Sorted!

If there is ever a down side to being married (other than normal quirks as I like to call them), it is being married to the husband’s family. Yep the in-laws (in the spirit of all things equal, his in-laws are great and doesn’t make for much reading). The word in-law to most people would be enough to bring on the chest pains and desperation for air, but mine really are something else.

Let me start with the immediate family. The sister - had a record attendance at school, so much so the teachers forgot who she was. She discovered men at the age 10 and to cut a long story short, was on her way to having 3 kids by different Dad’s towards the end of her teens and has given them names only bullies can dream of - they will have tough lives. Trained as a hairdresser, falls for druggies and losers and has never reached half her potential. Shame.

The Mother – bit crazy, goes from crisis to crisis, can hold down a job for about 6 months as long as it doesn’t involve working more than 16 hours a week because it can get far too stressful; would rather ask us for money as an easy way out. She’s been married many times, announced recently the next marriage (was waiting to hear whether we are paying for it!), but then that was cancelled, but nearly back on, who knows? Most romantic present she ever received from a husband – a converted ambulance to go on a caravan holiday 20 minutes down the road.

The Dad – seems reasonable enough, can’t get to find out anything about him as the most he has ever been able to speak in front of me is ‘d’ya wanna cuppa?’. At least I think that’s what he was saying – I have trouble understanding the mumbles under the moustache. I think I scare him. He’s a very quiet individual, wife speaks for him, never finishes anything he starts (in more ways than one his wife says) and generally lacks any passion for anything, oh except his roll ups.

Step family – Generally know very little about them. Been with my husband for nearly 9 years and can count on my fingers the number of times I’ve seen them. The Mum seems a nice lady, doesn’t speak much either and is always shopping so never there when we make our annual trip to Gloucestershire. She has a couple of kids from a previous marriage, in short one got a paper round, the other got banged in the US for drug smuggling. The 2 from her current marriage with Dad are good boys. Actually finished school you know and now getting jobs down the local chippy!

I actually do really appreciate my in-laws, their lives are fascinating, like something straight out of Walford. The part of Gloucestershire they live in means they are mostly inbred, don’t need to travel more than 2 miles to get everything they need, everyone knows everyone (mainly because in some way they are all related!) and the place hasn’t changed for about 200 years including the interior décor. Could seem pretty quaint and village like you may think – if it wasn’t for the invention of shell suits and cheap buggies you could be mistaken for believing it. It’s a little twilight zone!

An interesting start to the weekend, involving a Birthday celebration, a near miss on a brawl breaking out, determined prevention by a few of us ‘carers’ of what has great potential to be a future tragedy (could already be unfolding I wasn’t there the whole time!), some very honest unhindered slurred conversations over cocktails and a whole lot of cuddling and loving from what I can recall!

Well a colleague, alright boss was turning 40 ehh I mean 39, whatever, what’s 12 months?! Anyway the events started with the all important desk decoration and picture humiliation in the hope the ‘victim’ makes it to the office to see (she gives us tonnes of material!). This was followed by the gift unwrapping and further humiliation, to meeting in the bar later for yet more humiliation – though to be fair, at the bar it was more self inflicted on her part!

A few bottles and a couple of shots into the evening it is fair to say the merriment was increasing in all of us, but tradition states that the Birthday Girl should be the most plastered by the end of the evening – she didn’t let us down! With a likeness to the promiscuous ‘Flower’ in Meerkat Manor and a nickname of ‘Angry Beaver’ the two were bound to spell trouble at some point during the evening. I think it all started with the need to smoke and subsequently being kicked out of the garden and shoved outside by the road. A smoking pal who is just as mental had a close encounter with the concrete floor, coupled with a fire door being closed led to the bouncer being called a **** and Birthday Girl barred – temporarily. She was forgiven and allowed back in for round 2.

