instruction manual, some polystyrene, and a big cardboard box. He puts all this stuff onto the freshly cleaned kitchen table. AND LEAVES IT THERE. All day. I have to nag him to tidy it away, which he finally does about five hours after putting it there.
- After finishing the kitchen, I go outside to start my weeding, and trip over the strimmer cable (narrowly avoiding breaking my nose in the process), which has been left strewn over the back step while the Boy has a fag break.
- I find three fag ends while weeding. House Rule Number 3 states that all cigarette butts should be disposed of in a BIN.
- I cleaned the kitchen worktops for the second time, and 10 minutes later the Boy spilled his coffee on them, and didn't clean it up.
- I dusted the coffee table only to come in five minutes later to find a certain Boy with his BARE FEET (ew) up on said table, and a half-eaten chocolate digestive biscuit balanced on the edge, liberally dispensing crumbs.*
- I moved a whole pile of random crap from the hall table, and put it all away neatly. Random crap now sitting on the hall table: a wallet, a small pile of 2 pences, a pair of sunglasses, a lighter and an ipod cable.
- After vacuuming and mopping the floors, I catch the Boy tramping through the house with his grass-covered shoes on, leaving a trail of grass cuttings from the back door to the front.
I sometimes wonder if he does it deliberately. I constantly find things that need put away or tidied up, and I do it without even thinking. But the Boy? He doesn't seem to notice that he can only sit at one end of the sofa because there's a pile of stuff at the other end. He can ignore a dust bunny for days. Weeks even. He somehow managed to get chilli sauce all over one of the kitchen cupboards last night, and he didn't notice (I mean it was all over the door, at head height. HOW?). I cleaned it off this morning, and I said to him 'how on earth did you manage to get chilli on the cupboard', and he said 'oh, did I?'
*Who stops eating a chocolate digestive halfway through anyway? It's not like you need a break before you can face another two mouthfuls of deliciousness.
Labels: Garden, How Annoying, Hubby, tales from the draft folder
Monday, November 02, 2009
Written 20th November 2007
2.07 am on Saturday. Other people might be staggering home from the pub, or getting some action. I have just finished one book and I'm just about to put the light out when I see At Large and At Small: Confessions of a Literary Hedonist on my bedside table. It's a collection of essays on various topics. I think to myself that I'll just have a quick look at the contents page and see what kind of topics these might be.
I'm not going to read any more, it's too late. Time to go to sleep. Hubby is snoring gently beside me, and has been for hours.
One of the essays is titled 'Night Owl'. Hmm, interesting. I'll just have a look at the first page, to see what it's all about.
2.29am. I finish the essay on Night Owls, and begin planning this post. Hubby lets out an almighty trump in his sleep, and I nearly fall out of bed I get such a fright. The squirt of adrenaline wakes me up, and I think to myself: 'I may as well just read one more chapter'...
Labels: Books, reading, tales from the draft folder
Oh dear, I'm not doing very well with the old bloggeroo am I? I did intend to post regularly, but well, I didn't. As you can see.
I've even missed the start of NaBloPoMo
. And (if I can just go off on a tangent here), I'm sorry, but that's just the worst name for a thing, ever. SURELY they could've come up with something better - something that makes a tiny smidge of sense, perhaps? Sorry, NaBloPoMo people, it's a good idea, but for anally retentive folk like me, who have to capitalise the N, the B, the P and the M, it's just irritating. I've already had to type it twice and it's annoying me.
Anyhoo, I've got numerous bits and bobs hanging around in my draft folder, but I've been lacking the will to hack them into something publishable (because really - I have some standards) but I might start posting the more polished ones when I remember.
Labels: blogs, tales from the draft folder, writing