Tuesday, 28 December 2010
Tuesday November 23rd 2010 - Rage Rising.
It’s just one of those beautiful, bright, blue winter skies today. Down below, we are still breathing in all the dirty smog that’s being belched out by The Big Ugly.
Last night, The Big Ugly managed to erode yet another evening with their inane loop questions, inability to tell the time, false promises and blatant lies. Hoobiz spent 4 hours and 38 minutes playing the patented, Big Ugly Multi-Media Game of ‘How long can you keep listening before you give in and shoot yourself in the head?’ Apparently he’s still winning, so The Big Ugly have given that nasty wheel of theirs another spin. Yet again Hoobiz was asked, ‘to be patient and allow 24 hours for the changes to update.’ Once more he is also instructed not to ring again, as ‘this will confuse the case and could result in a delayed resolution.’
There are few things that I despise more than repetition. Perhaps it’s a bit of a rubbish example, but I once forced myself to write ‘I hate repetition’ out 1000 times. Of course, it’s comforting to read the same passage or listen to the same track 1000 times. That’s how to rock your mind without rocking your body. Between the ages of 14 and 15, I think I probably spent more time on the loo, reading Animal Farm than, I did sleeping; but that was soothing. This vile, re-hashed nonsense only leads me to grind even further through my top teeth and into my upper jaw bone.
In summary, last night I had neither husband nor Internet, which left me with only The Rage.
I wanted to scream, but unlike The Big Ugly, I did care that The Little Perfect One would be woken up. I even felt more lardy than I did a few days ago and that is also a direct result of The Big Ugly’s Noxious Spinning Game. You see, I exercise when Hoobiz feeds and baths The Little Perfect One, but this cannot happen when The Big Ugly lays splat across our evenings like some nasty, trans-fatty, pooing leech.
The Rage and I blundered around the house all morning, without a consistent purpose, despite the fact that we needed to be in Hazlet by 1:30pm. We managed to thunder off just after 1pm, despite needing to leave by 12:15pm. The Little Perfect One, The Rage and I were heading to meet my friend Lorna and her children at ‘Crazzie Kiddles’, in Hazlet. I should probably mention that Hazlet was the epicentre of all things scary during the reign of The Seven Bitches. However, over the last 18 months it has moved almost completely from trophy outing to routine trip. No more ‘Haunted Hazlet’, or at least, not usually.
I needed to stop at Waitrose en route. I hadn’t been able to shop online and didn’t have anything healthy for lunch. Fortunately, The Little Perfect One has enough cooked meals in the freezer to last well into the middle of next year, but The Rage and I were famished. It also seemed like a healing sort of detour, as I know that there is a lot more to the world than Waitrose, but I feel safe there. OK, so people have started to call me Madam and you might get the occasionally dodgy trolley, but for the most part it’s a friendly, happy place, which offers a warm smile in every aisle. Well, perhaps it’s not as cheesy as all that, but it’s good and clean and nice. As my Aunty Jemima would say, ‘Well John Lewis, you can’t go wrong’. I’d hoped I might be able to grab a few bits for later: a quick salad to satisfy my hunger and maybe a bag of fresh gentle politeness to quieten The Rage.
The problem is that a morning of stomping has left me too short on time to be able to make this a relaxing spree. Also, everyone within a 50 mile radius of Hazlet has decided to drag their own Rages, Panics, Frustrations and most notably ‘Need to Park Really Really Badly’s’ into Waitrose. I hate parking and need to circle the car park 4 times before I can nab a space which I can actually negotiate; a car on the one side, but a space on the other.
Then, as I am struggling to carry the 24lb Little Perfect One across the 500 meters to the shops entrance, I feel The Rage Rising. Firstly, I noticed that all 4 cars in the ‘Reserved for Customers with Children’ section were being loaded and would drive away in less than a minute. Secondly, I notice that all 4 of these customers have ridiculously high-heels, but weirdly, invisible offspring. In order to prevent The Rage from blurting out something embarrassing, I decided to sing ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ loudly to The Little Perfect One. Well, of course that saved my blushes.
Once inside, I realise that my shopping list has been left in the car, as has my resolve to eat only leaves and lean protein. I grab rusks, yoghurt, bananas, sweet potatoes, butternut squash a 3 meter cheddar baguette, salt and vinegar crisps and a packet of chocolate Hobnobs. I checked my phone as I waddled back across the Car Park, 1:28pm, marvellous! I had 2 minutes to get to ‘Crazzie Kiddles’ and cram my face with processed carbohydrates.
