Taking on the World

Flying cow is bringing a friend so I have two pairs of wings to make with absolutely no idea what I am doing.  Jolly good says Mr Smith rubbing his hands together even more furiously.  I offered the nice people a discount in a Bogoffy manner much to Mr Smith's horror.  It's still a very decent wage so keep rubbing those hands together or lend us one with this plastic sheeting.

Ollie Pigeon had also done that thing where you agree to do some work then think "Oh no, what have I agreed to".  His was hilarious.  He agreed to knit a mask with absolutely no knowledge of knitting of any sort or knowing anyone who can knit.  Of course I found myself taking on this task.  Oh no.  Well, actually, that is something I can do unlike the giant cake I have taken on or the wings for two cows.  ManditheKiwi wins the prize of opening gob before engaging brain and has agreed to make a 5ft person in bronze with no knowledge of either sculpture or casting.  Teehee.  This should be fun.

Yesterday was a pretty golden day really. I swam in the glorious sunshine, finished a painting (yes I finished it), went up to town to visit Ollie who gave me excellent wing advice, cooked a brill dinner for entire family and ended with falling asleep in front of the Paralympic opening ceremony.  By the way I do not consider being black, gay or wearing glasses a handicap.

Other snippets: Mr Smith's niece, Canadian Lauren, is getting married.  First of the Smith kids to tie the knot. Congrats.  Had to drink champagne last night to celebrate.
Mad Carina is out of her lunatic asylum but to speak to her you can't imagine why.  Maybe she escaped.
My parents had a flood.  Water has poured into their flat from two above. I was going to visit them but it was raining and I didn't want to ruin my lovely day.  Anyway, they said it was quite a small flood and they could manage OK.
ManditheKiwi is going to find me a website man as her previous recommendation is too geeky for me.  He sent me an email that left me totally baffled - Hyperspeak.

Physical jerks

So what are your aims and objectives in joining the gym? Um er can I get back to you on that one.

Let's do this slightly differently.  I will tell you what I want and you will bend over backwards (seeing as this is a gym) to comply with my every demand. I do not want to be left on machinery I have no idea how to operate, despite being shown 6 times, screaming Make it stop .... Please.  I do not want to do undignified things on the floor with my bottom in the air.  I am fat.  I am unfit.  I need someone kind and nice.  The lovely young girl, who I thought would do very well for me, produced an alarmingly attractive Adonis in Lycra who made me want to weep.  No no no.  I feel this is a girly thing. She agreed to take me through an INDUCTION on Tuesday.  I remember having one of those when one of my babies was somewhat late arriving into the world and it wasn't something I'd feel comfortable doing in a room full of stand still bicycles.  

I'm off to see my mate Ollie Pigeon at the sculpting supply shop today to find out what I need to make cows' wings.  Him.  Failing that he can sell me a whole load of kit and give me lots of instructions that will be heeded to as diligently as if making a bomb.  

Now to finish a painting.  I know I say that every day but today I will do it then clear up and plastic sheetify everything in anticipation of the arrival of the flying cow.  

The sea is always greener

Oh no.  We were just about to exchange contracts on the flat we are about to buy when Mr Smith found another better flat with a dining room and a garden.  I am torn.  Do we buy shit flat and do it up   Or do we buy shit flat already done?  There's only one thing for it ... Go see.

Flying cows.  A few months ago I was asked to repair a cow with broken wings.  How on earth would I do that? But I didn't say that.  No.  Somehow these words came out of my mouth.  "Yes of course I can do that, no problem at all".  It arrives on Thursday and so does major panic.  I asked for preposterous money; Mr Smith is rubbing his hands together with such alacrity there is smoke.

I saw an ad the other day for The Cake & Bake Show.  I thought I would apply for some tickets for me and Claudia.  I found a whacko wheeze way to get a free ticket; all I have to is enter the seaside cake competition.  OK.  I know I am a bit busy right now but I probably won't get selected anyway.
Thinking about it the cost of the cake will vastly exceed the cost of a ticket to the show.

So tomorrow I promise, I swear, I vow to finish my painting.

Running on methane

I feel a bit mean for calling Judith Big Bra Judith Big Bra now since she kindly gave me two jars of her homemade jam when I met her at swimming this morning which I thought was jolly nice of her even if she has got a face like a dog's bottom.  Stupid Big Belinda was there boring on about losing her clothes and forgetting her underwear.  Who gives a fart?  I so nearly confiscated her dress that she had hung on the hangers meant for coats.  That would have served her right for being boring and give her something to really get worked up about but I reckon everyone would know it was me so I controlled myself.