Without too much detail round 2 involved some amusing and condemning pictures on my phone of which I must erase for everyone’s well being, but I could be open to a fee on this one! Copious amounts of alcohol, my thong being flashed in front of everyone whilst a stream of admirers try and take a peek (at least I was wearing some), breasts being exposed at regular intervals (not mine), some farty putty incidents and some blurry conversations around my resignation of which I have not made and have no intention of making. Following this blog however I expect there will be no need for any resignations as my P45 will be cheerfully hand delivered to my desk on Wednesday!

Round 3 involved finally leaving the Cocktail bar to embark on a stumbling tour of St Albans without first forgetting that having to walk past the bouncers meant it was another opportunity to have a go – something about the fire door, husband being able to handle himself (whatever that meant, some things best left unsaid), chief officer or something and then direct abuse hurled at the bouncer about him having a very small dick and he can’t get it up!! Incredibly amusing but totally random. I was by this point pretty drunk myself and couldn’t help laughing, but Jeeess leave the poor guy alone!! Won’t ever be going back there!

Round 4 was the walk to the next bar – bit like the green mile actually. The fresh air must have hit Birthday Girl and after using all her energy abusing the bouncers, the walk had a calming affect on the ‘boisterous bully of the cocktail bar’ fame. Instead the Angry Beaver part of her faded, (the Flower part was still very much alive!) and she became this really sweet, incredibly vulnerable, good natured little cherub that you just needed to hug, flash a smile at, listen to, care for and become a sensible guide to. Being a guide was essential to prevent her from almost being run over, arrested by the police and tripping tits up, again! Bit like the role reversal in Absoutely Fabulous, I felt like the sensible daughter trying to look out for the crazy intoxicated mother to ensure she didn’t do anything stupid or that she would seriously regret when sober. All part of the service I feel – or a favour owed for when it’s my turn!

Round 5 – dodging police, avoiding stationary crowds, steering Birthday Girl around obstacles and desperately trying to avoid bouncers for fear the ‘Beaver’ could make an untimely and unpredictable return, meant we had successfully found the queue to the next bar. A moment of terror entered my head when some girls in front of us wearing just a hair band around their waists were standing there. Sensing the ‘Beaver’ could see this and indeed did, she couldn’t resist the urge to say something. It could have been enough to start another fight, but fortunately, I don’t think they heard and we were allowed in. Phew, we made it; let’s just get her a drink, give her a fag, stick her outside, prop her up against the wall and she’ll be fine!

Round 6 – for me things go a little bit blurry from here on in, though I have a good memory even when totally shit faced so the main details I do remember. It went something like this: more conversations around my resignation (I AM NOT RESIGNING!!!!!) though I am starting to think perhaps I need to take a hint? Not me we need to be worried about is it?! A lengthy recording on my voicemail where a colleague managed to accidentally call me and so I have the whole verse of the above (and more) unfolding. A tragic conversational trip to the toilet and when navigating the way out with Birthday Girl I managed to direct her into a store room of some description – kind of wishing I had locked her in! A lot of cuddling and emotional exchanges occurred, Saffron from Ab Fab (me) and her friend were desperately trying to prevent a ‘situation’ from occurring that could and no doubt will have terrible repercussions. A run in with a fellow smoker claiming he didn’t have a light yet was holding one and the abuse and threatening behaviour towards another colleague when my drink was empty and I wanted another one, were just a few of the highlights!

All in all it is was an eventful evening! Some of the finer details will remain untold and need to remain untold. Birthday Girl allegedly ended up in a taxi home, got there safely and in one piece I’m told, though was a close call on more than one occasion. I can’t wait for the real BIG ONE next year – the riot police will be notified and on standby!

Life happens. The last few months I have been more emotionally up and down than I have been for years – well since my last job anyway. I have been ecstatically happy, noisy (attributed to being happy – otherwise quiet), cheeky, playful and generally having a laugh. I have been sad, annoying to others, not listened to and frustrated, quicker to react and incredibly lonely – all at the same time.

Today is a classic example of one of those days – got to work to a load of jobs to keep me busy, went to a funeral, attended a course hippies would be proud of, ate in a restaurant with the poorest service I have ever seen and faced a ride home with the monster from hell who thought today was a good day to ensure I experienced every possible emotion by stirring my rage!

