Missing Buildings & Yellow Doors

Daddy announces “Today family, we shall to the Giant’s Causeway go! And on the way, Daddy shall impart impressive knowledge of myth and legend that will excite you and awe you and suitably remind Mammy of the fountain of knowledge that I am.”

And of course Mammy was impressed, but Mammy also wondered how the hell Daddy can remember stories and mythologies about Giants who pretend to be Babies from 35 years ago, and yet he can’t remember that the bin goes out on a Thursday night…like EVERY Thursday night.

But Mammy does not say such.
No Mammy has had an idea.

“I shall drive Husband of Mine. I know the area better than you do.”

“OK Wife.” agrees Daddy, “Then I shall be the imparter of wonder & knowledge upon our children while you drive.”

Mammy is delighted.
Because Mammy shall now be able to take a small detour. Mammy shall swing by her old University where she shall point out her old stomping ground to her children and Husband, who shall be suitably impressed.

The girls shall Ooooh and Aaaaaah at Mammy’s trip down memory lane and Daddy shall imagine how hot Mammy must have been as a hip and cool student (Big HAHAHA here!) and Mammy shall be dramatically nostalgic and quietly reminiscent, as she tells her minions about how wonderful life was at UUC.

She shall smile to herself as she recalls the memories that shall never be told… well not until the girls are approximately 28 years old and Mammy has had too much gin.

And so off we went.

“I’m just going to swing into my old college for a quick look” quipped Mammy as she turns left instead of right.

And yet now, Mammy wonders why she did. Because Mammy got an awful shock.

Mammy was not prepared for the fact that things have changed so dramatically.

Sure it has to be only 5 or 6 years since I was here? And yet in that short time, some Tosspot has taken it upon themselves to CHANGE the whole campus.

And I’m not just talking new signs and buildings.

I’m talking the MOVING of entire buildings.

Firstly. The gate was blocked with those ticket bollards. Apparently students can now afford carparking? WTF?

Secondly. Yes indeed there were LOADS of new buildings and fancy constructions. There are even windmills on the campus. This, I could deal with.

We drove past the old halls, which seemed to have shrunk slightly. “Oh look, there are the front steps and there is the computer lab. It had internet you know? 24hour…” Daddy is looking at me as if I’m a lunatic. The girls are less than impressed.

“There’s ‘The Diamond’ and there’s the theatre Oh and that was where I used to get the bus home and OOOOH LOOOKIT, there’s the big walkway. This takes us to Mammy’s favourite part of the campus. It was where the Student Union was.” (Where Mammy was a student rep on the Site Executive where she was opinionated and indignant in meetings and handed our flyers on Student rights and STDs along with free condoms and where we thought we were changing the world as we drank our cheap pints and loved life…)

“Yes, it leads to the South Building, where… where… “

“Where what?”

“Where the fuck IS IT?”

“What are you talking about woman?”

“The South Building. It’s GONE?!”

“Maybe we’re in the wrong place?” Daddy is now certain that Mammy perhaps shouldn’t be in charge of a moving vehicle, which she has stopped at the end of the walkway, which goes to NOWHERE!

“What the FUCK? I went here for FIVE years. I walked down there EVERY day. It had the library and the bar and lecture halls and the Union offices. WHERE THE HELL IS IT?”

“What did you lose Mammy?”

“Mammy lost a building Darling.”

“I did not… I can’t… WHERE THE HELL?”

“I’m sure they didn’t demolish a full part of the uni Darling. Look there are trees and everything.”

I want to kill him, but I can NOT argue with the trees. Not just little baby trees. No. Full sized feckers that I could climb if I weren’t in such shock.

“It was here.I’m telling you!”

“Of course it was pet. Do you want me to drive?” He’s enjoying this way too much.

“No. I don’t.” Because I know where I’m going. I’m going to drive around this campus until I find a site map to prove that I am NOT mad.

And I do.

And just as I thought, the building is now a field.

I take a snap and send it to two of my old college buddies with “WHERE THE FUCK is South Building?”

Within Minutes, I have messages back from them both, providing me with suitably shocked and aghast responses to share with Turbotwat to prove that I am (as usual) right.

In fact one of them goes so far as to send me an ariel shot of the college from when we were there, just to shut him up!

“When were you last here?” asks The Him, who is only teasing me in fairness. (but who for a split second had me doubting my own mind!)

“Not long enough ago for thon tree to have grown…”

“What year did you leave?”

“Erm… 2003”

“Darling 2003 was nearly 20 years ago…”

What.

The.

Actual?

I didn’t speak. I drove straight to Portstewart to find my old flat. And there it was. The pub next door is now a Christian Church and there is a Shopping Centre at the gate, but all I wanted to know was if the door of Number 6 was still yellow.

