Monday, November 19, 2007

Twenty one today.

I think I mentioned previously that you should NEVER piss off a blogger...... This advice holds just as true for (who you should never ever use) as it does for my own family.


Phone rings.... and rings....

I half open my eyes, pick up the phone, notice it's my mother calling....

I hold onto the phone for a split second hoping it will ring off and I can go back to sleep, until my conscience pricks me enough that I have to answer it anyway.

My throat is still closed, and so are my eyes.


"Hello, did you know it was me?" asks my mother.

"For christ's sake, my mobile phone, just like anyone else's tells me who is calling... it is no longer a surprise to discover who has broken my slumber." I think to myself.

"Yes" I reply.

"Blah blah blah"

"I'm tired" I respond.

"Are you ill?" my mother asks.

"No I'm tired, I have just woken up" and I am becoming increasingly frustrated and angered at being woken up to make small talk.

"It's eleven o' clock" my mother usefully point out..... "Is it eleven at night?"

"No it's morning, but I was asleep" I reiterate.

"Have you read about our trip to Sydney on the blog?" my mother asks.

At this point, having just about managed to adjust my eyes to daylight, and wondering whether my legs are still attached to my body, I feel like a prisoner under interrogation. Of course if I had read the blog, then there would have been a subsequently pointed and no doubt sarcastic, caustic or rude comment from me, I think.

"No I've not read the blog." I answer, desperately trying to not let myself think out loud.


"I've just woken up." I reiterate.

"Yes I know you've just woken up, you keep telling me." retorts my increasingly angry mother.

"And you don't think that in me protesting about coming under question and pressure to make small talk within 15 seconds of waking up is a signal to leave me alone?" I think to myself.

Several more exchanges increasingly anger me where my mother talks over the top of a slight voice delay and my answers to questions so that I end up repeating myself over and over.... I am in no mood for this.

"How is the snow?" She asks.


"I read about it on your blog, and someone at work told Rob about it." she usefully informs me.


"Did it just snow there or everywhere else?"

"I haven't been EVERYWHERE else!!!!!!" I protest.

"Why don't you let XXXX look after things for a few days. you have her number, and she'd love to do it" asks my mother.

At this point I am no longer even in the conversation - XXXX looked after things before and the Rayburn burned itself out. My girlfriend at the time spent days cleaning up cat shit where a disinterested friend had been in to feed the cats but had not noticed the smell of burning or seemingly of the room next door being full of cat shit. This must by mum's definition of "love to".

Eventually, I can hear mum's voice begin to crack as she realises that no matter how hard she tries, there will be no sense in poking a bear that you've just brought out of hibernation. My day has been well and truly ruined, and I'm not even out of bed.

Phone call behind me, I get up, fuming. Arrive in the kitchen with cat puke to clean up. The weather is so bad, but on the basis that the chickens have not been out in two days, I decide to give them an option. I wish I didn't. The garden is strewn with pieces of a dilapidated compost bin. Watering cans, bits of metal, plastic, and compost are all over the place.

I tie everything back together, shovel up, sweep up, disinfect the kitchen again..... offer the chickens a chance of freedom and they huddle in a corner. I shut the door and leave them to it.

A great start to the day....

I "LOVE TO" do this!!


  1. I really really want your mum to leave a comment he he

  2. ora1953 might leave a comment, and that's Fred reading on my mum's behalf!!

  3. nevermind my lovely you've only got 18 more days. xxx

  4. Excuse me for saying this but what a nasty, spiteful, self-centred, miserable, moaning, cold-hearted and ungrateful son you are! You only have one mother and you should love her unconditionally. She is at the other side of the world and she loves you - she is wanting to connect with you across the miles - but what do you do? You diss her that's what! You are a bad, bad boy! My advice to Dawn - no "wrestling" with this guy for a while!

  5. Vixen. Mother of The Arctic Fox.Monday, 19 November, 2007

    What have I done to be hurt so by you my little fox cub? I let you look after my chickens and live in my house and you throw it back in my face! I know I used to let you run around in the garden without nappies on when you were little, but how was I to know that those pictures would end up posted on the Internet?

  6. Hah! Your mum got you there, Foxy chap. I made sure there were no photographs of nudie tadpoles hanging around when I fled the pond.

  7. My lovely? My, bloody, lovely?.

    I know this Fox and there are many words and descriptions that could be applied to him - but lovely most definitely isn't one of them.

    Get a grip, girl.