I hate the bank holidays! There once was a time when they were known as a BONK holiday in my life. Now they're just an extended shitty weekend with two Sundays. If I had any family to speak of, or a job that demanded all my time, I'm sure I'd be jumping for joy at the prospect of one. I have neither so can't stand them, just another gap at the end of a week in which all routine and boundaries are non exsistant.
This weekend however I found my doing as others do, making plans, trying to look forward to it etc. It started with an impromptu BBQ on the Friday which goes against all I believe in. I cannot commit which means everything I do is last minute.com but then I hate not being organised. I'm a walking talking contradiction making my own life a fucking misery. Now the idea of a BBQ is all very nice except I don't want any guests and I don't want to do the cooking. See my problem? Well apply that to every aspect of my life and you'll get an idea of what I'm dealing with. My eldest always says I need to loosen up, easy to say when you're the one sat with your feet up swigging your cider watching me run between three BBQ's trying to get one bastard coal to turn white. It took 3 hours to cook any food and even then I tossed it all on a tray in the oven. I must say the three guests I had were all very understanding saying how it didn't matter and there was no rush. If your sat on your fat arse lashing back the alcohol whilst some other Jo does all the hard work I can see their point! I could feel myself getting all Reggie Kray (or Ronnie, which one was madder?), wanting to push their faces onto the hot mesh surface of the BBQ. Would have been pointless though as there was not enough heat to even muster a blister.
The next day after my failed BBQ (I would qualify being ravenous and wanting to badly burn all guests as a failure), I went to a music festival that was being held in my city. It will be alright i said, I'm taking the kids, all good. I bought the tickets in the morning after a, do I, don't I frenzy in true non committal fashion. Surprisingly enough the printer worked and I had no need to kick the shit out of it after turning it on and off, reinstalling it 25 times as it took 8 hours from my life I would never get back. An iphone took this recently as I tried to reset it to factory settings, 8 hours, that's a whole working day. Apple owe me a days salary the dicks, and the phone never reset.
After arriving at festival I spent the first 30 minutes in a state of high anxiety. Why was there so many people all ambling about in different directions! I realised pretty soon that I wasn't going to beat them so I may as well join them. Straight to the packed bar I headed after marking my territory with a huge blanket to sit on. Gin and tonic as dictated by Slimming World was not going to cut it today. I was not queueing for 20 mins for a small amount of liquid I would consume before I got to sit back down. Instead I opted for Cider, a pint of, which after having made it back to my marked territory through what I would describe as a human banger race, my 10 yr old promptly kicked over. In fact the words 'You fucking idiot!' rang across the mayhem momentarily silencing the mania surrounding me. After a few hours of trying to pretend I was sorry and chilled and it wasn't her fault I had the kids collected from the main gate and I headed straight back to the bar demanding a Jager Bomb (I think that's what it is, except I ask if can just have the Jager as the bomb keeps me up all night and we can't have that can we).
Can I just make a suggestion to all festival organisers. Can we have family toilets and wreck head toilets. This is nothing to do with hygiene and not wanting my precious children's bottoms contaminated by the soiled seats. This is strictly a time thing, I want to pee and get out, so did the kids. Yes I'm a saddo I timed myself 50 seconds, that's all 50 seconds. Now when you're stuck in ques behind wreck heads taking 3-4 minutes it can get fucking frustrating. Quite frankly if you haven't mastered the art of getting your shit (I mean narcotics not pooh) sorted in under 2 minutes then you are not seasoned enough to be doing it at a festival! Do it in your own time, at home in your own toilet until you're up to speed to go public so to speak! I must say though with the sedative help of the alcohol the rest of the festival went by without a hitch ending in my falling onto the last bus home and trying to portray soberness. I didn't do to badly, when turning a not so sharp corner, at a low speed, a girl fell of her chair and rolled across the floor like an empty can before three other passengers helped her back on her seat. Not me though, I just gnawed the poor cows ears off as I got off at the same stop and saw it as my motherly duty to make sure she got home safe. Think I'll be giving that road a swerve for a while. Shoot me now!
The Sunday and Monday were spent pretending that I was just another normal person enjoying the break and the weather. Walking to the local pub for a Sunday roast and having a hair of dog. Who am I kidding, the gravy was shite and the drink just kicked off the underlying hangover anxiety. I just wanted to lay in bed, curtains closed, one leg out the quilt coz it's fucking sweltering outside but I need my comfort blanket over me lessening my venerability. I May even have called my ex to hold on to like a deranged out of sorts limpet that needs some creature comforts. Only by the next day I've straightened out, all my sweaty bedding full of bad hangover memories needs washing, and the ex is a wanker! Thank God its Tuesday, now you don't hear that very often.
Back soon, Mave
P.S I swear the progesterone side to my HRT sends me psycho, to be discussed!
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