Heard a great story yesterday about a Russian pupil at my boys' old school who, having been expelled from several other schools, was taken in by the last chance saloon (which incidentally was the Apprentice's first choice of educational establishment). In a desperate attempt to get chucked out, this boy filled the headmasters car with cow manure.  I hated the man anyway so good on you kid.  I think his education had to go along another route after that but apparently he has grown up into a splendid individual doing very well since he is rather bright.  So glad my boys weren't burdened with brains.

I am supposed to be finishing a painting.  Mr Smith walks in to inspect every now and again.  I squished out a bit of paint and then played a very complicated difficult card game on my iPad.  That doesn't look much like painting to me.  He mentioned something about hanging the sheets out to dry .... but it's raining .... Thank you God, and anyway I'm painting. Ace to King.  Ooooh look, I've finished it.  A little message of congratulation appeared on the screen - Would you like to tell a friend? it enquired.  Um well, that might not be the very best of ideas.

Vegetating

Yesterday started with good intentions.  I then went back to bed for the whole morning so I didn't go swimming or to the market.  If the market was on the river I could swim to the market .... But it isn't.  We now have no vegetables and I am feeling fat and lazy and unexercised.

I found 700 card games for free on an ap for my iPad. So I was very busy yesterday.

I swap tasks with Mr Smith which is always heavily weighted in his favour.  I agreed to drive the Apprentice to Brentford in a storm if he put my spare car keys back in the safe.  Thunderbolts and lightning very very frightening ... then, on the way back, it cleared up although there were several serious puddles that I had to avoid as they would have come over the roof of my low sporty spice car. I think that task deserved a rainy dog walk at the very least.  I know, he can go and buy vegetables.

Unlocking the secret to a clean kitchen

Hooray, the Apprentice found my car keys so you can all stop looking now.  They were in my very messy kitchen behind the bread machine.  I knew that bread machine was a mistake.  It does make beautiful bread but makes me very fat.  I cannot go to the gym because I have to wait for my bread.  Then of course I have to eat the bread.  Well, be grateful the keys weren't actually inside the bread.  Time to clean the kitchen but I thought if I left it long enough someone else would do it.... fat chance.  They just moan whilst making loads of crumbs cutting their wonky bread slices.

This new diet that Mr Smith has me on ... the 2:5 diet .... isn't going all that well.  I have gained 2lbs so far.  I am absolutely brilliant at the five days of eating whatever you like but the two very low calorie days aren't nearly such fun.  I tried a "fast day" on Thursday but Claudia gave me the most divine Greek biscuits to eat then it sort of went downhill gradually.  It's all her fault.  I tried again yesterday which was much better although I vastly exceeded the 500 calorie allowance.  I shall just pretend I didn't.   It's normal eating now til Monday when I have another starvation day.  I am going to the market to get loads of veg to make a low cal soup that will sustain me on low cal days.  I will try to find a stall that sells cheap willpower.  Mr Smith declares me unsuited to fasting.  He is probably right.

Let there be light

I had one of those forgetful days again.  I lost my car keys.  They're not in any of the usual haunts such in someone's boot having fallen out of the keybox, which is now missing its door due a to a little zealous wrenching by me in desperation.  I was an hour late. I had to hotrod my car and drive to Claudia's garden to paint her picture but I forgot the painting. I found I had done it all terribly wrong but will start again and get it all wonderfully right soon.  I didn't really wire my car, I used the spare keys from the safe.  Mr Smith is at home today so he can find them.

When I returned from Claudia's I found a man dangling upside down from a tree at the end of our garden.  He was cutting it down.  I am fairly sure no planning permission of any sort has been requested but I am so thrilled to be shot of that huge dark tree I don't care.  Maybe I can now raise a vegetable; my garden is positively radiant but covered in sawdust.  I must get Mr Smith out with the leaf hoover outside then the new hoover inside as it seems to have snowed through the back door and beyond.

It's feeling a bit Autumny today. It's getting darker in the mornings and the blackberries are abundant.  I never normally think about Autumn until late September.  Maybe I am just being a bit previous.  It's August bank holiday this weekend and I am going to paint a picture or two and look after my dog, who incidentally got better.  The vet gave him snacks and some antibiotics and a pat on the head and he bounced home overhearing a comment from a passing cyclist "Oh look, I'd like a lovely dog like that." You should have told them they could have him, says Mr Smith, save a fortune in vet bills.  There's a basket in the kitchen where he can spend the night, and I don't mean the dog.