For some reason, this was important.

And thankfully, Yellow it remained.

A bit like myself who thinks that things stay the same as you remember them.

It’ll probably be another 20ish years before I return. And then I shall find that tree and I shall climb the fecker, if not to remind myself that I still can, to embarrass the hell out of whichever daughter I am dropping off!

And so off to the Causeway we went, where Mammy pondered life and how similar she is to Fionn MacCumhall… because we both act like giant Babies sometimes and we’re both as old as the rocks.

**Apparently since this post was written, some ballbag has painted my yellow door black. May their knickers be infested with cooties…😒

Dumping the Notions…

It is midterm.

Mammy knows that she needs to try to decompress and relax while one has time off the job job.

And so one does the equivalent of booking a spa day for Mammy… one demands a skip from the husband.

No, this is not a euphemism.

A lovely big skip arrived today.

Mammy started with the kitchen. Just a long overdue “spring clean”… nothing major.

And yet 3 hours in, Mammy is questioning why, in fucking fact, one started this… and Mammy is really quite exhausted from the physical exertion of hauling all but the kitchen sink outside.

But therapeutic it is.

So much so, that Mammy has actually learned quite a few things about oneself today; I doubt I’d have had such revelations after an hour of essential oil infused meditation goat yoga in an outdoor tub…

Mammy reconnected with younger Mammy and realised/recognized/comprehended…that pre-C Mammy was actually a naive and ridiculous twatgurl who was full of NOTIONS.

(And Pre-C is Pre-children, not Pre-Covid… that’s a whole other post.😂)

Mammy dumped eleventy squillion tiny little pretentious shot flutes, which were bought on the Portstewart promenade 20+ years ago, when Mammy was not a Mammy, and before Mammy had an actual house to fill with such shitery.

Said pretentious little shot flutes were fablis you see. They were used to serve dainty and delicate desserts and sweet sherry to the very fanciful folks Mammy served in the super posh restaurant Mammy worked in at the time.

They were required, you see, to fulfil Mammy’s notions of throwing dinner parties if and when Mammy ever owned a kitchen.

And they have sat in the glassy glass fronted glass presses of both of Mammy’s houses for the past 20 years.

What have they been used for?

Dust.
Holding dust.
Looking fancy holding dust.

Mocking and scoffing at Mammy’s notions and dreams of being a Domestic-fucking-Goddess…

Until today.

Mammy took great joy in smashing those little feckers. They were too dusty and dainty to pass on to someone else, and in truth, they’d simply have taken up someone ELSE’S notiony notions and humbled them in 20 odd years time as they realised that actually, they never DID get used for those dinner parties that never happened.

And then, Mammy found the scallop shells, which were OBVIOUSLY necessary for all of the seafood delicacies and scallopy starters which Mammy NEVER actually cooks or serves, even on the very rare occasion that Mammy does have/did have actual adult people around for dinner.

Add to said scallop shells, countless ramekins and glass trifle bowls…even though the only trifle Mammy EVER eats is in GannyGanda’s on Christmas day… and one had a very literal representation of one’s utter fucking NOTIONS laid out on the kitchen counter today.

And don’t even START me on the pestle & mortar choppy sets. What was I going to do? Grind my own fucking pesto?
Mash my own ketchup?

Cop my own on more like.

And so yes, Mammy has been humbled and taken down from her domestic goddess pre-C notions.

Mammy is quite content however that these accoutrements are no longer required for Mammy to KNOW that she is in fact, a dinner party Queen.

And Mammy is MORE than happy to admit that since the arrival of my cherubs, any “dinner party” occasion that HAS happened in our house, usually required someone to collect it from the Chilli Shaker.

But you’ve never seen ANYONE set out a takeaway as fabulousitified as Mammy.
And that’s WITHOUT the never used fancy shot flutes or scallop shells.

Notions I tell you.

Pop A Troll?

The pair of them are on the sofa, trying and failing to navigate some Paw Patrol videos on YouTube, while I work at the kitchen table.


I’m making an effort to let them do a bit of “surfing” as I genuinely do worry that my 1980s approach to technology is possibly going to leave them completely inept when the rest of their classmates are flying through tinterweb. Honestly, mine can use the tellybox remote, but that’s the height of scrolling here.

They’re on the search bar and Mini-Me is trying to type in what they’re looking for…It’s PAW PATROL! She starts to spell P…A…Princess (who is ALL about pretending she has a CLUE how to spell right now), interrupts:


“Pah – awww – pap” (pause for effect)

“Aaaaaaaaa”

“TROLL”.

“POP A TROLL…”

Sorry what now?

“What are you spelling Darling?” I ask. “Paw Patrol” she answers. There’s that look again. The one that is now daily occurrence. The ‘Seriously Mammy how do you NOT know this’ look.

