Thursday, 20 December 2007

christmas news the way it really is!

Carol’s Christmas News
I would have texted this, but the doctor said I’ve got to rest my thumbs, ‘cos my wrists are so painful I can barely open my giro without taking a valium first. Still, it means I can claim disability for a while, and the nice bloke down at the DSS helped me fill in all the right forms so I could get everything I’m entitled to. We’ve become good friends over the years, and he always sees me right when the old man’s away – and he’s been away for nearly five years, so it’ll be lovely to have him home again in February.
So, here we are with another year gone and a new one on the way. And what a year it’s been. As you all know, we had to move from the old flat because we were being victimised by the neighbours. This new estate is much nicer, with a big car-park so the kids can race their cars and meet up for a drink and a bit of mischief in the evenings, and a play-ground for the little kiddies where the Rotties can go and do their business in the sand-pit. So much easier than me having to drag them out a couple of times a day.
The older kids had a lovely bonfire on the fifth of November, with fireworks and everything. It was just unfortunate that they set fire to the community centre, but the fire brigade came and put it out eventually, so no real harm done.
The new flat is a bit small, but ever so nice, and the social has kitted it out lovely with a leather suite, new curtains and carpets and a fridge and washing machine so I don’t have to go all the way downstairs to the laundry. If any of you come up to Brixton, then pop in for a fag and a coffee. We’re on the fifteenth floor, and the lift’s always out of order, but the exercise is keeping me fit, and I managed to get into that leather mini-skirt again. You know the one – pink, with the slit up the front – my Harry will be ever so pleased when he gets out, he always liked that skirt.
I’m ever so proud of our Wayne. Not only did he organise that firework party, but he’s finally got an ASBO. He was feeling really left out, ‘cos all his mates have got one, and now he’s strutting about like a turkey cock, and there’s talk of him being the leader of his little gang. Bless him. He does remind me of his dad.
The twins, Charlene and Kylie, left school in the summer, and they’ve both got really good jobs in Soho. They’ve grown into lovely girls and their boss, Mr Smith – who owns several establishments in the area – is very pleased with them. I always knew those gymnastic lessons would lead to something, and it’s amazing what they can do with those poles. But I do worry that they’ll catch a chill in those skimpy costumes, you know what girls are like – won’t be told. Just like me at that age!
Dean is coming along with his art, and we’re all really proud of him. He did a fantastic murial on the estate walls and the railway underpass, but I had to spend three hours down at the cop-shop the other week trying to persuade them that his artistic talents should be encouraged – but they wouldn’t listen. He’s due in court in the new year, and his probation officer isn’t being at all helpful.
Apart from having Harry home soon, my other best news is that Shaz is having another baby. We can’t wait to see if it’s a little brown one, but we hope so, ‘cos that’s what she’s always wanted after having the other three. Leroy seemed such a nice bloke after the awful plonkers she’s been with before, so it was a shame he turned out to be married – but Shaz doesn’t seem to mind, and she’s got lots of other men friends calling round to the flat, so I reckon she’ll cope. Some of them are ever so generous. Her flat’s like a little palace and she’s got a wardrobe full of clothes. Her headmaster said she wouldn’t amount to much, but I reckon she’s done all right for herself, seeing that she’s only sixteen.
We’re having a real family Christmas this year – just a pity Harry won’t be here – but then he’s missed so many one more won’t hurt. The twins’ dad is coming up from Portsmouth, Wayne’s dad is bringing the booze he got cheap from some warehouse, and Shaz will bring the kids. Dean and me will visit Harry – they do a lovely spread on Christmas Day, but we won’t stay too long because Wayne and his dad get up to all sorts of mischief if left for too long, and I don’t fancy coming home to a burnt-out flat, not now I’ve got it so nice.
I hope you’ve enjoyed my news, and that you all have a lovely Christmas and a happy new year. I’ll text you when my wrists are better.
Cheers, Carol

Seasonal Greetings

Hi there, long time no see, but the back is still playing up and him indoors is getting rather fed up with the whole thing. Poor chap has to lift things, hoover and dust - on the orders of my physiotherapist, and generally has to do all the dogsbody stuff I usually cope with at this time of the year. The supermarket has become a wonderland for him, but I do have to watch what goes in that trolley otherwise we'll end up with too much booze and no food!
It's very awkward being out of shape with one hip protruding to the left, the ribcage off to the right and my head telling me that yes, I am upright and straight - but hey, after the first hour in the mornings when the whole mess of muscles in my back decide to go into cramp, I ease up and so do they and I can hobble about. But everything has a silver lining and I am ensconsed on the couch with a large gin and tonic while him indoors sweats over the dinner and falls over the cat. Bluey just loves prawns and turkey and chicken and everytime the fridge door is opened, he's there, waiting hopefully. Him indoors spoils him rotten and I suspect that's the fourth packet of prawns he's smuggled in for Bluey's consumption. No wonder the pair of them are getting so portly!
Anyway, enough wingeing, it's nearly christmas, the tree is sparkling with lights and I've wrapped all the presents. with a house full of family it promises to be a happy one, so I wish you and yours a wonderful time, and I will speak to you in the New Year. With all best wishes for the season, Tamara

