Floaters and Wasps don’t mix.

I hate wasps.  Come to think of it I’m not that great with all things that buzz
And I have ‘floaters’ in my eye – caused by age related ruddy changes.
The two do not mix.

Eye floaters are spots in your vision. They may look to you like black or gray specks, strings, or cobwebs that drift about when you move your eyes and appear to dart away when you try to look at them directly

Picture this.  I’m walking down Bell Street and in the corner of my eye suddenly see a black thing, assuming I have a wasp on my shoulder I start to flap a bit. I turn to the left, and turn to the right, I look up and down.  There is no wasp.  People are watching me. I continue my walk. I suck hard on my mint and I feel a ruddy fool.

But this does not end.  In the supermarket the black ‘thing’ appears again and I flap about like a flipping flapping flapper much to the amusement of my fellow shoppers. No I am not having a fit I say to a small podgy girl laughing at me.  Her Mother gives me evils, I am able to mouth Fuck Off as I have my mask on.  She does not see nor hear.

Here at home whilst typing it happens again, my scream is loud, the F word comes, I dribble a bit and nearly swallow my extra strong mint.  The children rush in to see me with a rolled up Henley Standard, my keyboard swimming in what was once my glass of water, and me, fighting imaginary wasps.

Since lockdown this has been the norm for me.

And so today whilst humming a song I was interrupted by Carolyn screaming from her bath.  Her instructions were to go collect the girls from Nettlebed.  To leave now. FFS I huffed as I swatted another imaginary buzzing thing and headed to the car.

The sun shone. The sky blue.  I opened my windows, turned on the music and sped through Henley.  The volume was high, and Leo ruddy Sayer came blaring through the speakers.  I quickly turned it down and put on something more to my liking, turned it up and hit the Fairmile to Nettlebed.

As Bix approached I felt good. With the window open and my hair blowing in the wind I sang along to Pappa Was a Rollin Stone as if in a Cinzano ad.

And then it happened, the black floater in my eye, trying to deceive me, making me think it was a wasp or hornet.  Not this time you fucking bastard, I know your game.  There aint nothing there but a floater. I have nothing to fear.

The sting hurt.  I yelled, spat out my extra strong mint, trickled, and noticed something drop into my crotch.  I yelled again.  You fucking bastard fucking wasp.  I pulled into Bix manor as I jumped out of my car screaming at the little bastard, still clutching my bits.  I managed to flick the wasp out of the car seat and watched as my arm started to change colour, my crotch began to itch.  I felt hot all over and it wasn’t the kind of hotness I wanted.

I collected the girls. Drove home. Ran into the house scratching urgently between my legs as if I had the worst girly yeast infection possible.  My arm and front bottom were on fire.  I had a rash down my arm.  The top of my legs reminded me of something I thought I had forgotten; it was so disgusting I had put it in the back of my mind.  Today it returned.  Her name was Helga. She was a large Lezza from Germany.  That is all I can say.

And so now as I sit, covered in cream, feeling a little sleepy due to overdosing on piriteze, I shall, as Celine would say, think twice and not assume those ruddy floaters are NOT fecking wasps.

I’m off to the opticians next week.

Isle of Wight – Day 2

Tuesday 25^th July.

I awoke with a start, I had no idea where I was. My sticky left eye hurt as I tried to peel it open. Another menopausal delight I have had to suffer with. Fuck, I had left my very expensive sticky eye mist at home. I grabbed my glass of water and gently tipped it onto my eyelid. As the cool liquid flowed down my cheek I noticed Ruby at the end of the bed staring at me. Don’t ask I screeched as she ran out crying.  The water engulfed my ruddy face and I coughed and spluttered and swore to the almighty above.

The noise from the kitchen was causing me concern. Carolyn was explaining to the girls why we could not take scooters, dollies, a skateboard and a ruddy Buzz Lightyear toy to the beach.  I screamed from the bedroom, NO NO NO! And coughed a little.

