I was talking to my lovely girlfriend Prenders about swearing the other day. I was complaining that the Brits were quite frankly CRAP at it. We only manage one word per insult and most of them begin with B, F ,C or W. How boring. I love how other nations swear.
The Irish are masters. They don't bother with our pale and uninteresting curses. let me give you some examples...
You feckin' self polluter..
Arse Picker.
Truffle Snuffler
Bollix
He was a great Ride...
Ask me arse...
and so on. However the Gods of the curse must be the Arabic nations. Stuff like 'your mother was a camel and your father was a donkey' or 'you are the dirt on my shoes' or 'may a million locusts descend upon your field'. Oh! and those are the ones I made up. From Bulgaria comes the phrase 'your mother sucks bears in the forest' or the wonderful 'you are as ugly as a salad'. See! We are all pants at swearing in the UK. Now for some of my own.
Flower Sniffer
Wine Spitter
Button Burster
Lamp Switcher
Computer Cacker
Heel Breaker...
The list is endless. Bit of a shame that I revert to the old Brit type behind the wheel. Even the 13 year old has stopped laughing at the C word.
Must try harder...
Muse x
Sunday 31 July 2011
Sunday 17 July 2011
Nightmare on Spaghetti Street...
Ma and Pa are moving, long boring story, they are moving to a bigger property and so I had to indulge and entertain the little darlings today, whilst they actually packed boxes - must just say this, I have packed for them since I was 6 years old so it is about time they learned to do it for themselves. I have had nightmares about inventories since the age of 10. Control freak me...NAH!
Angelina, my grandaughter, The Git and I set off for a place called 'Raze The Roof' in Falmouth. I knew, of course, that this was always going to end up in the 'Minor Injuries Unit' but being a little tired at the moment, the left brain did not connect with the right and I went along with my mothers suggestion. First stop was Macdonalds and I tried not to think about what I was feeding them whilst I scrubbed the table carefully with my hand sanitiser. I bit into my cheeseburger and attempted to enjoy it....I bit into it again and decided that it may have seemed a good idea at the time but quite honestly, biting into it was like biting a bad 'smell' and I really could not carry on! I then freaked the kids out by scrubbing their hands and refusing to let them take said 'toys, odd chips, half bitten chicken nuggets' into my car.
Raze The Roof was my worst nightmare come true. It was based in an industrial unit full of soft play areas, ball pits and large slides that scared the Feck out of me but did not seem to faze Angelina - mind you, I am still scared of Dr Who and she loves it so WTF!
I decided that I could do this two ways. I could follow the kids around, desperate for a vodka and get very upset or I could take a couple of valium, buy the Mail and do the crossword and let 'em get on with it. I chose the latter. In my defence, The Git followed Angel around and really looked after her. Bless his heart.
I have to describe this place to you before I carry on. The height of the ceiling meant that every scream/yell/shriek was multiplied by 10. Each time a child opened its mouth all the parents would glance/run/skitter to the source of the terrible ear splitting yell... Utter torture. I was so determined not to do this but as we were admitted I nervously pulled The Git to one side.
'Erm, erm, erm the thing is Josh, I don't know what Angelina sounds like if she's, erm...you know, erm..in pain'. He was pretty quick off the mark. 'Don't worry about that mum, I know 'eggsactly what she sounds like'. Hmm... Its fine I said to myself, I'll just try and ignore it....NOT! The first hour passed by. I did not manage to solve one clue and despite wishing that valium or vodka was available I knew that I was in CHARGE and I must be a good mother/nanny. (Which I am not by the way as I am bloody scared of small children...).
S'fine. s'fine...I kept telling myself as I watched one horrid little 2 and a half foot thing, try and tear his sisters hair out and observing whilst the parents waded in and broke up the scrap. Shudder. I was half expecting an injury of some sort as I glanced around the 'restaurant facilities' where I was perched nervously on a 'primary school chair'. The 'restaurant' in question was a large depressing grey area full of uncleared dishes, nasty fingerprints and a mash of beans and spaghetti hoops that you had to wade through in order to reach your seat.
Just as I thought about dragging said children out of the place and bribing them with a visit to the nearest Toy Shop...my poor little Angelina calmly tapped me on the shoulder. Some nasty two foot tall person had thrown a ball at her face so hard she was sporting a large shiner... 'Oh Feck', I thought 'I'm in trouble now'. A nice but indifferent girl came over with an ice pack and asked me to fill in an accident form. She was so indifferent, her pen did not work, she nicked mine and forgot to ask me to sign the accident form. Just as well I'm not in the mood to sue isn't it! Indifferent girl gave me a voucher so that I may return and 'enjoy my next experience'....
