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So, I thought I'd follow the epilator advice properly. A bit like when you have your first child and you sterilise *everything* and make sure every blanket/piece of clothing is pristine. Dummy has been on the floor? OMG! Bin it - it has *germs*! Of course, by the second child a run under the hot tap is sufficient, fuck the blankets, a coat will do and you mutter things like 'a few germs didn't do me any harm' as you're wiping their face with a bit of tissue you've spit on. The advice said have a hot bath first. Presumably to open the pores. It also said your skin should be clean and oil free. Check. I started on the left leg. Piece of piss I thought to myself (Cait says I said it outloud) as I merrily ripped hairs from their sockets. This doesn't hurt at all, bunch of bloody wusses, etc etc. Of course, this took about 20 minutes to go from gorilla to hair free. Then I started on the right leg. Fuck me. Note to self - when not fresh out of a hot bath and leg is slightly colder it stings like a *bitch*. And then 2" of swearing into the right leg, the fucking battery ran out. But not to worry I thought - it's rechargeable so it'll run while it's plugged in like a mobile phone does. Um, no it doesn't. So I'm sat here with a distinctly lumpy but hair free left leg (have applied aloe, fingers crossed) and a right leg that has about 15 hairs missing and that's about it. Next time I'm having a tramadol first. Tags: day-to-day
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Right, part two of what I did on my holidays :) Where was I? Oh yes, Victoria. The train station is infinitely nicer than the coach station. We eventually found the right train with help from the general public (as opposed to the staff, who were shite), changed at Gatwick and got to where we were going at 3pm. Not bad at all. ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) blaadyblah conveniently lives within a very short walking distance of a train station (not quite as near as branynos does, but there's not much in it), so were were sat on her front door step by about 3.10. blaadyblah, Madam and Nat (WINOLJ) got there about 5 minutes later :) Cait entertianed us for that 5 minutes by vowing she was going to live there when she was older because 'it's so nice - there's not even dog shit on the pavements!'. It was all a bit of a whoosh after that - one new face, one face that has grown up a lot since I last saw her and a familiar face I haven't seen in far too long. We had a lovely weekend. We went out and did stuff, we stayed in and did stuff too. Most importantly we had the chance to sit and catchup (it really has been far too long). gashinryu turned up a couple of times too, so that was cool :) I even met the elusive Grace! I haven't done the weekend justice at all. One of the reasons is it's all a bit of a blur and also because I'm wilting like a daff with no water here. Don't know why - possibly Asda and my heating needs turning down. Coming home was uninteresting and uneventful. We got back in the house at about 10pm (which isn't bad, considering we didn't get on the first bit of transport 'til about 2pm and we had an hour to kill in the coach station. What I mostly remember is the Luke who was looking forward to a weekend without us had turned into a Luke who wouldn't put his sister down because he'd missed us that much (he was waiting for us when we got off the bus in Manc). It's not often he's appreciative, so that was nice :) I can't recall much that has happened since then. I've been to work and I've slept. That's about it. I'm sure I've done other stuff too (the washing basket isn't overflowing and there are clean pots), but nothing that I can recall properly. Did I mention I've gone back to 8/9 hour days at work? That'd explain it :) Right, I need to come round a bit so I'll go and eat and open all the windows. ttfn
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I am *loving* my friends page today! I haven't seen this much activity since M&S featured the melt in the middle chocolate pudding in it's first advert. However, there is considerably less shoving this time. The whinging bastards should suggest a boycott more often :D I have been to Asda. It made Rollerball look tame. Luckily I had both Jus (for the muscle and aisle blocking size) and Cait (for her crowd shifting abilities*) with me, so we were able to stealth shop and get everything I needed (except tissues, which I forgot) in under 40 minutes. Roast beef and Yorkshire Pudding it is :) And in a moment I'm going to go and support my local economy by getting bread, milk, tissues and fags from our corner shop. Although technically Asda is also our local economy because everyone who works there lives in Astley Bridge, like wot I do, including Caroline-formerly-of-next-door, her sister, her mother and a handful of Jus's cousins. Talking of Caroline, we're going out tomorrow night to celebrate my new hall ceiling. And Caroline's (and my) friend, little Bev's (who can be seen on Facebook, as can Caroline) mum's 50th birthday. The party will be at the local Irish club (which is a very iffy place for me to go to, for reasons I don't really feel like sharing, but you know, Irish men...) and then town, apparently. I fully expect to be upside down by the time I stagger home and I'm just sad it's tomorrow and not today because a drunken post would make the anti boycott day complete. Ok, bread and fags run time. One last thing... Happy Birthday ella!(*See the story of how Cait makes sure no one sits near us in the cinema) Tags: day-to-day
