digital detox

Hands up those of you who have some sort of online persona, OK plenty of hands up I see.  Right well how many of you have had this alias created and maintained by your husband? Ah…just me then.

A few months ago I introduced the Twitter application to my beloved not thinking he would be the slightest bit interested but oh how wrong I was.  Since that fateful evening I seem to have lost a part of him somewhere in the ether that I fear I may never get back. For want of a better word, he’s ADDICTED.  In some ways I’m really glad that he’s ‘hip’ and ‘bang on trend’ as those young folk say, but in another way I feel a little sad that most mornings and every evening is consumed by him tweeting and twittering about a load of old cobblers. 

I have to give it to him though, he’s only been on the site for 4 months and already he has 1,500 dedicated followers – an achievement not to be scoffed at! But it seems these days the only way I can get a brew out of him is to tweet the beast! 

So as I was saying about my newly acquired identity, dare I share it? ‘Tits Magoo’.  Oh the shame.  I’m going to say I don’t know why he has given me this nickname to save me from any further embarrassment; but I’m sure you can work it out for yourself!  And so now, on a regular basis his disciples get their routine updates about the life and times of Tits Magoo.  ‘Tits Magoo is doing this….’  ‘Tit’s Magoo is doing that…’ and when he’s not tweeting about me he’s declaring war on all those who wear 'Crocs'. Poor sods. In fact, he once created frenzy with the R.S.P.C.A when he threatened to shoot a duck after it turned its nose (well, beak) up at our Jacobs crackers!

Several months ago I met with a chap at a networking event (now a very good colleague of mine) where we talked about the prospects of a digital detox.  At first I was quite shocked.  A digital detox in this day and age! How would we cope? But after recent events I think I’d quite welcome it.  I’m not deluded, I know I am being completely contradictory here but I see this blog as my weekly therapy session more than anything else. 

Perhaps you think I may be jealous!?  And in a way I am, because all those lovely people who are following my fella seem to be getting the best of him yet, I’m left with a burnt out husk of a man with repetitive strain injury of the thumbs.

So how are you going to tackle this conundrum I hear you shout – in true feminine style my friends, I’ll go shopping!

Hugs and kisses

Miss Piggy x

jinxed

They say money goes to those with money. I think the same applies with luck.  After a dramatic end to last week I was determined to stay cool, calm and relaxed but it seemed that Lady Luck had other plans for me…

Like most women with children, I try to be a good mum. Library visits, countryside walks and trips to the park but what do I get for all my trouble? Kicked in the face - literally.  To be fair the week had started off quite well despite a little work-related stress, but as every one knows ‘All work and no play'...makes me and my little ‘un a pair of miserable farts so this Thursday we went swimming. All was going swimmingly (no pun intended) until 10 minutes before we were due to leave when she said ‘Mummy watch this’ and before I knew it her tiny, bony foot had made full contact with the bridge of my nose.  I didn’t even see it coming; I just saw the floating lights as I cupped my hands over my face.  Within seconds the pool looked like a scene from Jaws and quickly transformed into a scene from E.T as life guards appeared from nowhere, whistles were blown and the pool was on ‘lockdown’.  Despite the immediate (and excruciating) pain I was more upset for my baby girl.  When she saw the blood she was devastated at hurting her poor old Mum. 

The next day felt like I’d been smacked in the face by Mike Tyson and my head was pounding. How I didn’t end up with two black-eyes I’ll never know! I desperately wanted a ‘Quite day in the office’ (if there is such a thing) but my hopes were shattered as I was broached by a colleague en route to my desk.  As we chatted I signalled with a head nod that I needed to stop to fasten my shoe.  Raising my leg onto the step my trouser leg split from the crotch down to the knee on my left leg.  OMG!  I couldn’t stop myself – I let out an almighty shriek which I immediately regretted as it brought additional unwanted attention.  My workmate saw the enormous rip which revealed more flesh than i care to mention and howled with laughter. 
Between the fits of giddiness she managed to wrap my poncho around the back of my legs as I grabbed it from the front.  Together we hobbled to her office, circumnavigating the onlookers, with the promise of reinforced thread and a needle.  It was a humiliating scene; sat in her room in a most unattractive skin coloured thong I preceded to stitch the trouser leg under a canopy of cackling laughter.  I’d like to say this was the most embarrassing day of my life but looking back there has been worse as I’m sure you can imagine…