The end is nigh

Nice bank manager lady rang and said she would try to sort out my idiotic mistake of investing all my money into a hermetically sealed account.  Mr Squirrel Smith then magically found some spare money, that I highly suspect he stole from me.  So, actually, I have some nuts after all and might not be in such deep shit doodah.  We can still buy that shit property in Kent - groan.

The Lovely Claudia popped round yesterday to mend our dishwasher.  Well, she didn't actually come with the sole purpose of mending the dishwasher but she started to tell us what was wrong with it and Mr Smith and I just stood there baffled so she shoved her head in amongst the putrid plates and rancid dishes to take it apart.  We continued to look more confused .... (not stupid) watching her take it all apart and put it back together again.  Let's face it, like our smelly dog, it's old and come to the end of its useful life.  I paid Claudia in cupcakes.  I looked at new dishwashers in John Lewis.

I am taking the dog to the vet for a prognosis later today.  He smells worse than the boys' laundry.  I have bathed him but he's so thin and threadbare it's all a bit sad.  He was limping so badly this morning I really thought that's it mate.  But then it was breakfast time so he went all bouncy and waggy tailed as dogs do.  In the words of Eloise, He is my mostliest friend.

Swings and .... swings

Off to the dentist.  I don't know what's worse the actual horrors in the dentist chair or paying for it.  I will spend the next hour cleaning my teeth in the vain hope that it will cost less if they start sparkly. I am going to John Lewis to buy myself a gift for my bravery .... some new pillowcases.  I know it's not very exciting but it is if you are our pillows.

I made a majorly bad financial decision recently.  I put all my money in a get rich quick savings account which is actually a get poor quick account if you should want to withdraw your money.  Mr Smith is being remarkably nice about it pointing out that should I have left the money in my current account I would no doubt have spent it rashly.  Who me? I suppose I could borrow from the wicked witch to tide me over .... No.  I will just learn from my expensive mistake and let Mr Smith deal with my financial matters in the future.

We have acquired our first item for our new flat, not counting the new hoover, a mattress.  I got it on Freecycle from a very nice couple in Earlsfield.  It is a very smart mattress from a very expensive bed shop and I know it's second hand but the people were frightfully nice - posh fleas.  We had a bit of a struggle getting it into the car and had to drive home with the boot ajar.  Jason Button Smith had to slow down a bit on the speed humps so the boot didn't fly open depositing our mattress on the Wandsworth one way system. So I might have lost a whole heap of money by my bad investment but at least I have saved us £500 on a mattress.  Maybe I could furnish the whole flat from Freecycle.  Has anyone got a bed?

Not a knives person

So how many loaves did you make in the new bread machine today? asks Mr Smith on his return from work.  Um er five.  Well, we wanted to try the whole range so we did granary because everyone likes that, white, rapid white (to see if there is any difference - not much), fruit loaf for tea and my absolute winner Pumpernickel.  Now we have run out of granary so need to make more.  Oh this is such fun.

Here's something interesting .... Mr Smith can't cut bread. No, he really can't.  It looks as though a passing blind woodcutter had a go at the loaf with his blunt axe and as for the hewn off wodge that is supposed to resemble a slice, oh dear.  We took a ready sliced comfortable shop loaf out of the freezer for him and he seemed much happier.  Perhaps we need to buy a slicing machine.   I jest, enough gadgetry already.  Oh, I seem to have become Jewish all of a sudden. Bagels anyone?

Mr Smith has found a new diet he is interested in (me) trying.  It regrettably doesn't involve much bread.  It looks dead faddy to me but it's the national rave of the week having been featured on Horizon last week and in the Telegraph at the weekend.  It claims to make you thinner, live forever and become immune to cancer .... mmmmm .... sounds a bit far fetched to me.  It's called the 2:5 diet and involves fasting but not real fasting as you just have a little bit of food on two days a week and then all the normal crap the other five days.  The obvious flaw in this is you would be so bloody ravenous after a lettuce and cucumber day that you would be queuing at the bread machine like a starving Russian, ramming the entire loaf down your throat then wondering what's for pudding.  I tried it yesterday but got fed up by 7 and had several lovely glasses of wine and a pork chop with fatty vegetables for dinner.  That's more like it.

