Life takes on an exciting new edge
I’ve told you about the utter ball ache that is getting firewood each day in order to heat our home and water before, I know. But these days it has taken on a whole new dimension of difficulty and danger. And not just from passing out when attempting to blow life into the fire.
No, these days I live in fear of being kicked to death in the process.
Not only do I need to dress like an Arctic explorer and drag a trolley through snow to the wood shed, I have to run the crazy horse gauntlet. Passing through the horses field with the log trolley seems to be having this effect on my horse lately. God only knows why. (I couldn’t edit it for some reason, so you need to wait until about 1 min in before she really gets going. I had obviously retreated to safe distance by this point).
Thankfully, she is pretty accurate with her kicks and rearing, she’s only playing, showing off, and they are all well aimed to miss. At least, they seem to be so far.
*straps baking trays to body before venturing back outside*
That amazing feeling of being loved
I hurried back in to the house herding snowsuit-clad, stumbling children ahead of me, arms laden with plastic shopping bags it was too cold to face going back out to the car for a second time. Using my feet and teeth I managed to open the door whilst the children watched on, passive, only spectators in this foreign world of opening the fucking door for yourself.
It was too much to imagine I guess, to much to hope for that I would make it in safely. My foot found a wet patch of tiled floor, the world tilted and slid slowly to one side, a movie-esque slow-mo fall to the ground ensued. Elbow and thigh connected hard with white ceramic flooring, shopping rolled, children watched on wide eyed.
The world stoopped for a beat.
As the moment of shocked silence in which I mentally inspected my body to make sure all bits were still firmly attached passed, the pain burst in my elbow.
”Fuck,” I may have been heard to mutter through the pain as I scrambled to my feet clutching my injured limb. ”My god, that fucking hurts.”
It throbbed, it ached, it felt like an elephant had danced a jig on it. It also felt damp. I rolled up my sleeve and winced. Blood dripped.
I staggered to the bathroom and mopped up blood in the mirror, ruminating on how much elbows really bastarding hurt when you bang them. And that it’s actually really difficult to tend to a wound on your own elbow.
And fuck a duck, that hurts like hell.
A small noise came from the doorway. A sniff. My daughter stood there, still dressed in her snow suit, mouth hanging open, eyes filling with tears at the sight of the blood.
”It’s okay, darling,” I said in my most reassuring voice. I even managed a smile, the warm feeling of being loved washing through me. ”Mummy’s just got a little cut.”
”It’s not that mummy,” she sniffed, tears starting to drip from the pools in her eyes. ”I don’t know if you’ll be able to make us a hotdog now.”
How To Talk Northern
It’s been amazing to spend the last 4 weeks in the UK where I can talk as fast as I like and everyone understands me. No need to properly enunciate every word, put pauses in my sentences so non native speakers can keep up, or otherwise have to regulate my speech. At least, this is what I thought. But it’d been a while a while since I spent much time with any southerners. I’d forgotten that they don’t necessarily understand everything we northerners say.
Ginnel and vac are just two words that have had my southern friend staring at me with that ‘what the fuck did you just say’ look on her face lately.
But, much more importantly, it seems down south they don’t quite get how we say things. For up north, where we are frugal with our adjectives, it’s all in the inflection and not the choice of words.
Southern sentence – northern sentence.
That was the most magnificent meal I’ve ever eaten – It was all right.
I really enjoyed that meal – It was all right.
The food was good – It was all right.
That was quite a mediocre meal – It was all right.
I’ve had better – It was all right.
That was awful, by far the worst meal I’ve ever eaten – That was fucking shit.
Funny how the English language separates us even county to county, isn’t it? Or perhaps I just need to get over my natural northern aversion to adjectives…
What weird English language barriers have you come up against between native English speakers?
I’m cursed
I feel like Little Bo Peep. But whereas she was followed around by a cute lamb, I am plagued by snow.
And everywhere that Heather went,
that snow was sure to find her.
We woke this morning to a good sprinkling of it on the ground here in Lancashire with the Pennines completely white in the distance.
And so, with you lot of snow freaks in mind, I braved the gorgeous sunny weather and incredibly stunning views (the lengths I go to for you guys) and set off up Watergrove armed with my camera.
Enjoy.
The top 5 worst ‘sexy’ Valentines Day gifts
This is a sponsored post.
It’s still fricking awesome though.
Well, it’s nearly Easter. At least that’s what the supermarkets would have you believe with chocolate eggs already making an appearance. But there’s another gift buying, Hallmark day coming up first. A day to strike fear into most women’s hearts.
The dreaded Valentines Day.
*represses a shudder*
When we were teenagers it was something looked forward to with excitement. Would you get a card this year? Did you have a secret admirer? Would the person you sent the card to intuit it was from you and track you down at break time to declare his undying love behind the bike sheds?
Inevitably, not. No.
These days the fear is much less about not getting anything and looking like a sad dweeb who no-one loves or even fancies, and much more about the fear of the impending gift. One we will have to smile over and, if really unlucky, use or wear with fake excitement.
That’s right, it’s almost time for husbands everywhere to start Valentines shopping. Or should that be browsing porn sites and imaging themselves as the well hung stud and you as the skinny, shaved, inflated boob possessing tart. I can only assume that is what’s going through men’s minds when they buy this shit.
The top 5 worst ‘sexy’ Valentines Day gifts
Crotchless knickers
Never a good idea. Never. Not classy, not sexy and invariably made from cheap, scratchy material. Also not a good look when your lady has a grown-up woman’s hairy minge as opposed to a naked one that porn stars and prepubescent teenagers have.
Sexy costumes
Sexy serving wench, sexy nurse, sexy police woman etc: no! Just don’t do it! Firstly, this is supposed to be a gift for her, not a gift for you. Secondly, there is nothing sexy about serving to beer to drunken idiots, stitching people back together, moping up blood and being puked on or arresting people that have been beating their wives, drunk driving or shooting each other. And thirdly, it’s demeaning. Don’t do it.
Cheap sex toys
Yes, we can tell the difference. No, it’s not just about us wanting only expensive things, it’s about us not wanting bits falling off in our delicate areas. About wanting to be sure that the thing being inserted inside us is not coated in skin blistering chemicals. And no, it’s not normal for the chemically rubbery smell of sex toys to be so over powering that it makes your eyes water. Get your credit card out you cheap fuck.
Flavoured condoms
Yes, we know exactly what’s on your mind when you hand us a six pack of extra ribbed, mixed flavour johnies, and the answer is always going to be no. Because, I’ll let you in to a secret here, those ‘flavours’ all taste of rubber. Seriously, there is no way I’d put any of them anywhere near my mouth.
Hardcore bondage gear
Unless your lady love has already professed the desire to be tied up and beaten or dragged around on a dog leash and humiliated, now is not the time to introduce her to the darker side of your erotic fantasies. Pulling a gimp mask and leather straps out of that hastily bought, heart-covered gift bag is a good way to ensure that you never have sex again. And spend a large amount of time getting acquainted with the bed in the spare room.
If you really do want to buy something erotic and sexy for the woman in your life, then try some nice lingerie from Ann Summers. It’s on the high street. And all the slebs shop there you know: Emma Watson spotted saucy underwear shopping with mystery man.
Or a childminder and a bottle or two of decent wine. Hey, it would work for me.
Oh, and when buying underwear, do NOT buy anything that zaps you with static.
Unless of course your aim is give the love of your life thrush.
I'm Heather, an ex expat, now back in blighty and living in Lancashire. Which is just like Lapland only less snowy...and stuff.