To rub salt into the wound my husband and I went out Saturday night round Manchester.  Only in the third pub, I had as they say, ‘Broke the seal’ and needed yet another wee.  Stood at the hand-dryer I was eyeing up the novelty ‘Toys’ for sale in the vending machine.  Not wanting to be too adventurous to early I opted for a ‘Wind-up Willy’ at the bargain price of £2. After several attempts at putting in the coins and having them slide back down to me (I should have seen that as a sign!) they eventually stayed in the machine.  Apparently all I had to do was ‘pull the drawer’.  I was pulling for Queen and country but the bugger didn’t move.  I know it was only two quid and I probably should have just walked away and forgot about it but I was the principle of it – the beast had taken my money and I wanted my goods!  So off I marched to see the Landlady to explain how I’d lost my money in that vending machine…all was well with a refund.

I know what you’re thinking ‘She must be making this stuff up’ – I promise you I am not.  It’s always been the same, there is always some disaster lurking in the shadows to strike at any moment.  And would you believe it - my neighbours have foolishly left their fish with us whilst they are away…need I say anymore.

Hugs and kisses

Miss Piggy x

just one of those days

The alarm was ringing in my head like a bad case of tinnitus, I felt this god awful mood sweep over me and I just knew it was going to be one of those days. Mornings in our house are like organised chaos and the only form of communication between the three of us are pre-historic grunts.

I swear I’ve given birth to a turtle. I’ve never known a child be so slow at dressing herself. I don’t know about you but I’m pretty sure that 50 minutes to put on 5 items of clothing is a little excessive! It’s the same thing every day…“Honey put your sock on… (10 minutes later…) OK now put the other one on” In fact my husband and I have come to the conclusion that she is to get ready for school on the landing where she can concentrate solely on dressing herself without the distraction of Edward Cullen peering down at her from the Twilight poster. Saying that, I’m no better myself – I’m forever leggin’ it into the car half dressed, make-up bag in hand and of course this morning was no different.

When I heard my husband revving the car engine impatiently I ran into the dressing room, chucked on the latest addition to my shoe collection; black and white, heeled, lace up brogues and took to the stairs two at a time. I was totally amazed that I had made it down in one piece. But it seems that I had spoken too soon - as I went to step out the front door I went flying head first having stood on one of my unfastened laces. In sheer frustration I grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut. HOLY SHIT BALLS! The feeling of dread came over me faster than an orgasm. The keys were still in the door – on the inside!! True to his drama queen roots my husband shot out the car and was rattling the handle in record time and in a moment of surrealism I watched him crouch on his knees, head in hands. And so begins crappy day # (I’ve lost count!)

I’d like to say that the journey to work was a pleasant one, but it wasn’t. My attempt not to look like Coco the clown in my application of make-up en route to work was failing miserably. As I was trying to apply a delicate layer of ‘SHOCKING BLACK’ liquid eyeliner to my eyelid we hit what felt like a crater in the road and the result was more like Alice Cooper in a monsoon. Having nothing to remove the tenacious substance I was left with no option but to try and transform this already hideous look into something more acceptable for the work place and so went from Goth to Jezebel in 0.8 seconds. Why do I bother?

At some point during the day my other half had managed to acquire a length of ‘bendy’ wire. (I really loved that in our hour of need there were so many people willing to help us even if it was just with a suggestion. Who said community spirit was dead?!) So when we arrived home after picking up the little one, out came the wire. Held together with a double layer of cello-tape my other half was desperately struggling to remove it and in my bid to help his frustration (and have him wipe his snotty nose) I rushed over with the car key as a solution to breaking the seal. In my enthusiasm I slice the key rapidly down the clear tape and somehow into my index finger nail ripping it back, down to the flesh. My eyes watered as I watched the watery red fluid drip to the floor. Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

After 15 minutes of hooking, pulling, unhooking and re-hooking I could see we were getting no where. In absolute irritation and weariness I watched as my fella’ raised his leg and kicked out hard at the door and to both our surprise, the door gives quite easy. (This was probably due to the fact that 6 weeks before we moved in to our ‘Casa Bella’ the previous tenant hung himself – but that’s for another blog…) So just another few kicks and two busted locks later, we were in. I dread to think what the neighbours thought.