So getting to the significant things of the day – the backspace on my office keyboard has stopped working! I think my boss sabotaged it. More importantly though I had the funeral of my great uncle. Such a shame, really lovely guy, heart of gold and will be a great loss. I have so many fond memories as a kid spending my summers with him, causing havoc, teasing his dogs, drawing on the carpet and being a little pain in the arse generally. No real change there. Incredibly sad, also went to my grand parents grave in the same cemetery and took them some lovely flowers. I shed a few tears, said goodbye to my Mum and Dad then back to the office.

Training course – well it could cure my insomnia as I learnt the art of meditation and self hypnosis. If I had remembered to put flowers in my hair this morning and got stoned before getting into the office I may have fitted in better! I now know what I want from my life, what is really important to me, what I need to do to get there and if all else fails I can hypnotise myself to go to sleep and forget all about it!

The restaurant – we were served by the grumpiest, most arrogant monotone Neanderthal I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. He puts the teenager ‘Kevin’ to shame; dragging his knuckles on the floor, mumbling and couldn’t for the life of him crack a smile nor be polite. Yes I would love you to bang my drink on the table, I would love you take hours to deliver my meal, I would love you to look like death especially after the day I have had and more than anything I would love you to ask when you bring the bill whether we would like to add a tip onto the card – are you having a laugh?!! Sorry blokey but if you hate serving customers that much, get another career…plenty of other McJobs out there!

Then came the ride home – I am normally pretty calm as you can well assume reading this and I do it by internalising my emotions, well I reckon anyway. Some days I just live the being vocal value more than others! My husband is one of the very few people that really knows me, so of course receiving such excellent service in a restaurant is something he knows I will have a little trouble tolerating. Being the little sod that he is, it is perfect ammo to stir me up when all I need is a bit of silence! What better way though than to listen to an irritating song really loudly, whilst he beeps in my ear, ruffles my hair, squeezes my leg, takes the piss at how angry I am getting then drives like an idiot making me even angrier at his lack of consideration to the human life and more so my car!! But, remembering today’s training course: “I am aware of the noise”, “I am thinking positive thoughts”, “I am aware of the noise”... now “sleep”!

3 weeks left and finally I get to put my feet up for the first time in, ooh 4 months. Yeah OK, but it has been a tough 4 months and I reckon I deserve this holiday.

I expect the normal will happen, we get to the airport far too early because my parents convince us it’s the right thing to do - what if there is a sudden closure of all major routes to the airport, what if there is only one person on check in and you’re late, what if you get lost even though you’ve been there a thousand times, what if, what if, what if?

So we get to the airport, with absolutely nothing to do for 3 hours. I’m not good when I have nothing to do. Boredom is a killer for me. Actually my husband more so as I become really rather annoying in the desperate attempt to amuse myself at his expense. I have about 30 minutes of doing nothing before the terror sets in so it is vital we think of something to do very quickly for the sanity of everyone around us. The slightest irritant from someone will start me off – I have very little tolerance of other people when in transit from one country to another.

Well what better thing to do than to have a totally overpriced breakfast from the award winning crappiest restaurants in Britain designed especially for your comfort when you are stressed and going on holiday. Silver service eat your heart out, you can’t beat being served by a spotty teen still learning to write who 2 minutes earlier you saw picking his nose. This is what makes the experience so classy. When your breakfast is finally delivered 45 minutes later, you could quite reasonably ask the question of where on the plate the food is and toy with the idea of whether it was actually eaten on it’s way to your table, especially since the waiter is chewing – oh no, hold on, that’s chewing gum. This is such a cool place.

If I manage to get out of the restaurant without having an argument with the manager it is normally a bonus. That killed an hour though so what now. Some retail therapy may be in order. With 10 shops to choose from and a husband in tow it’s not easy to convince yourself you are interested in what they sell so as you can look at every item to pass the time. In fact, on average I probably spend about 2 minutes in each shop before bored and leaving for the next one. This would be OK if it was a huge shopping mall but very quickly all shops would have been visited and all my husband wants to do is sit down and read his flipping book. What about me, I need another 2 hours of mental stimulation or your life will depend on it. Tempers will be flaring – is that what you want? By this point he is already engrossed in his book and has not listened to a word I have said. Oh my God, my anger metre is really creeping up.