Bread

The Apprentice is hanging about at home between jobs with not much to do so I think up entertainments and amusements to keep him occupied such as pairing his socks, pairing his brother's socks and assembling furniture.  Yesterday he changed a lightbulb (trickier than you might think as it had broken in its fitting) and I stewed him in a smelly car in the East End - never a dull moment if you live with me.  Today he will be making bread.  I bought him an automatic bread maker the size of a small outlet of Greggs that takes up much kitchen.  We had a go yesterday and ate the whole loaf; it was just perfect.  Pumpernickel today, I feel adventurous.  

I find goggles a great aid to better swimming.  A few weeks ago I lost mine at the pool and had to send off for some new ones that never arrived.  If you see a postman wearing a pair of swimming goggles they were meant for me.  They sent another pair that are just the ticket. I swam like a mermaid.  Well actually, I didn't because a fish tail swim suit and bare tits might give other the members of the golf club a bit of a turn.  Last week in the changing room a lady was showing off her new goggles which I highly suspect were my lost goggles - may her eyeballs bulge out from her head like one of those really ugly goldfish .... forever.  I will name my new ones with a school name tape and a little fuck-off-you-thieving-bitch note.  

Arty Safari

ManditheKiwi came to lunch and relieved me of a whole load of rubbish art stuff that I am just never ever going to use because it's the wrong size or shape or .... just wrong.  Rather than keep it all for another 5 years I was so happy to offload it onto her.  Nothing like a clear out.  I was ruthless.  Want not, waste a lot - that's me.

The Apprentice and I went to East London to buy lovely new art supplies.  We got a bit confused by all the different sizes of stretchers so ended up just bunging loads into the trolley with a mile of canvas and hoping for the best.  And now to stretch them Gnnnnnnn!

I borrowed Mr Smith's car for our trip to Whitechapel on the hottest day of my life (which includes a trip to Egypt) and the fucking air conditioning wasn't working causing ferocious blasts of very hot stifling doggy breath air to asphyxiate us.  Turning it off made no difference whatsoever. We had all windows and roof open but it was still blasting away then we got caught in a thunderstorm so had to close everything.  Every time I got it to emit just gentle warm farts the Apprentice pressed more buttons and it did furnace/chapatti oven all the way through East London.  "There's nothing wrong with it, you must have broken it." says Mr Smith. I don't think so matey.  That air con hasn't worked for yonks and you're too mean to get it fixed.

Sweaty Betty

Phew, isn't it hot!  Not conducive to work I fear.  All windows and duvet open tonight.

Exploding brains

My headache has diminished somewhat but I can feel the hole where it was and am so afraid of it reappearing for an encore I am carefully avoiding any form of applause and taking a few painkillers just in case.  I think it's something tensiony to do with my neck ... or a brain tumour.

ManditheKiwi is coming round this morning to play at my house.  Mr Smith is golfing in Kent, the Best Boy is on a film set irritating someone other than me and the Apprentice is drawing up the plans of our flat and working out where the enormous plasma television will best dominate the entire room and what mural to order.  I don't want a mural.  I would happily not have a tv either.  I would like a charming seaside flat with a modicum of elegance.  We don't own the flat yet and I am ever hopeful of a solicitors' strike or a change of heart by the vendor.

Mrs Smith's new find: Crunchie ice creams on a stick ... Oh wow.  They pop in your mouth, as in tiny explosions rather than you can pop them into your gob which you can't because they are much too big.  They are a bit like sexed up Magnums.  I am considering having one for breakfast.  

Panacea for all ills

Mr Smith performing the weekly shop is a grand arrangement. Firstly he goes considerably less off list than me and secondly he pays.  I am mighty glad he did this tedious chore today as I seem to be sporting a headache like a new job.  It has taken over my life and left me unfit to perform any task more arduous than moaning.  The mystery of this one is from whence it hails i.e. I haven't been drinking so it can't be a hangover.  It seems to be here for the duration as I am entering day two with no sign of a let up despite a slight rattle from all the painkillers I have chucked down my throat. Since Mr Smith has failed to replenish my stock I will try doughnuts instead.  Ooooh they are so fresh and so good and even more exciting as they definitely weren't on the list.  I think they will work best if I take two.

