Sunday 8th December 2024
It’s that jingle bell time of year again, but not in the quasi mansion. Bad temper vibes trumped any potential festive chimes yesterday. Why? Storm Darragh bowled in and fucked up all our plans. The men folk had planned on going sailing with Mike and Leo, and I had a charity park run lined up. All cancelled because of the adverse weather. We were stuck indoors getting on each other’s tits. Dick and I ended up having a ridiculous row, after I grumbled about the run being cancelled, saying a bit of wind and rain wouldn’t have put me off, and I didn’t see why it couldn’t have just gone ahead. He snapped my balls off, saying I was fucking obsessed with running. I snapped back, saying he need talk about obsessions, as he had more than a few of his own. At least my run was in a good cause, which is more than could be said for him, flapping sails with the crew of HMS Kink.
Shane stepped in when things showed signs of getting really overheated, bellowing a cease and desist order that set the chandeliers jangling. We were reminded that both events would be rescheduled, and we needed to be fucking grown up about it. Dick was sent to his studio, and I was told to find something constructive to do, or he’d find something for me.
I know Dick was looking forward to having a day out with Shane, and one that didn’t involve me. I can’t say it doesn’t sting a bit, cos it does, but I get it. Dick isn’t just a Daddy, he’s a boy too, and he needs his solo time with Shane.
In other news, I had another mini meltdown at the start of the week. Like the recent ear thing it was health related. I’ve had a lot of health anxiety recently.
What happened was I went over to Eileen’s on Tuesday morning to help her get her festive decs down from the loft. Afterwards, I settled down for a coffee and a bit of cake and natter, like you do. We were in the lounge, and I was sitting comfortably on the sofa when Horace put in an appearance. Usually, Horace (Eileen’s big black cat, in case you’ve forgotten) majestically ignores me. At best, he sniffs my ankles and will occasionally issue a permit that allows me to stroke his head without danger of being savaged. This time, for some reason, he jumped up on my lap, and settled down. I was so surprised, I almost choked on my coconut cake.
I love cats, all animals in fact, but Horace has never been my biggest fan. He gets jealous if Eileen gives me too much attention, and yet here he was curled up on my knee, giving out a low rumbling purr. Eileen thought it was adorable, but it proper spooked me.
But why, Gilli, I hear you ask? Surely you should have been pleased? Maybe, but I wasn’t. There are numerous stories about the feline ability to sense when a human is close to death. Horace jumping up on my lap so unexpectedly seemed like a portent. Maybe he’d sensed something was about to happen? The BIG fizz, the one there was no coming back from. I tried to laugh it off, making jokes to Eileen, but the truth is I was terrified.
Horace is a standard, if large, black moggy, and yeah, he can be scary sometimes, but in that heart stopping moment, when he jumped on my knee, he morphed from domestic moggy into something more sinister, like Jólakötturinn, the evil black cat from Icelandic folklore, a feline harbinger of doom, especially around Christmastime.
Horace didn’t want to move either, not once he’d made himself comfy. Eileen had to lift him off, and he didn’t seem chuffed about it.
Home again, trying to go about my day, I was dogged with a terrible sense of impending doom, as I often am before a brain episode hits. However, my seizure monitor told me that my vitals were fine, and I knew, on a rational level, that the feeling was due to superstitious tension and nothing more. Still, the feeling persisted, and then the headache started, which made the sense of doom loom larger than ever.
I decided to call Dick for a reassuring chat, but he was with a client and couldn’t talk, so I did something I seldom do. I called Shane on some silly pretext of asking what he fancied for dinner.
Shane, being Shane, wasn’t fooled, and cut straight to the chase. “What’s going on, Gilli? I’m busy. What have you done that can’t wait until this evening?”
His sharp impatience acted like a dash of cold water and brought me to my senses. I got on my high horse, whose name is embarrassment, and told him I was giving him gruel for dinner and not to fucking complain about it, seeing as he wouldn’t tell me what he really wanted. I ended the call.
He came home from work a bit earlier than usual, probably because of the call. I tried to be cool and aloof, but it didn’t pan out. The moment I clapped eyes on him, I broke down, blurting that Horace had marked me for death.
Exhorting Holy Christ to give him strength, he barked at me to get a fucking grip and explain myself, or he’d wring my neck. To be fair, he did put his arms around me, giving me a rough cuddle that combined annoyance with resigned sympathy. I explained about Horace, and why it upset me. He brusquely dismissed it as silly superstition. Horace had no ability to predict death. He was a cat, not a soothsayer. My anxiety was the problem, nothing else. There was nothing wrong with me that commonsense wouldn’t cure.
His no nonsense manner was what I needed. I got a grip. The headache vanished, along with the sense of doom, and I got on with putting the evening meal together. Dick came home, providing some gentler reassurance, which helped dispel any lingering anxiety.