We made our exit and I was mightily relieved to be out of the place. Angel was so bloody brave, none of this yelling and screaming thing for her, just a bit of a miserable face. I took her home with my tail between my legs, clutching some childrens painkillers in case she needed them later. See...I keep telling people, I should never ever be left in charge of small children!
I was telling my friend Sharon all about it on the phone tonight. We agreed on a few things.
1. Never ever visit those places unless your mother insists. It is far safer to wrap up your kids and let them abseil off the Welsh mountains in a Force 9!
2. We were both desperate for a 'shiner' at the age of 9 and Angelina is very cool for getting one at the age of 5! (We are very jealous).
3. We were also rather desparate to 'break something' and get lots of attention and a cool plaster. Alas both of us broke something when we were old and grumpy and had to do without the plaster and deal with the pain!
Be careful what you wish for...
Namaste
Muse x
Angelina, my grandaughter, The Git and I set off for a place called 'Raze The Roof' in Falmouth. I knew, of course, that this was always going to end up in the 'Minor Injuries Unit' but being a little tired at the moment, the left brain did not connect with the right and I went along with my mothers suggestion. First stop was Macdonalds and I tried not to think about what I was feeding them whilst I scrubbed the table carefully with my hand sanitiser. I bit into my cheeseburger and attempted to enjoy it....I bit into it again and decided that it may have seemed a good idea at the time but quite honestly, biting into it was like biting a bad 'smell' and I really could not carry on! I then freaked the kids out by scrubbing their hands and refusing to let them take said 'toys, odd chips, half bitten chicken nuggets' into my car.
Raze The Roof was my worst nightmare come true. It was based in an industrial unit full of soft play areas, ball pits and large slides that scared the Feck out of me but did not seem to faze Angelina - mind you, I am still scared of Dr Who and she loves it so WTF!
I decided that I could do this two ways. I could follow the kids around, desperate for a vodka and get very upset or I could take a couple of valium, buy the Mail and do the crossword and let 'em get on with it. I chose the latter. In my defence, The Git followed Angel around and really looked after her. Bless his heart.
I have to describe this place to you before I carry on. The height of the ceiling meant that every scream/yell/shriek was multiplied by 10. Each time a child opened its mouth all the parents would glance/run/skitter to the source of the terrible ear splitting yell... Utter torture. I was so determined not to do this but as we were admitted I nervously pulled The Git to one side.
'Erm, erm, erm the thing is Josh, I don't know what Angelina sounds like if she's, erm...you know, erm..in pain'. He was pretty quick off the mark. 'Don't worry about that mum, I know 'eggsactly what she sounds like'. Hmm... Its fine I said to myself, I'll just try and ignore it....NOT! The first hour passed by. I did not manage to solve one clue and despite wishing that valium or vodka was available I knew that I was in CHARGE and I must be a good mother/nanny. (Which I am not by the way as I am bloody scared of small children...).
S'fine. s'fine...I kept telling myself as I watched one horrid little 2 and a half foot thing, try and tear his sisters hair out and observing whilst the parents waded in and broke up the scrap. Shudder. I was half expecting an injury of some sort as I glanced around the 'restaurant facilities' where I was perched nervously on a 'primary school chair'. The 'restaurant' in question was a large depressing grey area full of uncleared dishes, nasty fingerprints and a mash of beans and spaghetti hoops that you had to wade through in order to reach your seat.
Just as I thought about dragging said children out of the place and bribing them with a visit to the nearest Toy Shop...my poor little Angelina calmly tapped me on the shoulder. Some nasty two foot tall person had thrown a ball at her face so hard she was sporting a large shiner... 'Oh Feck', I thought 'I'm in trouble now'. A nice but indifferent girl came over with an ice pack and asked me to fill in an accident form. She was so indifferent, her pen did not work, she nicked mine and forgot to ask me to sign the accident form. Just as well I'm not in the mood to sue isn't it! Indifferent girl gave me a voucher so that I may return and 'enjoy my next experience'....
We made our exit and I was mightily relieved to be out of the place. Angel was so bloody brave, none of this yelling and screaming thing for her, just a bit of a miserable face. I took her home with my tail between my legs, clutching some childrens painkillers in case she needed them later. See...I keep telling people, I should never ever be left in charge of small children!
I was telling my friend Sharon all about it on the phone tonight. We agreed on a few things.
1. Never ever visit those places unless your mother insists. It is far safer to wrap up your kids and let them abseil off the Welsh mountains in a Force 9!
2. We were both desperate for a 'shiner' at the age of 9 and Angelina is very cool for getting one at the age of 5! (We are very jealous).
3. We were also rather desparate to 'break something' and get lots of attention and a cool plaster. Alas both of us broke something when we were old and grumpy and had to do without the plaster and deal with the pain!
