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Tweet of the Day

After twenty two years of getting up at 6:50, raising various children from their beds and receiving a series of grunts and complaints and ushering them through the process of breakfast, school bags and getting them out of the door on time or dropping them off at the school gates, I now have my mornings back! Yes, I can now wake up, lie in bed for an additional ten minutes, contemplating the universe and the unicorns before I fully awake ready for the day.


Sometimes, I receive a cup of tea in bed from Ever Patient Husband, although I do have to say ‘cup of tea, cup of tea, cup of tea’ repeatedly before he gets the hint. Occasionally, I resort to removing the duvet cover from him and physically kicking him out of the bed to get my precious tea. It’s fun and one of those couple things that keeps our relationship alive.


It was one such morning where I didn’t have to be anywhere too early and neither did EPH. Youngest Daughter was her usual organised self and was fully ready for school without me and so I was staring out of our bedroom window wistfully wondering why my Facebook ads weren’t producing the desired results and cursing Mark Zuckerberg when Radio 4 in all its glory, starting playing a noise from nature.


We quite often catch ‘Tweet of the Day’ a small slot during which different bird song is played and a minor celebrity comments upon it. EPH, being the amateur ornithologist that he is, keenly pricks up his ears and listens intently, usually identifying the bird within seconds and I find myself at the end of a smug grin and his own commentary on the bird complete with weather forecast, wind direction and other shite I pretend to be listening to. It’s another couple thing that keeps our marriage alive.


On this occasion, EPH’s ears were on high alert as he listened to the chirruping noises emanating from the radio. “Hmmm“ he mused as he attempted to place the noise of this particular bird. I was still staring out of the window, wondering when I’d be able to afford to buy a luxury villa in Italy when the radio presenter said “that was the sound of dolphins in the bay of.....”



The sound of a dolphin, broadly similar to a sparrow



EPH and I exchanged looks and fell about laughing. The incident of the “newt” slash “leaf” in the pond sprang to mind and yet again his David Attenborough credentials were brought into question.


The dolphin birdsong incident made me feel so much better during the week in which EPH suggested that my work consisted of ‘faffing about on the computer’. At least I can spot the difference between a fucking dolphin and a bird.


Pip discussed her foibles last week and I spent a week wondering what mine were. Being practically perfect in everyway, just like Mary Poppins, it was quite hard for me to find something, but then one evening as I lit my candle to put on the living room window sill, I realised that I did have at least one foible.


Each evening, I light a candle to give our living room a warm glow as I sit and knit and watch something vaguely amusing on Netflix. I use those extra long kitchen matches to light the candle and then put the spent matches back in the box. It seems to be such a waste to throw the match away as only a tiny bit has been burnt.


Once I’ve used all the matches, I then use them again, lighting them from our gas cooker in order to light my candle.


A totally harmless, useless foible that isn’t worth mentioning, except in the context of lighting a barbeque.


As you all know, the domain of our barbecue lies squarely with EPH. He has a penis, so this is compulsory in most households. My role in the barbecue scenario is to provide salad, set the table and moral support in the form a encouraging words about how delicious the charred offerings are that appear on my plate.


”Do we have any matches?” EPH wonders.


”No, we’ve run out. But you can do what I do and use the spent matches to light the candle and then take the candle and more spent matches up to the barbecue and light it that way.” I realise this is quite a tortuous way of lighting a barbecue, but saving dolphins is high on my agenda these days so recycling matches seems reasonable.


He completely ignored me and proceeded to light a spent match from the gas cooker and wander up to the end of our large garden desperately shielding the lit match from the breeze.


It went out.


I stood at the kitchen chopping board silently preparing salad. Keeping my mouth firmly shut.


EPH returned to the cooker, selected another spent match, lit it and then wandered up the garden again.


It went out. Again.


I focused on the salad.


He did this four times.


He finally appeared at the patio doors, “where’s the candle?”



I was innocently searching Google for a candle photo and came across this one. WHO? WHO on earth buys this kind of candle? Is there one for “this smells like my bottom” or “this smells like my penis”. Really. The world has gone quite mad.


”In the living room. Darling.” Was what I replied out loud. What I actually said in my head was,


“In the living room you knob who thinks he knows better when it comes to all things fire related because you have a penis and I couldn’t possibly know about fire related matters because I have a vagina and a womb and earn a living faffing about on a computer rather than making actual things which of course we all know is much more important because you do that.”


Eldest Daughter has stopped reading my blog because she says it upsets her, she said to me,


“You should say these things that you feel mum. It’s no good staying quiet when you get frustrated like this.”


It’s quite sweet really as she’s lived with her Ridiculously Handsome Boyfriend for a whole year. EPH and I have been together for fourteen years now. If either of us said what we actually feel at moments like this, we’d have thrown in the towel a long time ago.


I find writing a blog and venting my irritations is just another way we keep our marriage alive.

Bring on the dolphin song.

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