Picking up to a sort of power- shuffle, I notice that a dirty great Land rover has been abandoned in the previously empty space next to my car. It’s practically on top of my car, so far over the line that even on a skinny day Calista Flockhart wouldn’t have been able to squeeze herself into the passenger seat. I stop, throw down my shopping bags, fling one arm in the air and shout ‘Inspired Parking!’
I don’t usually do anything like this. Not out loud and certainly not at Waitrose. My Manager said that he though becoming a Mum, ‘would do wonders for my assertiveness’. I don’t suppose he was prophesising me shouting at the sky in public place! Well, I certainly hope not.
A very ruddy, bearded bloke in a cap mumbles behind me, ‘No problem. It’s alright, I’m right there.’ I was cringing too badly to look at him, whilst I struggled frantically to get The Little Perfect One into his rear passenger seat via the driver’s side door. Poor Man! He probably came out to get some bread and restore his faith in human nature. Now, he’ll be going home with a squashed bloomer and a belief that the world has gone mad. Why hadn’t I stuck to ‘Wheels on the Bus’?
I arrived only 3 minutes late to ‘Crazzie Kiddles’, but there were plenty of suitable spaces and my friend Lorna didn’t look to have been on time either. I un-wrapped my giant, cheese bread van and started to devour it, whilst stuffing salt and vinegar Pringles into the gaps at the side of my mouth. I was just about to add a chocolate biscuit into the furious taste sensation, but before I could rip off the lid I noticed that Lorna had pulled up beside me. I discarded my picnic on the dashboard, wiped the crumby-mayonnaise from my mouth and across my nose before saying ‘Hi’. Shame I didn’t think to swallow.
Lorna, her two children, Theo and Peggy, The Little Perfect One and I all set up camp at one of the brightly coloured, plastic tables of ‘Crazzie Kiddles’. Theo, 2 and his older sister Peggy, not yet 4, (which must surely be an example of ‘Crazzie Parentiles’), are keen to descend into the neon tunnels of ‘Crazzie’ and a tired Lorna is more than delighted to let them.
I’ve known Lorna for years, but we lost contact for a lot of them and have only started to ‘be friends’ again in the last 14 months or so. She’s sweet, fun, clever and interesting, but not always delicate. Still, it shouldn’t have mattered. I mean, I should have been on my best behaviour, as in some ways Lorna is still a new friend. Unfortunately, I was still quite hungry, The Rage was growing and I just wanted to be at home with The Little Perfect One.
There were a lot of clangers, but two stick out.
Lorna said, ‘So, how you coping with the going back to work thing?’ No, please I thought don’t mention the W Thing. I’m only coping with it by pretending that it’s never going to happen.
‘Well, it is what it is.’ I said, hoping that this was a good conversation closer.
But Lorna seemed to want to reassure me further. ‘Don’t worry,’ she began, ‘it really won’t be that bad. It’s good actually, you can have a cup of coffee when you want and put it anywhere.’
I resisted the urge to sing ‘Wheels on the Bus’ and also to scream at her, ’I’m going to a fulltime job, which previously exhausted about 60 hours of my week and you pootle into a class room on a Monday afternoon and a Friday Morning.’
Instead, I almost snarl, ‘Well, I suppose I’ll find out soon enough, but right now I’m just going to enjoy my last few weeks with The Little Perfect One and not go on about it all the bloody time.’
However Lorna hadn’t finished. She asks, ‘What are you doing for childcare though? Have you got that all sorted?’
‘Round and round’, I’m singing in my head, but decide it’s best just to reel out the facts. ‘Well on Monday he’s going to be with Hoobiz’s Mum, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday with the Childminder and Friday with my Mum.’
‘Oh I expect your Mum can’t wait to have him.’ She said, beaming at me.
This was the poke the Rage wouldn’t ignore. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I am sure she is, but she certainly wouldn’t be tactless enough to say so.’ It’s rude, but it’s true. Simona adores TLPO, and he her. If I have to be at work, then there isn’t anyone other than Hoobiz that I would rather look after TLPO, but part of that is because Simona won’t make an issue of it.
At this point I carry TLPO over the barrier and into the ball pit. Lorna follows in silence. Well, a silent second or two. Which was broken by her asking, ’Have you lost weight Mrs?’
The Rage had been unleashed and instead of saying, ‘Why, thank you! Yes, I have, a little bit.’ I roar, ‘Well I should bloody well think so! I mean duh, I have had a baby after all, isn’t that what happens?’
Damn that horrible little spoilt Rage. It must have been her, as I could never be so repulsive and pointless.
I did spend the rest of the afternoon feeling pretty shitty, but mostly still furious at the world and painfully sorry for myself. Oh God! How I need a slap! Where’s that remote control?