Train fare to Bristol - £36
Super cute mini case - £41
Smoothie at the station - £3.85
Watching an 80 year old woman check out your husband's bum when he bends to pick his case up - priceless.
Sunday 28 August 2011
Saturday 27 August 2011
Packing
Today I am mainly packing while looking forward to steak for tea and the new Doctor Who - I know, I know, so rock and roll. I am packing for our UK holiday next week. Tomorrow we are Bristol bound, Monday we hit my Mama's home town in South Wales (love love love!) and then Saturday we are headed to Manchester.
So, like I say, packing is the order of the day.
The clothes were remarkabley easy, foldy foldy and in the case, the shoes likewise (but without the foldy part obviously) but then I hit a wall.
Where is my wash bag?
I have no idea.
I know where it was - it was under the dining table (an excellent place to keep it I believe) but then I tidied up. And now it is nowhere. I have searched - it is not in the bathroom, it is not in the bedroom, it is not in the spare room/room of crap.
The quest continues.
On the plus Steve has just pulled out a Queen of Clubs playing card from his clean pyjama bottoms pocket. Apparently they are the same jammies he took to his brother's stag do....
So, like I say, packing is the order of the day.
The clothes were remarkabley easy, foldy foldy and in the case, the shoes likewise (but without the foldy part obviously) but then I hit a wall.
Where is my wash bag?
I have no idea.
I know where it was - it was under the dining table (an excellent place to keep it I believe) but then I tidied up. And now it is nowhere. I have searched - it is not in the bathroom, it is not in the bedroom, it is not in the spare room/room of crap.
The quest continues.
On the plus Steve has just pulled out a Queen of Clubs playing card from his clean pyjama bottoms pocket. Apparently they are the same jammies he took to his brother's stag do....
Wednesday 24 August 2011
Wanted: One Husband
I haven't spoken to my husband properly in 11 days.
You see I am no longer the favourite thing in his life. On Sunday 14th August, he found and promptly fell in love with another.
His ipad 2.
Since then it is all he does, all he lives, eats and sleeps. He took it into the kitchen the other night to read an online recipe from, he takes it to bed to get live sports results, he hugs it protectively, much like I'd imagine a protective new mother to do with her new offspring.
It would be quite touching apart from the fact that our communication is getting to email level. Today, on arriving home from work, he was ecstatic to demonstrate the new wireless keyboard (why, why? I mean, I thought the whole point of the ipad was that it was small and compact and did not need a keyboard?), said demonstration involved me holding the ipad ('Careful Liv! It's not a toy!') while he sat at the other side of the room typing away a message to me that appeared on the screen in front of me - fab, a new way of talking to me!
So Steve, as you are reading this on your shiney new ipad 2 (nope, I am not calling it by name....), a message:
My love, I'm going to bed, if you get your act together quickly then you might even be in for some.
Got your attention?
You see I am no longer the favourite thing in his life. On Sunday 14th August, he found and promptly fell in love with another.
His ipad 2.
 |
| Steve with the Homewrecker |
Since then it is all he does, all he lives, eats and sleeps. He took it into the kitchen the other night to read an online recipe from, he takes it to bed to get live sports results, he hugs it protectively, much like I'd imagine a protective new mother to do with her new offspring.
It would be quite touching apart from the fact that our communication is getting to email level. Today, on arriving home from work, he was ecstatic to demonstrate the new wireless keyboard (why, why? I mean, I thought the whole point of the ipad was that it was small and compact and did not need a keyboard?), said demonstration involved me holding the ipad ('Careful Liv! It's not a toy!') while he sat at the other side of the room typing away a message to me that appeared on the screen in front of me - fab, a new way of talking to me!
So Steve, as you are reading this on your shiney new ipad 2 (nope, I am not calling it by name....), a message:
My love, I'm going to bed, if you get your act together quickly then you might even be in for some.
Got your attention?
I dreamed a dream....
Last night I dreamt. I dreamt and dreamt.
I dreamt about buying deodorant. Yep. That is it.
My entire seven hours of sleep were taken up with the panic of buying the right deodorant in Boots. They didn't have my favourite one (does anyone else have a favourite deodorant? Just me?), but they did have a fancy new one but I wasn't brave enough to try it.
So I went to Superdrug in the dream and they didn't have it either but they did have one I used to love four years ago but got discontinued.