Eileen reckons the Horace thing was just his way of letting me know he’s finally accepted I’m no threat, and he trusts me. So far, the lap leaping hasn’t been repeated. I’m not sure whether to be glad or sad.
Anyway, getting back to Dick. Last night, in a burst of selfless generosity, I suggested him and Shane book in for a day of indoor rock climbing, just the two of them. It’s like an outdoor activity, but inside, where the weather doesn’t matter. It’s something we all enjoy doing. Leo got us into it when he gifted Shane an experience voucher for his birthday earlier this year. Dick is superb, not least because his bondage experience gives him a bit of an edge when it comes to ropes and suspension, etc, not that he brags about all that at the centre we use, and of course he keeps his clothes on.
Dick liked the idea, and so did Shane, so off they went this morning for a day of couple time without baby in tow. I didn’t mind. It scored me some brownie points from both of them. I also took the opportunity to do a spot of Christmas decorating without Shane complaining about glitter infestation. I haven’t got a tree yet, but it’s on order and scheduled to arrive on Tuesday.
Well, that’s enough chuntering from me. They’ll be home soon, so better set the table ready for dinner. I’ve made a chicken curry and need to cook some rice to go with it.
It’s that jingle bell time of year again, but not in the quasi mansion. Bad temper vibes trumped any potential festive chimes yesterday. Why? Storm Darragh bowled in and fucked up all our plans. The men folk had planned on going sailing with Mike and Leo, and I had a charity park run lined up. All cancelled because of the adverse weather. We were stuck indoors getting on each other’s tits. Dick and I ended up having a ridiculous row, after I grumbled about the run being cancelled, saying a bit of wind and rain wouldn’t have put me off, and I didn’t see why it couldn’t have just gone ahead. He snapped my balls off, saying I was fucking obsessed with running. I snapped back, saying he need talk about obsessions, as he had more than a few of his own. At least my run was in a good cause, which is more than could be said for him, flapping sails with the crew of HMS Kink.
Shane stepped in when things showed signs of getting really overheated, bellowing a cease and desist order that set the chandeliers jangling. We were reminded that both events would be rescheduled, and we needed to be fucking grown up about it. Dick was sent to his studio, and I was told to find something constructive to do, or he’d find something for me.
I know Dick was looking forward to having a day out with Shane, and one that didn’t involve me. I can’t say it doesn’t sting a bit, cos it does, but I get it. Dick isn’t just a Daddy, he’s a boy too, and he needs his solo time with Shane.
In other news, I had another mini meltdown at the start of the week. Like the recent ear thing it was health related. I’ve had a lot of health anxiety recently.
What happened was I went over to Eileen’s on Tuesday morning to help her get her festive decs down from the loft. Afterwards, I settled down for a coffee and a bit of cake and natter, like you do. We were in the lounge, and I was sitting comfortably on the sofa when Horace put in an appearance. Usually, Horace (Eileen’s big black cat, in case you’ve forgotten) majestically ignores me. At best, he sniffs my ankles and will occasionally issue a permit that allows me to stroke his head without danger of being savaged. This time, for some reason, he jumped up on my lap, and settled down. I was so surprised, I almost choked on my coconut cake.
I love cats, all animals in fact, but Horace has never been my biggest fan. He gets jealous if Eileen gives me too much attention, and yet here he was curled up on my knee, giving out a low rumbling purr. Eileen thought it was adorable, but it proper spooked me.
But why, Gilli, I hear you ask? Surely you should have been pleased? Maybe, but I wasn’t. There are numerous stories about the feline ability to sense when a human is close to death. Horace jumping up on my lap so unexpectedly seemed like a portent. Maybe he’d sensed something was about to happen? The BIG fizz, the one there was no coming back from. I tried to laugh it off, making jokes to Eileen, but the truth is I was terrified.
Horace is a standard, if large, black moggy, and yeah, he can be scary sometimes, but in that heart stopping moment, when he jumped on my knee, he morphed from domestic moggy into something more sinister, like Jólakötturinn, the evil black cat from Icelandic folklore, a feline harbinger of doom, especially around Christmastime.
Horace didn’t want to move either, not once he’d made himself comfy. Eileen had to lift him off, and he didn’t seem chuffed about it.
Home again, trying to go about my day, I was dogged with a terrible sense of impending doom, as I often am before a brain episode hits. However, my seizure monitor told me that my vitals were fine, and I knew, on a rational level, that the feeling was due to superstitious tension and nothing more. Still, the feeling persisted, and then the headache started, which made the sense of doom loom larger than ever.
I decided to call Dick for a reassuring chat, but he was with a client and couldn’t talk, so I did something I seldom do. I called Shane on some silly pretext of asking what he fancied for dinner.
Shane, being Shane, wasn’t fooled, and cut straight to the chase. “What’s going on, Gilli? I’m busy. What have you done that can’t wait until this evening?”