Be careful what you wish for...
Namaste
Muse x
Wednesday 6 July 2011
Think About this Please....
A lovely, caring friend of mine has recently been diagnosed with M.E. Also known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. She talked to me about how this had affected her. At first she was unsure and hesitant, cancelling two appointments with a Consultant because she was scared and fighting for her life and desperately clinging to her sanity. She did not believe that M.E. existed. Eventually she gave in and attended the appointment with said Consultant.
He was a very clever man and managed to pull her down from her 'expectations' of life, cleaned her glasses, held her hand and told her she was a bright, beautiful person and needed to understand her condition. He read her Blog and encouraged her.
The first few weeks after their meeting were really good. She managed her time and recognized how to deal with her condition. Still, she hated the diagnosis and fought against it. The Big Fight versus Life was on! She refused any counselling and decided that she would ignore all advice, push on and look after others.
She went on a holiday and despite her determination, collapsed. A friend said he understood but she soon realised that no one could understand. A girlfriend did and looked after her. She was so grateful for that.
She soon realised that the term M.E. was a stigma, despite being a proven illness. How could she live with this terrible Stigma? How could anyone understand? Her parents tried but really had no idea and many more said they did but were totally ignorant.
I understand and I hope that you can too. No matter what advice you give her, she will strive for perfection. It's just the way she is made.
Namaste
Muse x
He was a very clever man and managed to pull her down from her 'expectations' of life, cleaned her glasses, held her hand and told her she was a bright, beautiful person and needed to understand her condition. He read her Blog and encouraged her.
The first few weeks after their meeting were really good. She managed her time and recognized how to deal with her condition. Still, she hated the diagnosis and fought against it. The Big Fight versus Life was on! She refused any counselling and decided that she would ignore all advice, push on and look after others.
She went on a holiday and despite her determination, collapsed. A friend said he understood but she soon realised that no one could understand. A girlfriend did and looked after her. She was so grateful for that.
She soon realised that the term M.E. was a stigma, despite being a proven illness. How could she live with this terrible Stigma? How could anyone understand? Her parents tried but really had no idea and many more said they did but were totally ignorant.
I understand and I hope that you can too. No matter what advice you give her, she will strive for perfection. It's just the way she is made.
Namaste
Muse x
Sunday 3 July 2011
Stepping from Narnia to Hell!
I have been away for the last week in Warwickshire having a large lot of fun on Folk on The Water. I am just digesting all that went on and am feeling pretty exhausted but will start to write my FOTW Blog next week. For now, you guys are going to have to put up with a rant. For those of a nervous disposition, please look away now.
The Git and I had a great journey up to Leamington Spa and thought that going back would be a breeze. After all we were taken to the station by Barge. I kid you not. We moored at the bank and Dutch took us up about 10 steps and there was the station. How cool is that. It was like walking from Narnia to Hell! Actually I cannot take credit for that comment it was one of Dutch's!
We got on a small train to Reading. We were on there for an hour and unfortunatley had to sit by a big growlie guy who had three kids with him. The kids were pretty well behaved but I think he had tourettes. An hour of screaming, swearing and random bouts of bad singing followed. There were also two very fretful newborns jostling for attention above the din. Ah well thought I, we shall soon be aboard a nice swish train with food and coffee and films for The Git. It can only get better. Oops....
The aforementioned 'big swish train' looked like the Calcutta Express it had people hanging out of the windows, Tiffin Wallahs and all! The Git and I could only board in carriage D but our seats were in carriage A. Every single seat was taken. We had no option but to find our seats. We had two over stuffed bags and The Git did a magnificent job of politely hauling them through the carriages. Chivalry is indeed dead, as not one guy offered to help. Failing that, I looked so hideous after a week on the water, I was given a wide berth!
Carriage A was in sight, thank god, I could relax. Tap on right shoulder from 60 ish woman, carrying a coffee and fed up we were holding her up. 'You could sit on that seat there' she said. I was too tired to explain as by this stage we had mountaineered over several suitcases the size of a semi detatched house (I am not bloody joking) and had said excuse me (sub text - move your fucking foot you ignorant bloke) so many times we had lost the will to live. I nearly broke out the crampons at one point. Even The Git was trundling over peoples feet by this stage. Be polite, I said to myself...and just told her that I needed to find our reserved seats when left brain was telling me to punch her, HARD! Exhale...
