February 17th 2017 – home

Well, that was a fun-packed week hence my lack of blogging.

Sunday was Little B’s third birthday party at The Local. Mr B and Miss P went all out for her birthday ‘rave’ with rainbow bunting, smoke machine, lasers and glow sticks. Sadly, Little B seemed to have been struck with ‘birthday disease’, a term I coined when the pressure and excitement of an upcoming birthday party actually fills you with dread and sadness, and she spent most of the day in tears. I totally understood having been inflicted with the condition when I was a kid.

Mr P and I ended up getting, somewhat inappropriately considering the event, pissed although I felt we deserved it as we helped to set the party up, which included blowing up many, many balloons (no mean feat as an ex-smoker) and entertaining Miss P’s great-niece, Little A, who seemed to take a shine to me.

Mrs W came round on Monday evening with a baby bump that has appeared from nowhere. She announced that she is expecting a boy and I feigned surprise despite the fact that I had seen Mr C on Saturday night who told me then. With true Mrs W paranoia, she has fixated on the size of her unborn son’s penis, saying that it was minuscule although I wouldn’t have expected much more from a twenty-week-old foetus. She immediately contacted her GP and dietitian friends asking if there was something she could eat in a bid to give him a phallic boost. When they pointed out that if this were the case, every supermarket in the country would have already run out of said product, she reluctantly resigned herself to the fact that she may give birth to a small-penised, likely ginger-haired son. Or, you know, the promise that nature would soon enough take its course.

Tuesday night was Mr P’s quiz. Unfortunately, Mr C and Miss G were on hand to spoil things. Miss G loudly announced that she ‘had got one right without any help’, this being the intro to ‘Don’t You Want Me?’ by The Human League which EVERYONE knows. She then launched into a lengthy conversation with my poor, old F-I-L about the colour of milk bottle tops and what they signified; at which point I collapsed, quite literally, onto the sofa and bemoaned where my life had taken me.

On Wednesday, I met Mrs M and Mrs S in the neighbouring village for a few drinks; sadly, Miss T couldn’t make it, but we had a nice time anyway. Mrs M said that Newquay is thriving and in an attempt to shake off its hen and stag do destination persona, a load of cool,  independent shops and bars have sprung up which made me ever more eager to get our visit down south booked. Mr S dropped us all home and I went to the F-I-L’s to welcome B-I-L and Little S. Miss P and the twins didn’t fancy making the journey this time having only been up at Christmas anyway and I fear this may become more common in the future. The F-I-L loves his grandkids and showers them with chocolate and sweets but my M-I-L was the glue who held everyone together; she would engage the kids in fun crafts and the like and had a much higher tolerance level than the F-I-L. I suppose when kids grow up, spending time at their wifi-less grandparent’s house doesn’t seem quite so appealling.

I had Thursday off work. B-I-L went to work with Mr P and F-I-L dropped Little S off at ours so he could make good use of our wifi. He’s no trouble though and I was able to pop into town and buy a David Sedaris book and a bargain, teal, River Island knit from LOROS for £3 – not my usual style I admit, but I was looking for something loose-fitting (for me) to team with my mesh, super-tight pencil skirt.

I wore the outfit for pie night that evening where we met the other B-I-L, S-I-L, Little A and Little J for pie night at the pub to mark what would’ve been M-I-L’s seventy-second birthday. We stayed on for the quiz and saw Mr and Mrs W and their adorable baby, Little G, and came a respectable second place.

And now, here we are at Friday again. I plan to blitz the house, do a workout, have a bath, paint my nails and await Mr P’s return when the weekend can finally get started.


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