Wicked witch of the west end

My mother rang to tell me my father is definitely dying and I am to come at once.  He then rang and invited me out to lunch and when I arrived at their Fulham pad found him mending the front doorknob to the block.  Hardly pushing daisies!  We then walked through posh Chelsea to a lovely restaurant for lunch.  He seems to have got better.  He walks slowly but then he's old.  I think he probably has bad days and she is prone to exaggeration.

In an extraordinary moment of rare generosity my mother offered to lend me money.  In my hour of need and greed I nearly grabbed this gift horse with both ears but then I thought a bit  (a nano second during which my miserable childhood sobbed before me) and remembered my horse dentistry.  There will be strings that make Thunderbirds puppets look unmanipulated.  Am I being paid to visit my father?  What does she want?  Is she trying to appease her guilt?  Don't be daft, she thinks she did it all perfectly; the woman is without soul.  I consulted Mr Smith.  Interest free loan for possibly ever?  NO.  She will, like all banks, ask for it back when you can least afford it.  So back on the game then.

I took a few daubs along with me to show them what I had been up to.  They were most complimentary.  My mother offered me the money against the proceeds of the sale of these paintings.  I told her a three legged nag in the 3.30 at Wincanton was a safer bet.  I think she wants me to have this money but I just know the price is too high.  It's ok she'll do what she always does, give it to my brother, which actually is fine by me.  I dislike her marginally more than he does.

Salad days

When Mr Smith goes away I get the desire to clean up the house.  Why I don't do this when he's here I am not quite sure.  I think I love him coming home and seeing it all tidy and sparkling and there being some sort of renaissance in our lives.  This unfortunately coincides with both boys being at home; they are not allowed any meals. I told the Best Boy, who seems to have a break from film making, that I did not wish to mess up my newly immaculated kitchen.  "It's OK" he announced "I will mess it up for you". .... and the Apprentice will help.

I am so lazy these days I despair.  It is hot and I am fat and exhausted.  I just lie on the sofa between little bouts of painting yearning for autumn to arrive. I do not know where this malaise has come from but I really am so idle it is piteous.  My garden rambles, my house smells, my boys hang around asking what's for the next meal and I don't care.  I tried to hula hoop yesterday, unsuccessfully.  I am no Grace Jones.  Today I will swim and passe l'aspirateur.  That's french for hoovering.  I might polish too which I think is frotter, but that might be wanking.

My mother rang yesterday with a royal summons.  "You must come and visit your father." But I have a sofa to lie on and endless programmes about people smuggling things into Australia to watch.  "You can only come if he is able to see you; he might be out." Well, then I am not coming.  I told her it was customary to invite someone to something as in "Would you like to come to tea tomorrow?". Then I will look in my diary and see if I'm free.  Oh no sorry, it's Murder, She Wrote at 3.

Getting ahead

Mr Smith has gone away to play golf in Kent and find a builder for our new flat.  I want to knock seven shades of shit out of it and make it elegant.  I have a battle .... Mr "It's absolutely fine as it is" Smith and his side kick "Why spend money?" son.  Well, you two, I want an elegant flat that doesn't look like a Granny rental.  I would like smart curtains, a nice fireplace rather than something so hideous it makes me want to scream and decent light fittings.   Here's something sexy: A Smeg wall mounted fire. It looks as though hot cross buns are going to appear from your fireplace.

I like books, the odd ornament, smart furniture, paintings and a fireplace.
I do not like golf clubs, telly dominating the whole room, ugly furniture, radiators.  I am not crazy about Ikea furniture but occasionally needs must until I am rich enough to buy something decent in the antique shops of Rye or kill my stingey parents.

The Apprentice has now come round to my way of thinking but sadly has gone too much the other way choosing bathroom tiles that feature a mural from your own photo and gold plated taps.

We will not actually own this place until mid September but I have got caught up in the Apprentice's enthusiasm and bought a new hoover.  I am thinking of ordering a bed but maybe I should wait until we have exchanged contracts and knocked down a wall.

Lovelylympics

It feels as though the whole nation has been on holiday for two weeks, especially me.  Now it's back to the grindstone.  Oh well, it was absolutely lovely, beyond my wildest dreams and we really had a fabulous time.  Now what?  I don't know.  It looks as though it might rain today.  I am gravely concerned we will all start to feel miserable with no more Ping Pong or Spice Girls to cheer at.  There's only one thing for it, fringe Olympics with events that didn't feature in the games such as egg&spoon, hoola hooping, Morris dancing, knitting and getting the thingy all the way along the wire without setting off the buzzer.  I will start my own home olympics with Kitchen Clearance, Barbeque Cleaning and the Laundry (white section) qualifying first heat starting today.  Do feel free to cheer me on.  I also have to seriously think about the weight losing event - groan.  Time to get off my sofa and do some rather than sit watching it.