Got to carriage A. Asked a nice guy to move out of our seats, which he did, ta chap. Obviously by then there was not a cat in hells chance of getting said bags into luggage rack. Managed to stow The Git with bags in my seat. He was such a fanatastic help and support to me, I couldn't have done it without him, thanks Joshy x. Then wandered off to find coffee and food. The buffet car was hilarious, long queue and lots of drunk and disorderly 'I can't find my seat but who gives a Feck' people. Found food and coffee, lurched back to seat, fed the git and spied an empty double seat. As I sank into it a pretty blonde girl sidled in beside me. I moved to get out and she said don't worry, just stay there. I was soooo.... bloody grateful for that little bit of TLC, thank you Sophie! As we settled down my phone rang, I said one word... 'Hello' and the lady that had tapped me on the shoulder previously stood up from her seat in front of me (groan) and hissed loudly 'this is the QUIET carriage'. My lovely Dad was on the other end, telling me that he would pick me up up. I mumbled thanks and he said ' tell that woman to shut up by the way'. Hilarious!!!
I was so stressed and damaged by this point that I really was ready to stick a pair of underpants on my head and put two pencils up my nose (note, I am not mad just a fan of Blackadder). The lovely Sophie listened to my ramblings and managed to calm me down. Thank you Sophie, I really hope I wasn't 'the nutter' on the train for you. Its a big wide world out there and despite being well travelled I quite like my little life as a Cornish Muse in our sleepy, beautiful bubble.
Musing about public transport. After that journey I have decided it should be known as Pubic transport from now on ie: not everyone wants to feel it, deal with it or look at it!
Be Careful out there
Muse x
The Git and I had a great journey up to Leamington Spa and thought that going back would be a breeze. After all we were taken to the station by Barge. I kid you not. We moored at the bank and Dutch took us up about 10 steps and there was the station. How cool is that. It was like walking from Narnia to Hell! Actually I cannot take credit for that comment it was one of Dutch's!
We got on a small train to Reading. We were on there for an hour and unfortunatley had to sit by a big growlie guy who had three kids with him. The kids were pretty well behaved but I think he had tourettes. An hour of screaming, swearing and random bouts of bad singing followed. There were also two very fretful newborns jostling for attention above the din. Ah well thought I, we shall soon be aboard a nice swish train with food and coffee and films for The Git. It can only get better. Oops....
The aforementioned 'big swish train' looked like the Calcutta Express it had people hanging out of the windows, Tiffin Wallahs and all! The Git and I could only board in carriage D but our seats were in carriage A. Every single seat was taken. We had no option but to find our seats. We had two over stuffed bags and The Git did a magnificent job of politely hauling them through the carriages. Chivalry is indeed dead, as not one guy offered to help. Failing that, I looked so hideous after a week on the water, I was given a wide berth!
Carriage A was in sight, thank god, I could relax. Tap on right shoulder from 60 ish woman, carrying a coffee and fed up we were holding her up. 'You could sit on that seat there' she said. I was too tired to explain as by this stage we had mountaineered over several suitcases the size of a semi detatched house (I am not bloody joking) and had said excuse me (sub text - move your fucking foot you ignorant bloke) so many times we had lost the will to live. I nearly broke out the crampons at one point. Even The Git was trundling over peoples feet by this stage. Be polite, I said to myself...and just told her that I needed to find our reserved seats when left brain was telling me to punch her, HARD! Exhale...
Got to carriage A. Asked a nice guy to move out of our seats, which he did, ta chap. Obviously by then there was not a cat in hells chance of getting said bags into luggage rack. Managed to stow The Git with bags in my seat. He was such a fanatastic help and support to me, I couldn't have done it without him, thanks Joshy x. Then wandered off to find coffee and food. The buffet car was hilarious, long queue and lots of drunk and disorderly 'I can't find my seat but who gives a Feck' people. Found food and coffee, lurched back to seat, fed the git and spied an empty double seat. As I sank into it a pretty blonde girl sidled in beside me. I moved to get out and she said don't worry, just stay there. I was soooo.... bloody grateful for that little bit of TLC, thank you Sophie! As we settled down my phone rang, I said one word... 'Hello' and the lady that had tapped me on the shoulder previously stood up from her seat in front of me (groan) and hissed loudly 'this is the QUIET carriage'. My lovely Dad was on the other end, telling me that he would pick me up up. I mumbled thanks and he said ' tell that woman to shut up by the way'. Hilarious!!!
I was so stressed and damaged by this point that I really was ready to stick a pair of underpants on my head and put two pencils up my nose (note, I am not mad just a fan of Blackadder). The lovely Sophie listened to my ramblings and managed to calm me down. Thank you Sophie, I really hope I wasn't 'the nutter' on the train for you. Its a big wide world out there and despite being well travelled I quite like my little life as a Cornish Muse in our sleepy, beautiful bubble.
Musing about public transport. After that journey I have decided it should be known as Pubic transport from now on ie: not everyone wants to feel it, deal with it or look at it!
Be Careful out there
Muse x
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