Saturday, August 18, 2012

Home alone....

For the next week, I'll be eating cold baked beans straight out of the tin, lounging in my underpants, and generally peering suspiciously out of the letterbox in the front door to make sure that nobody is approaching my property.

yes, it's holiday season, and Dawn and the kids have gone and left me home alone.

In truth, I'm not as useless as I might make out, and I can, and indeed do cook for myself (and Dawn when she's here).

I do still have reservations about approaching a washing machine or an iron, but the dishwasher is no problem, other than the fact that she only speaks Spanish..... just kidding, it's a Bosch and they only speak Chinese with a slight German twang.

The cats are looking at me like they are doubting my capacity for maintaining a regular feeding, watering, and de-crappifying routine.  They'd be right to eye me so.  Although Dawn did leave me with twenty pounds "spending money", muttering something about cat food as she went..... so the cats will probably have to make do with whatever beer and pizza doesn't get consumed this evening.

The dog's gone to Dawn's mum's house for the week, so that's one less thing to worry about - I say "worry", when what I really mean is "get out of bed to take for a walk".  And of course it's one less food and water bowl to replenish on an "oh my God, these animals look starving" basis.

So, the water's on, in order that I can have a relaxing leisurely bath (I might even leave the bathroom door open and have some radio on) when I finish the dreaded "ale trail" shift tonight.  My pyjamas are all aired and ironed, ready for curling up with my Celebrity Big Brother this evening.  Beers are in the fridge.

Now, if I can shake this "bad pint" headache that's been surgically grafted to my brain, and get this five hour shift behind the bar (during which time I will undoubtedly stare dumbfounded at the till wondering where a certain button is; wonder how a pint of Carling and a half of Strongbow can really add up to eight pounds forty on the till; not know what button to press to ring in a Tropicana; run out of clean glasses more than once; have to swap a dead lager glass at least four times to get one that "works"; have to bite my tongue on more than one occasion; look at the time about twenty times between half past seven and eight o' clock.  Then it's plain sailing all the way until fishing tomorrow!


14 comments:

  1. I send my sympathies/congratulations. I'm used to this lark, as mine goes off regularly to watch over grandsons in UK and Oz. Use your free time with gusto!

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    1. Thanks for the positive vibes..... gusto attachment installed and functioning correctly..... I've already eaten prawn crackers from out of the bin!

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  2. Don't forget to adjust the undershreddies and belch whenever you feel like it!

    Oh yes - and don't forget to clear the sink of empty tins and wash the spoon on your last day of freedom.

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    1. I found myself tidying up after myself already.... I'm starting to think I've been moderately and subversively house trained!! Apart from eating out of the bin!

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  3. After your shift and with Dawn away, why not phone Rent-a-Lass to do your chores and tuck you up in bed? But don't be getting any naughty ideas!

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    1. Couldn't bring myself to pay for it - I'm from Yorkshire!!

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  4. Is that photograph below meant to symbolise your scrambled brain AF? Why not thoroughly clean and polish the house, weed the garden, clean the windows, polish the brass, wash and iron all the clothes you can find, shampoo the cats, every job a woman does - so that when Dawn comes back she swoons in ecstasy???

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    1. 1) If you look carefully it's a photo of a moorhen chick!!
      2) Erm you lost me at.... "clean"

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  5. Sounds like a week of bliss!

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    1. a week of "do what you want" as long as you can a) foot the bill and b) tid up after yourself!! It's not ALL bliss!!

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  6. old baked beans out of a tin

    bliss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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    1. one thing I will NOT eat is cold baked beans!!

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  7. You iron your pajamas!? (gasp).

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    1. They were metaphorical pyjamas that were metaphorically ironed..... just meaning my clothes were all picked up off the floor, and incredibly for me, hung on actual hangers in a wardrobe..... and the bed was made - It was merely meant to emphasise my readiness for full on relaxing mode to envelop me!

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