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The epilator is still lurking in my bedroom. I keep giving it suspicious looks every now and then. Right, the point of this utterly banal post is to tell you that I need to go to Asda in the not too distant future. Mostly because we've got fuck all in except eggs. We do like eggs (Luke likes them fried or poached, Cait will only eat them boiled and I like them scrambled or poached as long as the yellows are hard because runny eggs taste of unwashed arse. No one likes omelettes.) and I know it's Easter, but there is such a thing as too much. Besides, the cats and dog won't eat eggs. And I can't blow my nose on them. I don't really do Easter, never have. Christmas sucks you in (well, when you have kids living at home - I am looking forward to xmas-free years once they are both grown and flown), but Easter is easy to avoid. I don't buy chocolate eggs, I never got them when I was a child either. Cait might get one or two from Jus's rellies, but Luke won't get any because they only sit in his bedroom until August or when Cait finds them (ie, Monday). I do buy the kids a gift (because I am not a tight mingy bastard), but it's small, a token. Possibly a dvd each, or something. I will, however, cook a traditional Sunday lunch type thing because I rarely do and Easter is a good excuse. And eggs just won't cut it. I don't know what I'm doing yet, I'll work that out when I get to Asda, but roast beef sounds good. I prefer roast pork, but Jus can't eat it because it makes him sick and he's coming for tea on Sunday. Besides, beef is easier - bung it in the slow cooker on Saturday night and forget about it :) Proper gravy, yorkshire pudding, omnomnomnom. I may even cook a dessert! Or buy icecream. Whatever. Talking of dessert, my rhubarb plant has just started to appear again. I thin it's tripled in size since I planted it - this will be it's third year in this location (and about it's 80-somethingth year since my great grandmother planted it originally). I'd take a photo, but my camera is dead. Hang on - phone camera! ( Rhubarb and also a photo of my grandma that I didn't know was on my phone )Right, that'll do for now. ttfn Tags: day-to-day, images
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Right, taking a break from what I did on my holidays, I'd like to talk about leg hair and the removal of. I have been told, in the past, that by shaving my legs I am subscribing to the patriarchal notion of, um, something or other. And it's very anti-feminist. Allegedly. To this I say bollocks. And also don't fucking tell me what I can and can't do to be a good feminist because that's oppression and, well, d'uh. I am a dark haired person, with gorilla somewhere in my genetic make up. Now, if you want to be a hairy person, go for your life because I don't care. What I do care about is itching like a bastard when I have hairy legs. I don't wear skirts and no one ever sees my legs but me, so it's not for the aesthetic value, it's a comfort thing. I don't wax, mainly because I'd be incompetent at it myself (I can't even take a plaster off in less than half an hour and with much whimpering) and I refuse to pay someone else to do it because that's a luxury I can't afford. Very occasionally I'll wet shave them, but life's too short to have baths (I'm a shower girl) and they end up looking like they've been in a knife fight if I don't soak them for at least half an hour. ETAI forgot the chemical method - namely Immac, Veet, etc. I have tried all of these and they don't work. I have superstrong needs-a-flame-thrower-to-shift hair apparently.So normally I use an electric shaver. I like my electric shaver - I paid a fortune for it some years ago and it's never let me down. However, electric shaving is a daily event and I'm bone idle, so today the Avon lady turned up with an epilator. I have never epilated before. Apparently it hurts. We shall see. Currently it's in my bedroom charging and later on I'll will brave it because lots of women before me have said 'it doesn't hurt *that* much'. I shall report later. In other news, and I don't supposed you want to know this, but I'm going to tell you anyway, I also shave my armpits. I have a good reason for this, well two really. One, deoderant is less messy with clean shaven pits. Secondly I have deviant armpits. One grows, one doesn't. I have no idea why. I don't shave my armpits because I'm a bad feminist - I do it so that I don't look like I'm a dizzy bitch who has forgotten to do one. I also pluck my eyebrows. This is because I don't like the unibrow look. I'll bet you're thrilled with that info. All I can say is you're lucky I don't ever wear bikinis. Tags: day-to-day
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Hello LJ world! The posting marathon has got off to a slightly shakey start down to me not waking up 'til 11.30, but not to worry, I'm sure I'll catch up. First off we'll have a 'what I did on my holidays' post, which I should have done earlier in the week, but didn't due to non-stop work since I got back. So, last Friday we were all up at the crack of a sparrow's fart (5.30am) to do last minute packing, etc. Jus, blessim, turned up at 6-ish to give us a lift to the station. He would have given us a lift to Manchester, but Luke was with us and there's only two spare seats in the van, so we decided it was safer to only go as far as Bolton, what with Luke having to sit on the toolboxes in the back. At some point on the train to Manchester Cait asked if we were there yet. I banned her from asking again 'til 1pm (which, with hindsite, should have been 3pm, but never mind). So, Manchester. Bought a coffee at Costa (which was fucking rank, bloody amateurs) and waited at the bus stop talking to a nice lady who was on her way to see her mother in Reading. Luke left us at this point to go on to work, full of 'whay hey' at the thought of the house to himself all weekend. The bus turned up, driven by a nice Italian dude who liked Cait, but threatened to drop some bloke who was trying to scam his way onto the bus. We were sat at the front (so we could see properly to play the car registration game), so we got a good view of the whole thing. Cait was impressed as she likes a bit of impending violence. Bus set off and we amused ourselves by spotting car registrations in alphabetical order and waving at Eddie Stobart lorries. I think that lasted 'til somewhere around the midlands. Then we went to sleep for a bit. We lost our Italian dude at Watford Gap services and got the grossest replacement on the planet. For the rest of the way he picked his nose (and ate it), swore at other drivers ('you facking cant') and drank about 4 litres of coke. Every time he did something vile Cait muttered 'Oh god... OH GOD!', which amused the crap out of me. 1pm came and then we had about 45 minutes of 'Mum, are we there yet?' interspersed with 'MumcanIhavearabbit?' because it makes her laugh. We got to Victoria (which is an armpit of a bus station) around 1.45 and then went to start the next part of our adventure, called 'trying to find someone on the train station who knows which train goes to Gatwick'. Not easy. And there endeth the first part of what we did on our holidays because my Avon lady has just turned up with stuff and I want to investigate. ttfn Tags: holiday
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