An hour round trip to the local D.I.Y saw us 50 quid lighter and upon our return my husband wasted no time in hacking the door to pieces to fit the new locks. One lock down and one to go only added insult to injury as the last lock didn’t fit, of course it wouldn’t, why would it? That would be too easy. So, not only did we waste £25 but we also got to sleep with one eye open for free! I’m not good with the dark (my husband will confirm) so any strange noises over the next few nights may result in GBH of his back…with my nails. Sleep tight all you lovely, safe people.

Hugs and kisses

Miss Piggy x

it's payback time...

We’ve all seen the advert – slim, sleek and totally mesmerising.  You’d be forgiven for thinking I’m talking about a woman here but I am, in fact, talking about a phone!  I’ve never been a ‘techno junkie’ but as time goes on  I am finding that these shiny and incredible gadgets are making my eyebrows raise just a little…So when I saw the commercial for the new; all singing, all dancing Samsung Galaxy Note I think it’s fair to say my mouth was watering.  Despite already owning a smart phone that was just 12 months old I wanted this mobile more than anything in the world and at all costs.  Reading this back, thinking about the dilemma that followed - the phone was and is NOT worth it.

Having contacted my provider and being told that my upgrade was not due for another 12 months my mind raced…how was I going to get this phone?  There was no way I could pay for it outright at a whopping £600, so it had to be some form of monthly payment.  So to cut a long story short I committed the cardinal sin of purchasing an additional contract.  I don’t care to recall how many arguments this caused and yes I know that this is a silly thing to do just for a bloody phone.

There was light at the end of the tunnel, or so I thought.  I sold my previous phone back to the provider for the tidy sum of £100 and made a promise that this money was going to one side to help pay for the monthly bills so naturally I was on the high street, green in hand, faster than a turd down a ‘U’ bend!  New handbag, new shoes and two bobby-dazzling fake tan mitts later I had serious buyer’s remorse.

To return the old mobile I had to restore it to its factory settings and so before sending it back, thinking I was being ‘tech savvy’ I transferred all my contacts and files onto an external hard drive.  When it came to relocating them, at the click of a button, I thought it was done. Good times.  All the music files went across nice and bonnie, but wait, where are the contacts?  No contacts.  It would seem that I am not that ‘tech savvy’ after all.  But no worries, I have a back up – it’s called an address book.  I know, who has an address book these days, but I was grateful for this small mercy.  Onto the pictures, approximately 3,500 images; Daisy’s baby pictures, wedding photo’s, parties, holidays and nights out, all my favourite memories securely bundled together with a big digital bow.   They say a Librarians job is being interrupted, never a truer word said.  After dealing with several matters in the work place, returning to my desk it appears my files have transferred smoothly and the remaining files can be deleted…‘ARE YOU SURE YOU WISH TO DELETE THESE FILES?’…DELETE…

I know you know what’s coming.  The files did NOT transfer smoothly, in fact they didn’t transfer at all and almost 7 years of blood, sweat and tears were evaporated into the ether. Perhaps a woman’s multi-tasking abilities are over estimated (on occasions!).  Is this ‘God paying me back’ for being a selfish, spoilt brat? It sure feels that way. Bad times.

Having had the phone now for over a week I do think it is ‘totes amaze balls’, or so my daughter tells me, I can’t get a look-in. But it’s certainly not been worth losing all those pictorial records of my baby growing up or my marriage blossoming.  The moral of the story I suppose (unfortunately the old ones are the best) is don’t put all your eggs in one basket and one for all you 21^st Century folk, back up and back up the back up!

Hugs and kisses

Miss Piggy x