“Say it slowly for me?” I’m trying not to laugh.
“Pop A Troll”

Aaaaaah OK. SO it seems that the cartoon that has been constantly on our tellybox and with which her bedroom is literally filled, has in HER head been called “Pop a Troll…”

I don’t think I’ll bother trying to explain this one. It’s too cute and now I can not unhear it!

Kind of reminds me of realising that Coronation Street was not in fact Corn Nation Street and that Emma Dale was not an actual person.

Sorry Whodeewhat now?

“OK girls… movie time!” (because if I have to intervene in your fucking 387th row of the day, I may SCREAM.)

Mammy reaches for her phone to rev up the beloved Disney Plus, excited already about the inevitable peace and joyfully joyful quiet that Mammy will now experience for approximately 90 minutes.

I’m planning a cuppa and a sneaky Double Fecker/insta scroll in the tillyday room and am already relaxing in thoughts of imminent calm that is about to be magiced via Disney Plus into my home…

“We’re not allowed Disney Plus!” announces Princess, wide eyed and deadly serious.

“Of course we are. Don’t be silly!” I laugh.

“No She’s not EVEN Lying like Mammy. It’s banned for the rest of the week…”

“Says who?” I demand.

I’m bemused. I’m confused…I’m slightly terrified…

“Says Daddy!” says Princess, still wide eyed and suddenly so fecking virtuous and obedient that it’s OBVIOUS that she will NEVER be coerced into betraying The Daddy.

“Since when?” Mammy is seriously wondering if I blanked out and missed thiat particular row, but in fairness, every day is merging into the next at the minute and I gave up on listening to every single conversation in mid April.

“Since the last night when we were up really late and SHE wouldn’t get out of my room” admonishes Mini-Me, obviously not ready to forgive Princess. “He says it’s banned for the full week…”

Shit.

“Ok I’m sure Daddy didn’t mean a full week. Hang on until I call him to check.” I grin through gritted teeth. My palms are a bit sweaty to be honest. I’m panicking a little… just slighly jittery at the prospect…

A week without Disney Plus? Has he lost his fricken MIND?
I go to the other room and pretend to ring Daddy.

I don’t, for he is back in his office this week, being busy and stressed, and so it’d be unfair of me to ring him now to discuss… because obviously the DISCUSSION would consist of me launching into something along the lines of “WHATTHEFUCKiswrongwithyoubanningDisneyFeckingplusforafullfeckingweek? ARE YOU MAD? It’s OK for you Mr I@m in the Fecking OFFICE all week. YOU don’t have to play waitress and bouncer to these two all fecking day do you!? So I’m SORRY but Disney fucking PLus is NOT being banned for a week, not on MY WATCH. K?”

To which he’d OBVIOUSLY concede and apologise and grovel at his utter silliness and naivity and agree with my decision to reverse the punishment…

So why waste time annoying him right then eh? (I’ll get him again…)

I come back into the room and tell the two minions that Daddy has said that it’s not banned for the week, but just for the day, which is met with rapturous joy and much appreciation for “clever Daddy!”.

Then, The wee doll, who only two minutes ago was fully loyal to Daddy asks, “So what’s on Netflix then?”

I’m either incredibly proud, or absolutely fecked from here on… I haven’t decided yet.


And to be honest, I don’t care. I’m too busy enjoying the calm and quiet. 🙂

Sacking My Handbag: Service No Longer Required

Re: Postponement of Duties.

Dear M.Y. Handbag

As we enter Month 10 of the current situation, I must, with regret, postpone your duties indefinitely.

I acknowledge that until March 12th, 2020, you were undisputedly indispensable and quite frankly, my right hand woman.

You were with me all day every day, carried all of my belongings and accompanied me to all daily events and meetings.

I apologise now for the amount of extra work and unnecessary files I dumped in you, and in hindsight, know that I never properly appreciated you.

I also acknowledge that you were my PA, a wonderful one at that, and that I really could not have survived even one day of my pre-covid existence without you at my side.

You carried me; my schedule, my finances, my keys, my snacks… You were the glue that held my daily life together.

It is perhaps true that I took you for granted. I assumed that you would always be there for me. And I know that you would have been had this blasted virus not rendered your post unnecessary.

I never thanked you for your constant companionship and support.

It is with true sadness that I must shelve you for the foreseeable.

Until life returns to some semblance of normality and I have a reason to leave the house, I am afraid that your services are no longer required.

Please take care of yourself during this time. I look forward to reinstating your position in the near future. I promise to treat you with more respect and care, and I’ll try to lighten your load where possible.

I apologise for this pause in your contract. It is unavoidable. I only hope you can forgive me and that we can return to our previous relationship soon.

With regret and deep sadness,
Me.