The future is orange

Since I have been outdoors a great deal lately, performing Olympic events in the glorious sunshine, I thought I ought to use some sun cream so I looked through our selection of congealed orange bottles and found something that promises to make me bronze gently, like the Christmas turkey.  It actually makes you and all your clothes look like David Dickinson.  I don't even think it contains much in the way of SPFs or USBs or whatever.  I have bright orange palms, streaky legs and sun dress; thank goodness I didn't put it on my bonce.  From now on I will strive for Victorian pallidity. 

So what am I up to today?  I made the mistake of posing this question to Mr Smith this morning who came up with a list of activities that made Hercules look like he was on holiday.  I am not doing the strawberry beds or blitzing the kitchen or reorganising the fridge.  I might speak severely to our tupperware about its inability to do matching pots and lids which makes me wants to cry.  Where do they all go? Then I will paint a picture. 

Walk on by

I went to the Olympic Race Walk.  Walking race?  That has to be some of the runniest walking I have ever seen.  A chap did get disqualified for an obvious bit of out and out sprinting but only because the games master was actually watching.  It was marvellously exciting and most Olympicsy with Buckingham Palace at one end and Constitution Hill at the other.  So I have now been to three Olympic events and will hold my own little closing ceremony soon.

I came back from Birdcage Walk via North End Road market where there was a wonderful deal on watermelons.  I then won the gold in heavy pieces of fruit carrying over long distances.  Having left my shopping trolly at home, I needed one of those little remote control cars they have at the Games for returning the shot put; my melon would just about have balanced on it.

Kent, the garden of England

Today Mr Smith took me, the dog and the Apprentice to Kent to survey his new property which I have to point out is actually my purchase not his and he didn't so much as hold the end of a tape measure; he looked after the dog. Who's the chartered surveyor? The problem I have with this flat is, whilst I happily admit it is amazing value for the money especially as it has a sea view, it is a right old granny pad.  Sows ears and silk purses come to mind.  I hate most of it,  Mr Smith bigs it up and the Apprentice measures things and does sharp intakes of breath at the electrics.  "Only one socket for the whole room, shocking."  That's fine for me.  "That'll have to go so we can wall mount the telly and wire in the surround system, sky box and subwoofer."  The dog and I look perplexed.  Mr Smith nods in a pretendy knowy way. There then follows a "circuits" monologue.  I take out my picture of a sofa and show it to the nice agent.  She cleverly suggests where the best place for it would be in the room and tells me of a great local carpet man. Oh how kind. He's probably her uncle.  The Apprentice looks in the mains box and does tutting.  Mr Smith nods some more.  I measure up the windows.

We had lunch at a lovely gastro pub run by Sophie Rees-Jones's brother.  It smelt strongly of horse manure- perhaps they should consider relocating the muck heap.  It is next to a beautiful ancient little church - the restaurant not the horse poo - with those funny box pews and a pulpit with a roof. 

We then went to Dungeness.  We thought a nuclear walk was what we needed but the dog complained it was too hot and Mr Smith had his face on so we went to Ashford Retail Outlet where I bought a pair of shoes two sizes too big and a woolen poncho from Ralph Lauren because it was reduced from £270 to £99.99.  I didn't try it on as it is the hottest day in August. I am sure it will come in handy for wintry walks by the power station near the extended airport.  Now you know why property is so bon marche in that part of the world.

Mrs Smith's further Olympic blog

We cheered for everyone regardless of nationality, especially those who came last including a poor Saudi Arabian girl who had to run in almost full burka she was so well covered; no wonder she lost by miles.  We cheered the pants off anyone British and they all did terribly well.  We were only watching the qualifying heats so I am now excited to see who wins the real thing.  Go Mo, Go Mo.

After the races there was a difference of opinion on what to do next.  Mr Smith put on his Poo Face and wanted to go home whilst the boys and I wanted to frolic around the park looking at the gardens and other spectacles.  Mr Smith was oh so grumpy and behaved like a cross 4 year old.  We ignored him and went on an adventure.  We were happy because we had got some sarnies and drinks during the races but Sulky Smith just sat there refusing all offers of sustenance so his bad mood was probably fuelled by hunger.

