Where was I? Where am I? What is this? Is it a blog? Should I be writing something in it? Wait, I can do that. I can try. Yes. This is trying. Right. Updates. Let’s have some of those.
The Cold That I Mentioned Last Sunday – yes! Still going strong! I Have had the sore throat stage, the feverish stage, the sneezing snot-face stage, the hoarse, croaking stage (ongoing), and the coughing-like-a-grampus stage (also ongoing) and I spent two days off work feeling like the arse-end of Blackpool Pier after the stag-night to end all stag-nights has shaken its prongs across it. I thought colds were only supposed to last a week. Hah.
The Huge Big Miss-This-And-Be-Disinherited Maternal Family Sunday Lunch – this was originally complicated by the fact the Father-In-Law was staying with us for the weekend (he was playing at a festival, and I felt, sounded, and by God looked like a barking frog. Originally, H was going to stay home with his father and I was going to catch a train and face the hordes alone. Then H’s father was going to drop us both off at Aunt D’s house for said lunch on his way home, as he was planning on leaving on Sunday morning after all. Then H’s father realised he needed to bring quite a few enormous and delicate musical instruments and would have to strap one or both of us to the roof-rack if he was going to be giving lifts. Nevertheless, H’s cover was thoroughly blown, so we both got the train to Aunt D’s. Wait. I made notes:
- The gathering consisted of Aunts A, B, D, E (C is my mother), Uncles F and G, Spouses B, E, F, and G, Cousins 1 (me), 3 through 9 (this includes Trouble and Diva), 12 and 13 – cousin ages, 34 to 3 -, spouses and boy/girlfriends 1 (H), 3 (Fucktard), 4, 5, one grandchild (my five-year-old (‘five-and-three-quarters, Auntie!’) niece Minx), and assorted friends of the family. 30 people. For Sunday Lunch.
- Luckily Aunt D has a big garden, and maids. I am not kidding about the maids.
- My most heartfelt thanks to Roger Federer and Andy Roddick, for keeping their Wimbledon final going for four hours and sixteen minutes. While that was on, most of the Maternal Relations could not possibly spare a thought for any, any, of each other and there was a miraculous lack of nosiness.
- I spent a vast part of the afternoon playing with Minx and the two teeniest cousins in the garden. Minx ran me ragged. Also, bless my dear sweet cousins for this bit of dialogue. Keep in mind, we were only playing football.
Minx: Let’s pretend! Let’s pretend I’m the Feather Fairy and I’m playing football with dragons!
Cousin Twelthelina (who is 4): Then I’m a princess! In a ball-gown!
Cousin Smallest (only 3): I’m a boy!
- Uncomfortable infertile moment: H was talking to Cousin 5, who moved in with her boyfriend in Abroad-land a year or two ago. He asked her how things were Abroad, and she moved from Abroad to getting married before her visa runs out to her future in-laws to how said in-laws are already hinting wildly about babies, in about seventeen seconds. H looked gravely at the table while she went on a little ‘isn’t it funny how badly people want to be grand-parents’ shpiel, complete with amusing anecdotes about the Aunts all competing over cuddle-time with the teeniest cousins, references to biological clocks, and complaining in a jovial way about all the pressure. I tried to catch H’s eye for a brief ‘you have no idea,’ eyebrow moment, but H was studiously avoiding anything of the sort. He later said this was in case it was obvious, and lead to questions. Poor lamb. He’s known my family for 17 years and still can’t quite take on board how astonishingly unobservant they are in mid-anecdote. And then Minx created a diversion by clambering all over us, and then I was dragged away to play Dragons and Feather Fairies Play Tennis (‘Tennis’ in this case consists of Dragon Auntie May being absolutely banned from touching a racquet, and instead having to gently under-arm bowl at the exact centre of Princess Feather Fairy’s racquet, on pain of scolding. Princess Feather Fairy is Very Good At Tennis When Dragon Aunties Play It Properly).
- Minx also dragged me out of another Uncomfortable Infertile Moment. Aunt D saw us playing and came over to tell me I was ‘very good with children’ in tones of astonishment (thanks), awkward pause, ‘I mean,’ she added, ‘you don’t have any yourself…’ at which point Minx rushed up to point out I wasn’t chasing her. Which I wasn’t. So I did.
- Trouble, Aunt D and I got into an awkward conversation about clothes sizes (Aunt D and I, avec curves, Trouble, absolutely sans), which lead to a very tedious conversation about diets, with Trouble being sententious in the middle (did I mention she is sans curves?). Aunt D went off, and Trouble then wanted to know why I was dieting so hard, having always curled my lip at diets before. I started to give a brief response about NHS guidelines for further fertility treatment and do you know what? Trouble stared vaguely into space for a few seconds and then interrupted me to point out we both have thin lips, like our Dad. And then she wandered away. So that was the Trouble WTF? moment of the day.
- H and I eventually got home, after much enfafflement, being driven to my mother’s for supper (the most silent meal I’ve ever eaten there), and more trains, at midnight.
My Amazing Inner Organs, Or, The Saga Continues – I wonder if H stopped to wonder why, despite the heavy cold and the Social Engagements Of Libido Death, I was so very eager to make sweet sweet love leading up to and over the weekend? I’ll tell you why, at any rate. Satsuma was Up To Something. Owing and pinging and EWCM and The Works. So, may as well have a good old college try, even though she’s probably lying and/or deluded. And on Saturday night, I thought, seriously, I know that damn ovary is faking it, she’s done this to me before, I know she’s faking it, but sheeee-IT that felt like ovulation. Only, now my charting software agrees. As do all the physical symptoms. Ovulation on Saturday. Well I never, stap me vitals, crikey etc.
I still suspect she’s faked it.