In the end I found a teeny chemist where, hooray!, they did have my deodorant but it was £6.49 (£6.49!!!!!). By this point I was so stressed with my deodorant shopping in the dream that I tearfully bought said bank breaking deodorant and went about my business, telling everyone that I had spent nearly £7 on a deodorant!
What does it say about my life when my dreams consist of finding cheap cosmetics?
I dreamt about buying deodorant. Yep. That is it.
My entire seven hours of sleep were taken up with the panic of buying the right deodorant in Boots. They didn't have my favourite one (does anyone else have a favourite deodorant? Just me?), but they did have a fancy new one but I wasn't brave enough to try it.
So I went to Superdrug in the dream and they didn't have it either but they did have one I used to love four years ago but got discontinued.
In the end I found a teeny chemist where, hooray!, they did have my deodorant but it was £6.49 (£6.49!!!!!). By this point I was so stressed with my deodorant shopping in the dream that I tearfully bought said bank breaking deodorant and went about my business, telling everyone that I had spent nearly £7 on a deodorant!
What does it say about my life when my dreams consist of finding cheap cosmetics?
Monday 15 August 2011
I was very brave today
Remember this?
Now, right now, I know you will be thinking two things:
1) She is a bit coo-coo-cachu (you would be right)
and
2) Oh, she means with things like soft toys and little freebie figure things - things that are meant to evoke human emotions.
No I don't. I mean things like books, clothes, old mobile phones, empty moisturiser bottles....
I know, there is something very wrong with me.
I immediately thought that I must register my old bike that is happily chained up in there, I mean, it would be just hideous if it got taken away. I will point out now that I have owned this bike since I was 14. And last rode it four years ago. And its gears don't work. And one of the tyres is consistently flat.
They would be doing me a favour to take it away for free.
And yet, the thought of that - my poor little purple bike being pulled from its little storeroom spot and chucked in a dump, all the time it wondering where I was and why I hadn't saved it - makes me want to cry. (See, KERAZY LIVY).
But today, when I got home, I tackled our bedroom. And I got rid of lots. Lots and lots. It was a bloodfest; out went niknaks, old magazines, cute but broken jewellery and even... wait for it....
SHOES.
Including my sparkley, glittery converse with holes in. And my rainbow kitten heels. And my ten year old black mary janes that pinch so much that I have only worn them once.
A very big Livy step. x
ps still not sure on the bike though
pps having written those shoes down... I have the biggest urge to go and retrieve them from the outside bin...
Yep. She's back.
I am going to hold my hands up right now and tell you all something - I am a hoarder.
Actually I am beyond a hoarder as I seem to give actual human traits to my possessions. Which is why I feel unable to throw anything out - they will be sad that I no longer want them.
Now, right now, I know you will be thinking two things:
1) She is a bit coo-coo-cachu (you would be right)
and
2) Oh, she means with things like soft toys and little freebie figure things - things that are meant to evoke human emotions.
No I don't. I mean things like books, clothes, old mobile phones, empty moisturiser bottles....
I know, there is something very wrong with me.
 |
| Crazy Livy on her hen do last year |
I mean, last week a note came through our door from our apartment block's management team, they have noticed that the storeroom is becoming full of bikes and they are now implementing a register system. You need to register your bike by the end of August; any unregistered bikes after this will be taken to the tip.
I immediately thought that I must register my old bike that is happily chained up in there, I mean, it would be just hideous if it got taken away. I will point out now that I have owned this bike since I was 14. And last rode it four years ago. And its gears don't work. And one of the tyres is consistently flat.
They would be doing me a favour to take it away for free.
And yet, the thought of that - my poor little purple bike being pulled from its little storeroom spot and chucked in a dump, all the time it wondering where I was and why I hadn't saved it - makes me want to cry. (See, KERAZY LIVY).
But today, when I got home, I tackled our bedroom. And I got rid of lots. Lots and lots. It was a bloodfest; out went niknaks, old magazines, cute but broken jewellery and even... wait for it....
SHOES.
Including my sparkley, glittery converse with holes in. And my rainbow kitten heels. And my ten year old black mary janes that pinch so much that I have only worn them once.
A very big Livy step. x
 |
| See, I've always been crazy |
ps still not sure on the bike though
pps having written those shoes down... I have the biggest urge to go and retrieve them from the outside bin...