We walked miles and miles and felt quite exhausted after our grand Olympic Adventure. When we got home Mr Smith felt sorry for his strop and took us all out for a delicious curry.  We thanked him for our Olympic Day out and I mended his shower in appreciation. 

At the velodrome where Mr Smith cheered up a bit

Troops being deployed to sit in the best seats

Oh that lovely boat, I wasn't expecting to see that

There were lots of these!



Mrs Smith's Olympic Blog

My day at the Olympics. 
It was all a bit like a rather well run sports day at a better school than yours.  The flame was magnificently flamey although in my picture it looks as though it has singed some chap's hair off.  We were far away enough from it not to feel the heat. 

click on pic to make it bigger and better

In view of the fact that Mr Smith booked our tickets back in the days when allocation was fair and square and they were still building our seats, we had an amazingly good view.  I sensibly took my opera glasses for the bits that weren't so near such as pole vaulting.  They proved invaluable.

They run lots of events together and it gets a bit tricky to watch them all at once.  We had lady hammer throwers who twirled and hurled then had their hammers returned in little remote control minis, then pole vaulting, long jumping which looked like Olympic raking to me, short running races, long running races and shot putting which we gave up on as it was at the far end of the track and, as binoculars prefect, I was the only Smith with a view of that event. 

 



I will walk you round the park tomorrow.  I am exhausted and Amazon have just sent my new footspa.  Perfect timing.



Mrs Smith goes for gold

Today I am going to the Olympic Games and I am positively long jumping up and down.  Having considered watching athletics about the most snoringly dull pastime ever I now cannot wait to go.  I will yell my lungs out for all the athletes, especially Mo Farah. There was speculation in the Smith household as to where he is from; Sudan, Ethiopia or Somalia.  Mr Smith cleverly knew ... Hounslow.

Flat packed fun

The Apprentice is banging away making wardrobe putting together noises.  Every item of his clothing has been washed and all his junk has been chucked into the car to go to the tip.  His life is in order.  And now for the other son.  Not so easy.
No I won't tidy my room, I like it like this.
But you can't see the floor.
Good, then you don't need to hoover it.

The Apprentice is wearing his Team GB Olympic t-shirt which he says he will wear every day to watch the games then cut off one of the sleeves and watch the Paralympics.

I absolutely love the elimination bike race, the Omnium or something, once I twigged you watch the last rider not the winning rider and it wasn't just a terrible cameraman.  It's effectively musical chairs on bicycles.  Can I see it again?  Oh apparently yes because they have lots of goes.  Oh goody.

Where are the Olympic walkers?  I absolutely love the walking race; it's quite idiotic, all those elbows. The temptation to break into a run and be instantly disqualified must be almost irresistible.   It doesn't seem to be getting any media coverage.  No Brits are mad enough to enter.  I feel it's the only sport I might possibly be able to do.... a bit.  I might go and watch it on Saturday. Come on Estonia or Turks & Cacos or Australia.

Prodigality

The Apprentice son is home.  He looks rather hairy and has fleas.

Mr Smith didn't take my entire jam jar collection to the tip so I have something to start from for the next hoard.


I so want to paint today but it looks unlikely with motherly duties, Olympic games and Olympic ironing.  I will start with an enthusiastic swim to try and combat last night's enormous dinner.  Well, I needed it after all that tennis .... Well done Andy.  I was horrified at how mean I was to Federer.  Sorry Roger, it was just a wave of patriotism that overtook me.  I still love you and if you would like to pop round for a cup of consolatory tea I'd love to see you; you can show me your silver medal. We're not far from Wimbledon. You can chat to the dog whilst I get on with cleaning the kitchen.  Sorry, we're out of biscuits because I ate them all during your match.  Rebecca might pop round too as she's a bit down what with only getting a bronze and Frankie Boyle's being mean about her again.  You can't stay for long though because I have to get to Ikea to buy the Apprentice a wardrobe in the desperate hope that he might hang something in it rather than on the floor.

Prodigal moments

The Apprentice son returns from foreign parts to the bosom of his family today.  I am tempted to wear heavy armour and leave a note informing him we have moved house but I will probably muck out his room instead.  I would hoover the carpet but there is no visible floor.