Tuesday, 4 December 2007

Fireworks are bad for backs

Hello! Yes, I've not been writing this for a while and yes, I do have an excuse. You see I have a back - a bad back - or to put a finer point on it, I'm crippled and my hip has decided to go walkabout all on its own, sticking out in a most unbecoming fashion and making it almost impossible to walk. Him indoors has ideas of how to cure this problem - men are so predictable aren't they? Unfortunately if I tried doing what he suggests we could both be stuck for hours - not that he'd mind of course - but I feel it's undignified at my age, and what if we are discovered?
Anyway, I digress, as I'm wont to do. The back began on the night of November 5th, fireworks night, Guy Fawkes night, bedlam night, call it what you will. Him indoors suggested we go to a local bonfire do, but of course I had grander ideas and decided we hadn't been to Lewes in a while, so it was time we paid the place a visit. Now I should explain for those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about. Lewes is the sort of capital town of the county of Sussex. It is very old, with a castle on a hill and a very steep main street. There is a brewery in Lewes, which is why him indoors agreed to go in the first place, and this brewery has been there since about the fifteen hundreds. There is a giant chalk cliff on one side of the town, which overlooks a meandering river - which floods frequently and washes people and houses away - and lots of ancient old houses, shops and market squares. Right, so you get the picture.
November 5th is celebrated every year in Lewes, and it is customary for the different bonfire societies to burn effigies of people who have p***d them off during the past year. This can be as diverse as the pope - in memory of the bad old days when catholics were considered politically unsuitable - various politicians, Guy Fawkes himself or the odd bishop or two. This year Cherie Blair was chosen, and very fine she looked too!
These effigies are hauled up and down the streets by vast bands of people all dressed up in costumes as befits their particular bonfire society. There are marching bands, burning torches and burning barrels, and as a great deal of alcohol is imbibed, a great deal of noise.
Imagine, me and him indoors on a pavement which is thirty deep. Completely wedged in, the police are trying to push us further back because of the risk of going up in flames as the barrels and torches go past. I tell you what, if I'd been any closer to that man behind me, we would have had to get married!
The parade started - and went on for four hours. There were vikings with a viking ship, drumming bands, moors and their ladies, indians, both red and from Bombay (not really, they were Sussex people in costume) chinamen, african warriors, cowboys and canadian mounties - you name it, they were all there, and as the hours ticked by my back started to complain. Well it would, wouldn't it? I'd run out of alcohol, there was nowhere to sit, and despite the flat boots, my hips were starting to tighten up.
We finally escaped, only to discover we were again stuck because one of the biggest societies (about five hundred strong) were making their way past us again on their way to their bonfire site. Another hour. Getting thirstier - to the point I would accept water - that's how desperate it was. Then freedom. But the walk to the car took half an hour - we'd parked outside the town - and by the time I'd reached home all I wanted was a cup of coffee and a lie down. How the mighty are fallen - how age withers us and takes away the joys of life. I can remember (in my youth) of being in Lewes all night and not feeling a twinge of pain, and that wasn't due to the amount of gin imbibed either.
Three weeks down the line and I haven't been able to get straight, so it's off to the manipulator. It's most peculiar having to strip off to your underwear in front of a complete stranger - so many thoughts go through your head. Does my bum look big in these pants? Do they cover the essentials even when my left leg is being hauled up in the air? Is my bra see-through? Do my feet smell after wearing those boots to get here? But the thought uppermost, is - will it hurt? Yes, and no. He's very gentle and most polite when he asks if he may put his hand inside my knickers to get a feel of my back - but as it's all in a good cause I agree. I just want to be pain-free again, straight again. Christmas is coming and I've got shopping to do, food to prepare a house to clean.
Back from the chiropractor, and I've got to get on. Still crippled, but not as bad, and the pain is managed with pills - but the house is filthy because I've been writing and left it to him indoors whose idea of putting things away is storing them in the corner on the floor, or spreading acres of paper across the kitchen table - all in neat piles you understand, but very annoying.
Will write soon, but if you don't hear from me in a while, you'll know I've got better and have hit the shops. I love Christmas!