I dragged my aching bones into the kitchen regretting guzzling the cheap bottle of bubbles to myself last night.  Since Carolyn had stopped drinking I feel as though I have lost a limb. My lip quivered for a nano second, a sadness engulfed me, and then went away.  I walked into the kitchen, my skeletal toes crackled with each slow step. I swallowed my calcium tabs, my vitamin tabs, my thyroid tabs, a couple of nurofen and drank my daily pint of hot water and lemon. Today we were off to the beach and I felt like shit!

We left the house like a family of gypsies. Bags of towels, bags of buckets of spades, bags of food and bags of ruddy bags. FFS I thought, I used to laugh out loud at families like us – now I’m one of them. I decided not to bring my bathing suit, I had slipped it on in Henley before we left and was quite shocked to see how much weight I had put on. I had fatty testicles hanging from under each armpit, fat wings on my back and what I can only describe as a front bottom asshole.  As I stood in front of the mirror with my tight shiny suit on, arms up, legs apart, there was no way I could be seen in any ruddy country in any ruddy sea.  I walked across my room, feeling a slight pinch around my nether regions.  I was too old for this – give me an old pair of black knickers and a beach in St Tropez where my titties can spread their wings and fall like udders covered in Ambre Solaire oil anyday.  I’m no swimming costume kinda gal.  With that I ripped it off and binned it.

The beach was sandy and pebbly. The tide was out. The coffee/bar was open and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The girls skipped and danced with excitement. It was quite a long way to the sea as the tide was so far out, but I managed to find a good spot on the pebbles. And so we started to unpack, and unpack, and lay down the rugs, the towels, and get out the plastic crap. I managed to bundle all the towels under my head so I was not uncomfortable as I continued to read my Mindfulness book. I turned on my kindle and started to breathe in slowly through my nose and out my mouth. I was in the moment. It was at that point I heard the buzzing of an insect, an insect I knew only too well.  The wasp had found the food and was circling it like Indians round a wagon trail. I dread to think what the holidaymakers thought as they sat drinking their tea from the cafe above the beach as I simulated a woman fitting below, wailing and thrusting my arms around like Kate Bush on acid. The wasp was teasing me, flying into my face and then off into the air as I yelled obscenities and tried hard to hit it with anything close by.  I threw the bucket of shells into the air and each shell came crashing down upon us like a ruddy hail shower

I wiped the tears away from the girls and told Carolyn we were moving. I suggested we pack the food, the plastic buckets, the towels, and anything else we could find and move further away from the sea,  as the tide was coming in.  As I sat at the cafe looking down at Carolyn carrying the heavy bags to our new location, I went back to my mindfulness; I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, ejected that deep breath, sipped my chilled wine and squashed the wasp that landed on the table.  Fuck you Mr Wasp.  Fuck You.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Merry Christmas

Christmas Day Morning (belated)

As I sit alone in a sea of cardboard and wrapping paper the gentle breeze of Misty my faithful yet crusty cat’s stench breath assaults my nostrils and forces a quick but lethal sneeze! As I leap from the sofa clutching my front bottom and cursing loudly I trip on my Ped Egg hard skin remover! It’s not even 10am yet chaos surrounds me. Misty stinks. Carolyn is ill and I am in need of a Bloody Mary. I love this life! Merry Christmas darlings xxxx

Leaving the garage – on route to Excideuil

Jolyon sems to be constantly arguing with the sat nav and we end up near Paris!  We had just spent 450 Euros on getting the car fixed and we were still going around in circles. Both babies were now wide awake. Carolyn felt sick and faint. Jolyon was screaming at the sat nav and insisted we turn it off and follow our nose. I needed a drink.

Due to Carolyn feeling faint and wanting to vomit. The children shitting and vomming in the back, and my car sickness, it was down to Jolyon to continue the long drive to Perigeaux and beyond. His dismay at this (as he could not stop at the various wineries and sample their goods) was thwarted by my offering of an extra strong mint.

We slowly wobbled (the car steering was fu*&ed) through SW France. Destination:Excideuil – Mothers 70th Birthday Bash.

Unfortunately Carolyn’s health deteriorated on route. The girls followed through and Jolyon became sick of my extra strong mints.

Were we ever to arrive in time for the party? Did that last sign really say Spain? Did Jolyon just cough?