Random conversations

On the way home from town today, I passed an elderly man with one of those bags on wheels struggling down the underpass. He waved at Baby Babs saying "hello little one!" and was very friendly. As I passed him he said "bye bye, you're much faster than me, I've only got one and a half legs" - I paused at this and looked back, looking for evidence of a wooden leg or something. "It's ok!" he chirped up, "the other half is cancer!". What do you say to that?! He was so jolly about it that I got away with looking suitably horrified, saying "bye then" and waved as I hurried off...

A plea from housewives all over the UK...

...to the producers of Countdown. Whoever is responsible for the fashion travestys that Carol Vorderman wears every single day - please stop it. The "dresser" must really really hate poor Carol, and since she lost all that weight, it seems to be a mission to still make her look really terrible. Every day I wince at her latest creation, and I can't find any way to contact the show directly to plea with them so I am starting a petition now. Vote for sensible middle-aged clothes for Carol Vorderman. No more white shirts, beige skirts, thick black tights, roman togas, pinafores, cowboy boots. Make her wear a uniform or something for pitys sake.

The wrong end of the stick...

...last night Miss S texted me, but I didn't see the message till I was woken up at 2am by Baby Babs. In my defence, he has been teething (now the proud owner of 2 bottom teeth) and we haven't had much sleep for about a week. And Miss S's message was rather cryptic. But in my lack of sleep addled state I read it as "we have broken up" and replied (also at 2am) with my condolences. But to my horror, she actually meant "we are getting married". Which is brilliant! But imagine it, you are really excited having just got engaged and text your friends - and they reply assuming you have split up. Miss S, I am SO sorry, I am so pleased you are finally joining the old marrieds, and when are you having a baby so Baby Babs has a friend to play with?!

Life in Essex

A snapshot of life in Essex in a single day...

(1) Yesterday Mr Tv Repair Man came over to look at Mr B's tv. He frowned and tutted and said "ooh I'll have to take it back to the workshop". Him and his loyal assistant started loading it into their unmarked white van and then it struck me. The neighbours will all think the Repo men have been round! The shame!! Mr B thinks he has been hustled and will never see his tv again...

(2) Our neighbours have just had a baby boy - yet another boy for the street. There's only one girl, poor thing. We saw the husband to talk to yesterday, he was very proud, the baby popped out in 2 and a half hours which was very decent of it really. Now I've got the hump as I'm not the newest mum on the street and the neighbours stop me to ask about them not me. Pah.

(3) We were woken up at midnight by the sound of the police breaking down the door of the flat at the corner of our road. Again. It's working out about once a month. I wish they'd either put him in jail or just go round in the daytime. Trying to imagine what he could possibly be up to is quite entertaining though. He annoys the hell out of us as he gets a cab every morning before 7 and it always beeps it's horn and wakes us up, but that really isn't a reason to get the heavy mob involved I suppose...

(4) Baby Babs did a poo so bad I had to cut his clothes off him. Nice. I did get to feel a bit like a surgeon in the ER though which was weird.

TV

Oh yes I forgot to mention, it seems my rage at adverts made our tv blow up. Oops. It is Mr B's pride and joy (flat screen, 42" - this is like porn to him!) and now it hangs on the wall looking blankly but accusingly at me. It's weird how your eyes are still drawn to it, even Baby Babs lies on the floor staring at it. Me and BB were watching the Glastonbury highlights at the time (trying to educate him young) which Mr B takes as a big factor in the tv's demise...we had watched the Who which can't be that bad, I'd fast-forwarded Corinne Bailey-Rae, and The View had just come on so make your own judgments...

It's July so here come the terrorists...

...here we go again. They started a bit earlier this year. It is really scary, weirdly even more so now I don't go into London everyday anymore. It makes me more paranoid about my friends and family who do. But the news is typically sensationalist, giving airtime to random "eye witnesses" to rant freely. One hysterical interview I saw (I know, it shouldn't have been funny) was after the first car was found in Haymarket. The news had this extremely camp man practically jumping up and down with rage exclaiming "they tried to blow up Tiger Tiger!!! How could they?! It would be a travesty!!". Now to me, having to actually go to Tiger Tiger would be a terrible terrible experience. But this bloke was talking about it like it was The Best Nightclub In The World (tm) when it clearly isn't. If it hadn't been proved to be scary terrorists I could happily have believed it was a disgruntled partygoer who would rather drive a car into it than pay to go in.

Adverts

One thing that drives me mad now I have more time to watch the tv (albeit while wrestling a small wriggling thing, doing housework, trying to eat etc...) is the adverts. When I am Prime Minister (or Ruler of the Universe) I am going to make it the law that ad makers are strapped to a chair and made to watch their oh so clever creations at least 50 times straight. If they still have their sanity then the ad can be released. My pet hate at the moment is the AA advert, where lots of AA men sing "You've got AA (sic) friend" - it's really pissing me off. But this is probably because the AA wanted to charge me just shy of one thousand pounds for a year's insurance/breakdown cover!! How much?! I would want a hundred AA men to turn up everytime I broke down for that money and I'd probably keep taking the spark plugs out just to call them out and get my moneys worth. Damn them. Oh and don't get me started on the stupid washing powder ad where a stupid woman decides to go out to dinner in her stupid bloke's white shirt, as you do.