Alright so I sit down and try to remain calm, attempt to read a book which after 3 sentences is more than enough and I can’t focus. I now use this opportunity for people watching which I love! When there are no more interesting people to look at and the families I was watching have boarded for Ibiza, the interest disappears. Now I’ll see if I can prompt an argument to get some dialogue going. Bless him all he wants is a quiet life, but more importantly I am bored, and therefore need attention. He takes the bait, but is always so incredibly calm that arguments never really take off. My anger metre now pretty high, we walk to the gate.

Boarding the plane is one major source of irritation for me and with my anger and boredom at their very limits, anything could now be enough for me to burst. Such as people that are insistent on bringing their worldly possessions on holiday that they can’t cope without for 2 weeks, and then bring them in a massive bag into the cabin and block the isle for ages whilst they dig around for the one thing they want at the bottom before taking up the whole overhead locker with their junk. You then have the kid that sits behind you whose irresponsible parents think it is endearing to see it kick the back of your chair for the entire journey - adorable. You have the guy in the next isle that snores badly, or the person in front of you with a fascination for the back rest, the person that has to stand up and strut down the isle for the entire flight and get in everyone’s way, the time you want to sleep and are bothered every 15 minutes by the sound of the trolley going backwards and forwards. Then there is the turbulence – WE ARE ALL GONNA DIE !!!

I am not the best traveller as you can see, my nerves are shattered, my boredom is more noticeable, my stress levels increase, I become argumentative, people annoy the hell out of me during this time and to cap it all, I hate flying and generally have an over active imagination. It is a 10 hour white knuckle ride and I am the only one in the plane who really believes that at any moment it can take a nose dive and spin violently out of control… If you can take one word of advice from me though it would be this: ensuring your back rest is in the upright position (that is 1 inch straighter than when it is not upright), can be an absolute life saver should the plane truly plummet 35,000 feet to earth. The safety video also indicates this!!

Like most men, my husband has a remote control radar which enables him to instantly find the one TV channel in many hundreds displaying any kind of female nudity, which he does with great enthusiasm. Bikini sessions and beach volleyball being favourites or what he calls ‘educational and interesting’ as part of his sales spiel as to why he should be allowed to watch them. Whilst doing his usual and highly irritating channel hopping I was suddenly faced head on with 2 giant unflattering boobs whist a narrator spoke candidly about all the different shapes, sizes, perkiness etc of women’s breasts - no age discrimination in this programme, though to an extent I would have been less disturbed if they had.

Whilst I sat there having just eaten I couldn’t help but be taken in by this never ending display of ‘assets’. It seriously made me believe that seeing my dinner for the 2nd time would actually be far more appealing and prettier to look at. Now I know you cannot expect everyone to look the same, to look after themselves the same nor to have Mr Gravity treat them all equally, but seriously why would you get your bits out on TV when you look like you have a pair of giant flaps hanging down to your waist, that with no word of a lie you could actually tie in a knot.

I really am very appreciative of the human body, more so the male anatomy actually but in support of my husbands affection for all things ‘titty’ I tried to have a look. I spent most of the time in shock or naivety probably about how awful you could look naked if you are one of the unlucky ones. I am certainly no oil painting and pity everyone who has ever or will ever see me minus clothing, but if I looked like some of these women I will not be hesitant about paying for a full LA body lift, botox or lipo suction. One of the clear signs I think for getting older is the whole crinkly cleavage situation which quite frankly would be better safely tucked away. I’m all for feeling sexy and good about yourself no matter what, growing old gracefully if you choose and not caring what other people think (which is a great thing), just as long as there has been a little consideration for others first, for I may be in the same situation in years to come I am sure!

After grappling and grovelling for the remote to gain back MY control, I used my very own ‘remote radar’ to track down something hunky and good looking… Brad Pitt was much better. Husband quietly sloped off to bed!