And goodbye to 2020
So, Dear Reader, here we are rapidly approaching 2021. Thank fuck 2020 is nearly done.
I’m not really a very Christmassy person, some rather mean people have likened me to the Grinch, which I do think is slightly undeserved.
I’m not into all the tinsel and glitter, but I do love the family coming round, and buying presents for people is just the very best!
As we have established earlier in these blogs, my children have decided that as I am elderly and vulnerable I need a support bubble.
My support bubble consists of SPB & Lady W, although I am yet to ascertain whether this is for my benefit or theirs?
Definitely theirs since you spend the GDP of a small nation in TK Max buying them ‘stuff’.
This visit Special Precious Boy and Lady Wycombeee were being joined by my Lovely Niece (hereafter known as LN) she is living with SPB & LW currently as she is between homes. It’s a long time since I saw Lovely Niece and I was beyond excited to spend some time with her again.
I had made huge efforts to have the house just perfect for Christmas, there were two twinkly trees up (Lady W does love a Christmas tree, mine aren't a patch on Colin their Christmas tree, but hey I gave it a go!)
Your trees did include peacock feathers and purple and orange baubles so it came very close.
True although the baubles were 'Liberty Colours' not the garish explosion in a paint factory you seem to be describing here
Prezzies were all bought and indeed wrapped - a job all but the insane despise! The food shopping was complete, a goose the size of Mount Vesuvius was hulking in the freezer, and Amphyctionis was completely stocked, with much fizz and yummy wine. All was in readiness.
Pip sent me a photo of the the fully stocked Amphy-ma-thingy and it was extremely impressively stocked.
Not so any more.
A couple of days before they descended I had retired to bed somewhat the worse for wear having slurped a JD too many. Dude was snoring on the foot of the bed, I slipped into an alcohol induced sleep.
As anyone of a certain age knows getting through the night without getting up for a wee is impossible, so duly, my body awakened me at 4am, Dog still snoring at the bottom of the bed, I eased myself gently out from underneath the cosy warm duvet, bemoaning age, menopause, sore legs, etc and tottered in my enfeebled state off to the bathroom, and sploshed into 2 inches of water......
My first thought was,
‘FUCK!’, my second and third thoughts in quick succession were also ‘FUCK!!!!’
If you’d have been twenty years younger I’d have suggested some kind of mysterious pregnancy that you hadn’t realised was upon you and your waters had broken.
Even 20 years ago that would have been impossible - I drew a nice permanent black line under childbearing after producing SPB
I located the torrent of water gushing from beneath the washbasin and ran down 2 flights of stairs (why the fuck do I have two flights of stairs?) to turn the stop cock off (I’m heartily impressed you know where the stop cock is as I wouldn’t have a clue and would be building an ark by now.)
As I dashed past the sitting room I realise there was a tsunami of water flowing through the ceiling.
‘FUCK!’ I thought inventively.
I finally reached the kitchen slightly out of breath with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, only to find that I was standing in 2 inches of water.
‘CHRIST!’ (Makes a change from FUCK) I am internally screaming to myself by this point.
I splosh across the kitchen floor - quietly thanking God or whom ever for tiled floors and turf everything out of my neatly arranged cupboard under the sink to turn the stoop cock off. I emerge from underneath the cupboard under the sink and watch the water slowly stop running through the light fittings.
‘FUCK!’ I think again and hurriedly turn the lights off, find a candle and light it, simultaneously realising that I am wearing only my slippers and that the dog is giving me judgy looks.
I toddle back upstairs to locate clothing and give the dog a bollocking for not telling me that there was something wrong. I mean call himself a dog, a squirrel on a fence sends him into a frenzy but water gushing through the house in the middle of the night - perfectly acceptable.
Duly clothed, I proceed to assess the damage to the sitting room and decide that I should liberate some of the very expensive brand new cushions that I have just purchased, grabbing a few I dump them in the bath to drain and go back for a second load, muttering under my breath, as I grab the last few I hear an ominous creaking noise, and innocently wonder what that is, as clearly things can’t get any worse.
Reader I was so very wrong, with a creaking thwump of epic proportions, the ceiling completely collapsed, narrowly missing burying me under a vast amount of very soggy plasterboard.
At this point the only option seemed to be bursting into tears and phoning an adultier adult aka Mother.
'Hello.' Ma shouted down the phone - she is lovely and not in any way aggressive but she does tend to treat the phone as an enemy.
'Ma' I waver through tears.
'My ceiling has collapsed.'
In between directing me to calm down and breathe into a paper bag, Ma managed to piece together what had happened,
'Right we are on our way.' She yelled down the phone. See adultier adulting!
By the time they have arrived I had calmed down, messaged the plumber (calling at 5am would have been rude) called the insurance company (shout out to Direct Line here - so far they have been awesome) and sent photos of the devastation to anyone I think might be interested.
Including me. I was interested and made the right kind of supportive noises. All credit to my Ever Patient Husband who said he lived too far away to be of any help.
I made coffees, with Brandy as we were all a bit shaky - then took them upstairs to look at the mess. Pops at this point admitted that he was expecting a small piece of ceiling to be hanging off, this is what he saw.
The devastation of the living room - an event on a biblical scale that will result in a sofa Pip actually likes (SPB chose the last one).
Yes there is no ceiling.
He has promised never to assume again that I am over reacting!
Like most people I think these days, me and the Kids have a WhatsApp group, into which I had thoughtfully added a pic of the fucked up sitting room. Various concerned calls ensued -
Beautiful Daughter and Incredible Grandson Face Timed to check I was ok. I was - sort of. Giant Husband offered sympathy and advice - he is nothing if not practical. For some reason they all found it funny that I was running around the house whilst water was pouring through 2 ceilings in just my slippers shouting 'FUCK' alot...Although I console myself with the fact that IG was only laughing to join in.
When SPB called and I bemoaned the loss of the sitting room and sniffed wimpishly about Christmas being ruined he said to me,
'Mama, we are coming to see you not the sitting room, Amphyctionis is full (very important) the house is warm, there is food, we will have an awesome time. The sitting room doesn't matter.'
He was right it didn't matter, we relocated to the conservatory, which was snug, bought a new telly - which to my surprise gives me all sorts of channels without being attached to anything as out of date as an aerial and had an outstanding Christmas involving many games of 'switch' - a strange and very confusing card game during which Lady W cheats outrageously, Cards against Humanity, a very very rude game at which LN excels, various cocktails as made by SPB, lots of laughing and many hugs both in person and virtual.
I remain filled with Christmas spirit. Oh, and whoever sent me the tin jukebox with a large bottle of JD in it. Thank you - whoever you are!
It wasn’t me, I sent you the organic artisan smelly stuff to help you relax in the bath, although in hindsight, a water based gift was a bit tasteless.
Only Slightly Bec, Only Slightly.
The plumbing in this blog was bought to you by EMS - Rach and Lee - they deserve a medal and are my very favorite people! Thanks guys!