His sharp impatience acted like a dash of cold water and brought me to my senses. I got on my high horse, whose name is embarrassment, and told him I was giving him gruel for dinner and not to fucking complain about it, seeing as he wouldn’t tell me what he really wanted. I ended the call.
He came home from work a bit earlier than usual, probably because of the call. I tried to be cool and aloof, but it didn’t pan out. The moment I clapped eyes on him, I broke down, blurting that Horace had marked me for death.
Exhorting Holy Christ to give him strength, he barked at me to get a fucking grip and explain myself, or he’d wring my neck. To be fair, he did put his arms around me, giving me a rough cuddle that combined annoyance with resigned sympathy. I explained about Horace, and why it upset me. He brusquely dismissed it as silly superstition. Horace had no ability to predict death. He was a cat, not a soothsayer. My anxiety was the problem, nothing else. There was nothing wrong with me that commonsense wouldn’t cure.
His no nonsense manner was what I needed. I got a grip. The headache vanished, along with the sense of doom, and I got on with putting the evening meal together. Dick came home, providing some gentler reassurance, which helped dispel any lingering anxiety.
Eileen reckons the Horace thing was just his way of letting me know he’s finally accepted I’m no threat, and he trusts me. So far, the lap leaping hasn’t been repeated. I’m not sure whether to be glad or sad.
Anyway, getting back to Dick. Last night, in a burst of selfless generosity, I suggested him and Shane book in for a day of indoor rock climbing, just the two of them. It’s like an outdoor activity, but inside, where the weather doesn’t matter. It’s something we all enjoy doing. Leo got us into it when he gifted Shane an experience voucher for his birthday earlier this year. Dick is superb, not least because his bondage experience gives him a bit of an edge when it comes to ropes and suspension, etc, not that he brags about all that at the centre we use, and of course he keeps his clothes on.
Dick liked the idea, and so did Shane, so off they went this morning for a day of couple time without baby in tow. I didn’t mind. It scored me some brownie points from both of them. I also took the opportunity to do a spot of Christmas decorating without Shane complaining about glitter infestation. I haven’t got a tree yet, but it’s on order and scheduled to arrive on Tuesday.
Well, that’s enough chuntering from me. They’ll be home soon, so better set the table ready for dinner. I’ve made a chicken curry and need to cook some rice to go with it.
Ciao for now, peeps. Stay safe.
Saturday 14th December 2024
What is it about December? One minute it’s quiet and the next there’s so much stuff to do that the calendar is glowing redder than Satan’s arse after a vindaloo. Penny and the muppet landed yesterday for a long weekend visit. (Picture me breathing into a brown paper bag.) There are staff parties to organise, assorted houseguests to accommodate, but thankfully no Jakob the ex-vegan Norwegian. He caused fucking mayhem last year. He’s staying in the land of the fjords, or at least I hope he is. If he turns up unannounced, I swear I’ll turn Kevin McCallister and drop paint cans on his head. We’re spending Christmas with Dick’s family this year. Not my first choice, but I get that he wants to be with his parents while he can. They’re not getting any younger, but then who is.
So anyway, before the chaos completely overwhelms me, I thought I’d drop in to wish you all the best of the season, and to deliver my Christmas card. I’m also delivering a little bonus. I hope it is anyway. It might be a fucking imposition on my part, and if so, I apologise to anyone who might be offended. Being offended is very much the default setting of everyone on earth at the moment, or maybe I exaggerate? I don’t know. Opening your gob and saying anything these days is fraught with tension. I’ve lost track of where I was going now. Oh yes. Christmas card. Click below.
Ciao for now, and Merry Christmas, or whatever you celebrate. X
Click Here for Christmas Card. (Rushes off breathlessly)
What is it about December? One minute it’s quiet and the next there’s so much stuff to do that the calendar is glowing redder than Satan’s arse after a vindaloo. Penny and the muppet landed yesterday for a long weekend visit. (Picture me breathing into a brown paper bag.) There are staff parties to organise, assorted houseguests to accommodate, but thankfully no Jakob the ex-vegan Norwegian. He caused fucking mayhem last year. He’s staying in the land of the fjords, or at least I hope he is. If he turns up unannounced, I swear I’ll turn Kevin McCallister and drop paint cans on his head. We’re spending Christmas with Dick’s family this year. Not my first choice, but I get that he wants to be with his parents while he can. They’re not getting any younger, but then who is.
So anyway, before the chaos completely overwhelms me, I thought I’d drop in to wish you all the best of the season, and to deliver my Christmas card. I’m also delivering a little bonus. I hope it is anyway. It might be a fucking imposition on my part, and if so, I apologise to anyone who might be offended. Being offended is very much the default setting of everyone on earth at the moment, or maybe I exaggerate? I don’t know. Opening your gob and saying anything these days is fraught with tension. I’ve lost track of where I was going now. Oh yes. Christmas card. Click below.
Ciao for now, and Merry Christmas, or whatever you celebrate. X
Click Here for Christmas Card. (Rushes off breathlessly)