Happy Christmas

A VERY HAPPY CHRISTMAS

AND A HAPPY AND HEALTHY NEW YEAR

TO YOU ALL!!!



Don't worry - I'll be back in the New Year with more Wonderings from the (rather less) Warped Woman.

Wine boxes and duvets

I got to wondering after my last entry, if there are so many ways to empty a wine box, then how many ways are there to change a duvet cover? I used to be one of those who held on to the duvet corners and cover corners and stood up with my arms held high above my head and (hopefully) the cover would drop down over me and the duvet in one easy action. The problem with this is that if you have rubbish balance, you usually fall over in the process, the cover and the duvet both conspire to roll you into some kind of knot and then you end up in a major panic ‘cos you can’t find a way out. So, unsurprisingly I gave up doing it that way….

These days I am much more sensible, although unless I remember to shut the bedroom door, I get a lot of cat related help. Bugalugs in particular (no, I keep telling you, that’s one of the cats, not hubby!) loves freshly ironed sheets and as soon as a fresh sheet goes on he’s on the bed rolling over and over as if to say “you didn’t iron it properly mum – look at me, I’ll help!”. I do love him, but fresh, furry sheets are not really the thing, are they?

When it comes to changing the duvet cover he is even more helpful, wriggling inside the cover then getting a good grip on the corner of the duvet as it goes into the cover. Now, once he has that grip, he calls his sister and then she will get in there with him. That’s it, one of them under the duvet and one on top, both inside the cover – it’s usually at this point that they forget that they are supposed to be helping and they start to squabble over which of them wants which bit of duvet and a minor scuffle ensues. Now this usually involves trying to turn the duvet into some kind of a sausage shape that they can hide inside and swipe at each other …and me, if I am fiendish enough to want to get them out!

At this point, I usually give up, go downstairs, pour myself a very stiff drink (or at least a glass out of the aforementioned box) and then rattle the cat crunchy box. As soon as they arrive I try and rush out the room before they notice and get the door shut really quick so that I can go back to un-knotting the duvet in peace – something that will take another 45 minutes…

I don’t know, and people ask me what I do all day….

Wine boxes – empty or not?

We often have a wine box on the go in this house – I often like a glass and it saves me being forced into drinking a whole bottle in one go (of course apart from when the BUF is here – its almost compulsory then!).

Well, the FNG^*1 was here and the conversation turned to wine (I don’t know how… how does alcohol ever get into a conversation?) and the subject of wine boxes came up. I mentioned that there was a glass left in ours and then another one once I had worked my magic to get the last glass out. This involves doing a kind of mouth to mouth thing to the valve and blowing into the box. You then open the cardboard top and as you turn the tap you squeeze the bag – the extra air pressure forces out the last few drops. I call this my ‘blowing up the bag’ trick and it works every time!

Now I thought the FNG would be horrified that I was so impolite (mind he knows me so he’d hardly be shocked) but he went on to tell me that he too has a trick for emptying the bag. It’s not quite so uncouth as my version (and probably a lot more manly) – as he just opens the top of the box, takes the bag out and cuts the corner off with a pair of scissors – boring but effective!

I have since discovered that many of my friends (even the ones who have enough money that they don’t need to be grubbing around for the last glass in the box) have their own tricks for getting it out. I sometimes wonder why we all bother though – it’s the last glass, it’s the oldest and it usually doesn’t actually taste that great!

^*1Friday night guy

The mystery of food groups

Since I travel a bit with big groups of people I get the chance to look at lots of peoples eating habits (some more disgusting than others) and it never ceases to amaze me at they way people eat.

For myself, I eat quite normally I think, but I always save my favourite mouthful for last – and I never eat the last few chips (french fries) on my plate. ^*1. Hubby always puts a bit of everything on his fork – not for him eating all his peas first (or whatever)! The VNSO does exactly that though , he eats in food groups - but I have a sneaky feeling that he too saves the best for last. Someone else I know just shovels everything in until they get hamster cheeks and then if whatever food they have stored in their hamster pouches turns out to be bony, then they just do the old spittoon thing with the stuff that’s indigestible (Yew!)!

In addition to that you have all the stuff that we do, or don’t eat – the stuff we like and dislike. For myself, there are probably more foods that I won’t eat because I dislike the texture than those that I dislike the taste. EO is the same (but worse than me) as she doesn’t like grainy food, squeaky food or rubbery food. Hey, I’m with her on the rubbery – oh yes, and I can’t abide jelly – fine with ice cream, but on meat? Ack!