Monday 8 August 2011
Because I can't hold it in any longer
Before I start, I want to say that usually illustrate a piece like this with photos. But I'm not going to. This doesn't need or warrent the pictures.
The riots that we are seeing at the moment are truly awful. They are scary and disgusting and something that makes me ashamed of the people that I call fellow citizens of this country I call home.
There is a lot wrong.
The riots are a lot wrong.
I think we all agree on that.
What we don't agree on, and what has become a lot more apparent to me in the last 24 hours, is that the methods that people think should be employed to solve this issue aren't the same.
All evening I have been bombarded by twitter posts and online newspaper commenters and facebook statuses, detailing how stupid our government is, how stupid our police are, how stupid our armed forces are.
Now, as a pretty opinionated liberal, I will never be the first to stand up and defend a conservative Prime Minister or government. I know there is a whole lot wrong with our system, with our parliament and with their actions.
But when I see, what I generally deem intelligent acquaintances, post messages such as:
"Cameron is flying home. What a noble gesture. Dick."
and
"Why aren't the police doing anything? Tear gas the lot of them"
I want to say one thing:
What do you want them to do?
Honestly, how would you solve this?
I don't like Cameron, he wears too many blue ties, but what can he do? What do you expect him to do? Will he stop it all by himself? By him cancelling (his earned) holiday, all it has done is show all of these rioters that their actions are getting results, they are making the news and influencing people, very powerful people, to change their plans. Very basically, giving them what they want.
The whole thing is so sad, so stupid and so confused. You are dealing with children, sometimes out of control, always confused, always lost. They are cowardly little kids, making gun shapes with their hands while hiding behind their scarves.
And 'nuking them all' or 'shooting the cunts' or whatever else you want to say, is not going to do anything. All it will do is insight hate and anger and more badness.
Yes, it needs stopping, and no, I don't know how. But screaming for them to be 'dealt with' won't help. Supporting our police and government, at least for now, is where I would start.
I have no idea whether I am right or wrong or completely misguided and idiotic on this. Please weigh in either way. x
The riots that we are seeing at the moment are truly awful. They are scary and disgusting and something that makes me ashamed of the people that I call fellow citizens of this country I call home.
There is a lot wrong.
The riots are a lot wrong.
I think we all agree on that.
What we don't agree on, and what has become a lot more apparent to me in the last 24 hours, is that the methods that people think should be employed to solve this issue aren't the same.
All evening I have been bombarded by twitter posts and online newspaper commenters and facebook statuses, detailing how stupid our government is, how stupid our police are, how stupid our armed forces are.
Now, as a pretty opinionated liberal, I will never be the first to stand up and defend a conservative Prime Minister or government. I know there is a whole lot wrong with our system, with our parliament and with their actions.
But when I see, what I generally deem intelligent acquaintances, post messages such as:
"Cameron is flying home. What a noble gesture. Dick."
and
"Why aren't the police doing anything? Tear gas the lot of them"
I want to say one thing:
What do you want them to do?
Honestly, how would you solve this?
I don't like Cameron, he wears too many blue ties, but what can he do? What do you expect him to do? Will he stop it all by himself? By him cancelling (his earned) holiday, all it has done is show all of these rioters that their actions are getting results, they are making the news and influencing people, very powerful people, to change their plans. Very basically, giving them what they want.
The whole thing is so sad, so stupid and so confused. You are dealing with children, sometimes out of control, always confused, always lost. They are cowardly little kids, making gun shapes with their hands while hiding behind their scarves.
And 'nuking them all' or 'shooting the cunts' or whatever else you want to say, is not going to do anything. All it will do is insight hate and anger and more badness.
Yes, it needs stopping, and no, I don't know how. But screaming for them to be 'dealt with' won't help. Supporting our police and government, at least for now, is where I would start.
I have no idea whether I am right or wrong or completely misguided and idiotic on this. Please weigh in either way. x
Some news
Yep ladies and gentlemen.... it is that sort of time.... announcement time! And I have big, big news.
Ready.....
Deep breath.....
And.......
I am divorcing Steve.
Shocking right? I mean, all was perfect, all was rosy, I envisaged a long and happy future together, full of laughter, country cottages and pink cheeked, cherubic babies. But no. All is lost.
Because of what he did.
You won't believe this, I know you won't.
