Tuesday, 7 June 2011

I am Old Father William

I have made the third of my unscheduled house moves today. Totally ill-prepared as ever, I eventually walked out and left Nina and Robert, the cleaner and her husband, who is now the decorator too, to get on with it. 15 years of scooter crashes and exploding baby cups of Ribena and dog fights has taken their toll on my kitchen and it being repainted at last. And I have moved into a hut in the garden. It has a bed and a desk and chair and two blankets. It also has a woodburner, and an amplifier, but no wifi and a mountain of used matches and sweetie wrappers. This is usually where Boy 17 hangs out, but tough love. He is away at school, Darling is cycling to Paris and I need a base camp.

I had intended to move into Pointless Central. PC is a house we rented back in February when I abandoned ship and jumped overboard last January. For the two weeks after I left I stayed with a friend in London (until her potty mouthed parrot attacked me viciously as I was trying to creep past it to the bathroom, wearing just a towel), and North Africa, courtesy of a friend of a friend. Anyway today was the day to move back into PC, but I just couldn't. Whilst PC is modern, comfortable, fully equipped and beautifully located, the memories of feeling utterly pointless and directionless are still too raw. And the overwhelming whiff of room scenting twig things is too evocative. I'm being wet I know, and after a month of living in a hut with no toilet or catering facilities, I may cave in, but for the moment it's a stand off.

More on the parrot and what it called me, it its bizarre Irish accent, before it flew at me physically, another day. That must be the reason she is named Bertha, after the first Mrs Rochester. The Irish accent is something Charlotte Bronte should have thought of, really.

Now. All this chaos has been neatly put down to my insanity, of which I make no secret. Had I been born in Victorian times, I would certainly be in Bedlam by now. Waking up in the night and running out into the garden stark naked and utterly terrified would, I suspect, have been generally frowned upon. It wasn't exactly given a standing ovation here either, but I didn't get banged up for it. However, a friend (actually it's the same one all along) has recently suggested that I am in fact presenting with all the symptoms of the menopause. I have been to my GP on several different occasions and, complained of anxiety (eff all), joint pains (x-ray), night sweats (fa), depression (would you like to go on a waiting list to see a counsellor?), menstrual irregularities (fa) sexual dysfunction (hard luck) etc etc etc. I tick all the boxes and am spot on the right ruddy age. 51 for non smokers, rather earlier for idiots like me. And I suppose I really am rather old now. Boy 17 used to try and pick me up, from almost the moment he could stand. He succeeded when he was about 12. He doesn't any more.

Clearly we are both older and less playful now.

6 comments:

  1. Didn't Mrs Thingy in "The Crimson Petal" end up shivering in the garden? More Romola Garai say I!

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  2. Never read the book! Getting out of the habit of PROPER reading, if it ain't byte size fuggedaboutdit!

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  3. Shit - this has just reminded me I promised you the contact details of my friend in Stroud for progesterone bliss! I skyped her, but obviously she never looks at her skype, as I haven't heard a dicky bird (although the nightingales still sing heartily all night long); I'll facebook her daughter - I can't bear the thought of using the telephone when I haven't spoken to her for over 4 years. God I'm a wimp.

    Lovely blog, as always. I'm glad you're making use of your shepherd's hut. About time too. And count your blessings. Getting your kitchen decorated - what a luxury! I'm still saving to get my kitchen installed...4 years later. Still, I'm selling houses like billio so earning my keep, but my god, it's hard work, and the domestics just go out the window, even more than usual! Oh well, must get on - lots of work to do and I want to get to bed before 3am as I've been up since 5.45 running around like a blue arsed fly all day and taking stress off my buyers and vendors. On the bright side it does seem to keep the menopause at bay! Lots of love, keep writing and I'll get back to you about Diane xxxx

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