Isn’t it all very weird?

^*1I blame my mother for this, always telling me that I couldn’t get up from the table until I had cleared my plate even if I hated it. She also used the ‘think of all the starving children in India’ thing on me and I was forever telling her to ‘pack it up in a box and send it to them’…I was precocious, even as a 5 year old!

Selective hearing I guess…

We were in bed recently and hubby was apologising for not doing something that I hadn’t asked him to do (how bizarre is that?) and I mentioned that I hadn’t asked him to do it.

“Ah” he said “but I want to help you – I don’t think I do enough to help” …

…which anyone who has followed this blog from the early days will know is patently not the case.

“But I didn’t ask you to do it” I said “So that’s fine – if I’d have wanted you to do it I would have asked and then if you hadn’t done it I’d then have had reason to complain”

“You never complain” said he…

…which again is patently not the case……

I’m guessing here that he doesn’t realise that I complain all the time, its just that once a man has been married for more than 5 years his hearing starts to go (but only in a very selective kind of way^*1 as mention of food, alcohol and hobbies all elicit a response^*2) – so how would he know whether I complain or not?

^*1 like any time I am talking?
^*2 actually, spending money also elicits a response, just not the same kind…(OJ - dear!)!

Groaning, moaning and complaining…

So, last weekend, PTV and HLW and YS^*1 came down to stay and we all went to a car rally special stage which took place inside the Millenium Stadium in Cardiff. It was a pretty good evening all in all and I think everyone enjoyed themselves – lots of smoke and the occasional car running into the (plastic) barriers – you can’t complain at that.

For me, the only thing that marred the evening was a (not so) small child who was sat up on the back of the seat behind – his parents decided to leave before us and as he tried to get up to go, he slid down off the back of the seat extending both feet straight out in front of him. Whomp! Straight in the middle of my back! My first thought was ‘OMG, what if he bent my rod, I’ll be stuck in this position’ before I decided that really no great harm had been done apart from a bit of soreness. He, in typical uncouth youth fashion didn’t even stop to say sorry or to see if I was alright. Anyway, without wishing to sound too crabby about how I felt about his (complete lack of) manners, I just hope he gets acne when he reaches his teenage year, that’s all I can say!!

Anyway, I woke up the next day stiff (expected after so long on one seat) but mostly OK. By Monday I was feeling a bit bruised. By Monday night I couldn’t lean back against a hard chair I was feeling so tender and on Tuesday I took an hour to get out of bed. Wednesday I was getting grumpy as it wasn’t improving and Thursday I felt like I was getting there…. Today I am still sore but its now liveable with so…..

…I shall add that to the list of things I have discovered you shouldn’t do with a rod in your back^*2 like:

• Fall backwards out of your wheelchair at speed.
• Sit over the rear axle of a vehicle on a road with pot holes.
• Endure more than 1 hour of turbulence in an aircraft
• Get kicked in the back with both feet by a ten year old

…now they never told me those things in the hospital along with no white water rafting and no roller coasters – I must remember to enlighten them!

^*1Youngest son ^*3
*2 An expression commonly heard by my close friends which goes “You try doing that with a rod up you’re a*se!”
^*3 They also have ES (Eldest son), who has left home (see PTV’s blog) and MD (middle daughter) who is a star in her own right.

The perils of not reading the packet

I saw DG last week and she was asking my advice on how to tie a toga since she had been invited to a toga party. Well, my only efforts at such things have mostly been back in my student days and then only in a mad drunken moment so I wasn’t really too much help. I muttered something about wrapping a sheet around you like a towel, pinning it to your underwear (just in case!) and chucking the excess fabric up and over your shoulder so that you look delightful and Roman like – completely unruffled by your experiences of pinning, wrapping and generally getting in a knot. Anyway, DG seemed pretty happy with the response and went away muttering things like “buy a sheet” and “make sure I’ve got safety pins….”

I went home and so did she (opposite sides of the country) and then on the day of the party I received a frantic text:

“Help! Disaster! I bought a fitted sheet!”

Ah, DG, always bound to surprise and amuse you, just when you least expect it.

BTW, just in case anyone out there has found this blog because they really do want to tie a toga – this is how you do it.