I mean, Steve seems so amazing in this blog right? So perfect and funny and kind. He would never hurt me at all or disappoint me at all would he? He would never break my heart.
But he did.
And I can hardly even type for the pain but... last night, when taking through the used bowls from our delicious creamy bacon pasta tea, I discovered something so awful, so heartbreaking that I can still hardly believe it.
The pan, from which the scrummy pasta concoction had been served, was in the sink, with a little soapy water in it to soak and in that water were BITS OF BACON!
Yes, my husband, when serving tea, had left the yummiest bits of bacon in the pan and then tarnished them with washing up liquid and lukewarm water making them inedible.
BACON BITS!
So, I really don't have a choice do I? I mean, what if he did the same with the cookie dough bits of the Ben and Jerry's? Or the fatty bit of the steak? Or the cheesey bit of the pizza?
Still, 23 weeks and 2 days is a fair run...
Ready.....
Deep breath.....
And.......
I am divorcing Steve.
Shocking right? I mean, all was perfect, all was rosy, I envisaged a long and happy future together, full of laughter, country cottages and pink cheeked, cherubic babies. But no. All is lost.
Because of what he did.
You won't believe this, I know you won't.
I mean, Steve seems so amazing in this blog right? So perfect and funny and kind. He would never hurt me at all or disappoint me at all would he? He would never break my heart.
But he did.
And I can hardly even type for the pain but... last night, when taking through the used bowls from our delicious creamy bacon pasta tea, I discovered something so awful, so heartbreaking that I can still hardly believe it.
The pan, from which the scrummy pasta concoction had been served, was in the sink, with a little soapy water in it to soak and in that water were BITS OF BACON!
Yes, my husband, when serving tea, had left the yummiest bits of bacon in the pan and then tarnished them with washing up liquid and lukewarm water making them inedible.
BACON BITS!
So, I really don't have a choice do I? I mean, what if he did the same with the cookie dough bits of the Ben and Jerry's? Or the fatty bit of the steak? Or the cheesey bit of the pizza?
Still, 23 weeks and 2 days is a fair run...
Friday 5 August 2011
Body breakage
I am not looking good.
For the last five or so days my body has decided to break a little bit.
It started last Saturday when I somehow managed to scratch my chest, right in the middle, about an inch above my boobs*, no biggie, it will go soon enough, I thought. It has not. It is now just a five pence piece sized mark on my chest. And there are only so many high necked tops a girl can wear in August.
Fast forward to Tuesday when, as I tidied my desk and unpacked boxes after an office move, I lifted the lid of the recycling bin and let it go, expecting it to stay up as I dropped my papers in it. It did not. No, it came down, catching my, rather large it seems, nose on the way. So I have an angry graze right across the top of my nose.
On Wednesday evening I started feeling a bit tired and run down and woke up on Thursday with.... a cold! In August. Today it is pretty full on and all my sneezing and blowing has produced redness around my already grazed nose.
And I have a mouth ulcer.
Suffice to say I am feeling really rather fed up and yucky and debating how hot I am going to look for Steve's and my special, expensive dinner tomorrow night at a very posh restaurant.
I'm on my fourth innocent smoothie now.....
*ok, it may have been some sort of spot or blemish that got scratched....
For the last five or so days my body has decided to break a little bit.
It started last Saturday when I somehow managed to scratch my chest, right in the middle, about an inch above my boobs*, no biggie, it will go soon enough, I thought. It has not. It is now just a five pence piece sized mark on my chest. And there are only so many high necked tops a girl can wear in August.
Fast forward to Tuesday when, as I tidied my desk and unpacked boxes after an office move, I lifted the lid of the recycling bin and let it go, expecting it to stay up as I dropped my papers in it. It did not. No, it came down, catching my, rather large it seems, nose on the way. So I have an angry graze right across the top of my nose.
On Wednesday evening I started feeling a bit tired and run down and woke up on Thursday with.... a cold! In August. Today it is pretty full on and all my sneezing and blowing has produced redness around my already grazed nose.
And I have a mouth ulcer.
Suffice to say I am feeling really rather fed up and yucky and debating how hot I am going to look for Steve's and my special, expensive dinner tomorrow night at a very posh restaurant.
I'm on my fourth innocent smoothie now.....
*ok, it may have been some sort of spot or blemish that got scratched....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