Mr Smith is off to the tip in his special tip outfit.  He has clothes for every occasion.  I might just load him up with the entire contents of both boys' rooms.  Sorry chaps, I am bored with asking you to clear up so I have done it for you.  Perhaps I will order a skip.

I gave the shed a bit of a sort out and found a few old paintings that I thought I might recycle.  With a bit of tittivation I think they could all be quite serviceable.  How frugal I hear you cry.  Yes, that's me, the woman who sends her husband to the tip with a thousand jam jars all carefully saved over several years ... with their lids.  I also send brand new clothes with their labels still attached to the charity shop.  (Not when Mr Smith is looking.) Want not, waste a lot.

Secret squirrelet

I finished a painting .... at long last. It was a bit of an epic.  I then cleared up the shed.  Our son, the Apprentice, is very much a chip off Secret Squirrel's block.  He stores things.  There is so much wire in the shed you could run cable to the moon. I threw quite a lot of stuff out but this involves Mr Smith trying to keep things because they're "useful".  Coming from a man who has never ever done any DIY in his life this is a bit much.  I point out the three other miles of wire, lengths of grotty wood and black bags full of light switches that are never going to be used.  He reluctantly agrees.  I then make a great sacrifice - my glass jars.  I have saved every jam jar we have ever used and it is quite a mighty hoard.  I did once give a few to Internet Dating Jane who makes disgusting jams and chutneys - pear marmalade I remember being particularly unpleasant.  The rest are waiting for me to make chutney which I do every three years using the maximum of six jars.  So time for a cull.  Mr Smith will take them to the tip tomorrow.  Goodbye jars, I will miss you.  However, the shelves are gloriously clear and I can now fill them with wire and useless light fittings.

I went to the market yesterday in search of a cheap vegetable.  The bus got diverted and it rained so I didn't buy much. Not exactly news but I felt a bit disappointed like Rebecca probably did in the swimming when she only got a bronze.

Today I start my jigsaw puzzle.  This is a painting to be turned into a jigsaw puzzle; I am not wasting my time putting little bits of cardboard together incorrectly.  Sensible Alison is going to test the puzzle for me when I have had it made.  She's good at that sort of thing being clever with lots of patience.  I am merely painting the original being thick with only a little patience.

Olympic swim

I went for a super long early morning swim yesterday; I was positively Rebecca Adlington.  Judith Big Bra was in the next lane and I raced her, without her knowing, and I won by at least three sixteenths of a second.  Then the rudest man in the world came along and got into my lane even though JBB had left and hers was empty.  I glared at him quite hard which he must have noticed as I have lost my goggles and the chlorine makes my eyes look like Bride of Dracula. I then moved lanes and hoped he would drown.

I watched a really interesting program about shoplifting and am thinking of taking it up.  It looks quite easy and we then wouldn't have to pay for things.  If I got caught I could go to prison then my upkeep would cost less.  I wonder how many other people think like this; the national crime rate is going to treble overnight.

My friend Ill Will is so ill.  I hope he doesn't die.  He has had to have much of his insides removed which is pretty horrendous.  Maybe it would be better if he did die.  His life has always been work, drink, smoke and it looks like he can never do any of those again.  He is witty and funny and everyone adores him.  Cancer is so fucking frightening.

They think it's all over

I have finished tarting up scruffy telephone boxes.  They are done.  I am done.  I never have to go there again in my life.  The novelty of driving all the way to Lewisham and back every day has definitely worn off.  I came home feeling all celebratory but Mr Smith was glued to some olympic sport and wouldn't be shifted so, feeling as exhausted as if I had just given birth, I had to cook dinner.  The Best Boy then turned up from his film set with the second grip or someone, an enormous fellow of great charm who had come to spend the night.  I had forgotten he was coming so had to quickly muck out the spare room which Secret Squirrel (Mr Smith) had been using as his nut store.  Mr Smith came along to watch.  I assumed he might help but he just got all shirty about his dinner and his fifth bag of games kit that he didn't want moved.  I gave the Second Grip a duvet cover for his bed but it was as though I'd asked him to put up a tent in a storm. I helped.  Mr Smith sat down to a lovely dinner .... five minutes late.  He then watched his very tired wife pass out in front of some very cheaty water polo and went to bed and turned the lights off.  This was not the bunting and cheer I had been expecting after my last day of work.

There are quite a few phone boxes I haven't done.  I have just left them to the artists to come back and deal with.  I am so looking forward to them finding out tomorrow. Exactly where is the silent button on my new phone?