Recently in Decrepid Category

Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to apologise for the chronic lack of anything in this week's Brummie Broad blog.

This is not due to lethargy or laziness (well, not much anyway), its just that... well, I've been a bit busy lately, what with life and work and everything.

I mean, typing is quite exhausting you know, moving all 10 fingers at the same time, and the commute from the bedroom to the study next door can be a bit stressful what with the dog's penchant (yeah, penchant) for lying in doorways.

Urgent work, deadlines, transcribing an endless series of Really Long Interviews about tinned vegetables (beyond boring), a weekend away in Wales where gasp shock horror it didn't rain, and decorating, its all taken its toll. Frankly, I'm knackered.

Plus I've given up smoking. Yes, I have given up smoking and not killed anybody... yet. I have given up smoking and Hubs, who has also given up smoking but doesn't appear to have any homicidal tendencies, has put the number of the local divorce lawyer on speed-dial, thus forcing me to behave like a (relatively) normal human bean.

So basically, like the White Rabbit in some book where nobody smoked, I haven't had time to do anything except curse cigarette companies and chew on pillows.

More wild rantings from the smoke-free zone to follow shortly.

Brummie Broad: Here every Tuesday, depending how bad the nicotine shakes get.
Brummie Blogs: Not there either at the moment.
Twitter: There because 140 characters or less is just about doable in my current state.

I did something recently that will make Middle 'Computer Guru' Son terribly proud of me. I went to PC World and bought a wireless mouse and keyboard for the desktop computer.

I'm not sure of the exact moment when my children stopped viewing me as the font of all knowledge and wisdom and started treating me with 'infinite patience', but MS wasn't very impressed with my rollerball mouse last time he came to patch up my technical equipment; "An antique," he called it.

So, a wired mouse is now an antique is it? My, how things have changed. In my day (cue violins ... hey, violins, wake up and play some music ... I don't know, how about an adagio? You don't have the sheet music? No, William Tell won't do, I want something soft and soothing ... yes, that's it, the Hovis advert, perfect) ... where was I? Oh yes, back in Ye Olden Days we didn't have computers or digital music, we had state of the art Grundig tape players that we used to record the Top 40 chart off Radio One every Sunday night (and the DJ would always start talking before it finished).

We had a telephone number that you could ring from a public phone box (no such thing as mobile phones, or house phones come to that ... we were poor in those days ... play louder, violins) to listen to music. Dial a Disc it was called. Ah, memories. I'd huddle in a phonebox with a couple of giggling friends and we'd spend a whole 2d (that's old money) to listen to The Rubettes sing Sugar Baby Love. I was really young then of course, barely walking in fact.

I remember my mom setting jelly in a bath full of cold water because we didn't have a fridge. I remember lining up on the living room carpet with dad and sister, picking bits up off the carpet because we didn't have a vacuum cleaner. I remember dad's box of television valves for the black and white televisions set, and mom's mascara that she'd spit on and soften with a little brush.

I remember the absolute joy of being given a 'posh' box of writing stationery that I never used (probably still have it in the loft somewhere). I remember playing tennis outside with my mates until it got dark, pretending we were Billy Jean King or Chrissie Evert, being told off by the neighbours for bouncing our ball on the side of their house, and pleading with our mothers to stay out for just ten more minutes even though it was pitch black (and they let us!).

We had space hoppers!

I remember the horror I felt as a 'girl with a lot of horsey penfriends' when postage stamps went up to two and a half old pence. I remember my mom's uber-mini dresses and pointed stiletto shoes and backcombed hair (that took her ages). I remember dad letting me ride his Honda C90 on the roads when I was 14 years old.

No text messages to boyfriends in those days, we used our mates ("Go and ask him if he fancies me ... go on!"). Huge headphones complete with miles of wire attached to boxed stereo systems was cutting edge technology. We didn't have Playstations or Wiis, we had Etch a Sketch and painting-by-numbers, chalk to draw endless games on pavements and skipping ropes and clackers and string tricks and jackstones.

We ran around and got burning lungs but didn't stop, went for all-day adventures in the park on our bikes, formed the outlines of houses from newly cut grass, and hunted for furry caterpillars underneath window ledges (there were always loads). We knew how to have fun in those days, oh yeah.

So a wireless mouse is still a wondrous thing to someone who didn't grow up with CDs and DVDs and PCs.

[Okay, violins, you can stop playing now. I SAID YOU CAN STOP...oh good].

Brummie Broad: Here every Tuesday (unless I expire from Ye Olde Age)
Brummie Blogs: Hanging out there chewing gum rest of time.

Card from my beloved?

No.

Romantic gift from the chosen one?

No.

Husband remained in the house and in my life only because we'd agreed beforehand not to bother with commercial celebration this year. I mean, there's only so many fluffy teddies holding red hearts you can accommodate before they start to lose their appeal. [I like what Michael McIntyre said about the Valentine card for his wife, in which he wrote, "I still love you, please see last year's card for details."]

I asked only for five kisses during the course of the day - I'm a real low-maintenance kinda gal. Oh, and dinner in my favourite restaurant, which didn't send the Yorkshireman into spasms of panic because the restaurant in question is actually home (no taxis, no annoying people at the next table, no CPR to administer to the wallet-clutching husband when the bill arrives).

We went to Sainbury's to pick up the ingredients for a romantic candlelit meal.

"Plonk?" Hubs said.

"Moron," I replied, thinking we were in play-mode.

"No," he tutted, "Shall we get a bottle of plonk?"

If you were in Sainsbury's in Selly Oak on Saturday afternoon and you saw two people standing wide-eyed in front of the wine display looking for all the world like two wallabies caught in the headlights of a oncoming truck and muttering, "Which... What... Should we... Perhaps..." that was us. What we know about wine you could carve onto a grain of sand and mount on the point of a needle.

So we went mad and chose something completely different, something that had rum in it, and pineapple juice, and some coconut milk, and other stuff of the alcoholic variety. 14% proof it was.

Two shot glasses before dinner and I was rapping I Will Always Love You in front of the bathroom mirror using a bottle of Pantene Classic Care shampoo as a microphone.

Bladdered? Oh yeah.

The condition of being somewhat intoxicated was further exacerbated by the opening of a bottle of champagne we found in a cupboard (yeah, just found it in a cupboard, bizarre). This was quite recklessly followed by several fingers of whisky in a really large glass, some of which actually managed to reach my mouth.

After a meal lovingly prepared by one's husband, we watch Mamma Mia and, inebriated beyond measure, I was Anni-Frid Lyngstad - much to Hubs' and the dog's amazement (and barely concealed horror). No idea what the neighbours thought of the high-pitched wailing coming from my house that night, but all hopes of ever appearing on the X-Factor have sadly been laid to rest.

It's quite strange to stagger through your own kitchen on the way to the toilet, crashing into the fridge, the sink and the washing machine and laughing hysterically at the amassed collection of injuries. The last time I was so sloshed was at some dire corporate event a decade ago, but its not good behaviour once you're passed 30 (oh stop laughing at the back there, 30 is a perfectly acceptable number to use). Fun though.

It's also quite strange to think, "Oooh, look at me, I'm really drunk, chuckle chuckle hic burp" without having any consideration whatsoever for the hangover that will inevitably follow.

And follow it did.

Boy, did it ever.

I still haven't recovered.

Brummie Broad - Here every Tuesday (alcohol consumption allowing)
Brummie Blogs - Recovering there rest of time