What a farcking week from hell. ‘Queen’ Lizzie thought her anus was horribilis, what does she know, she’s got footmen and pages kissing hers.

My week was frightful. My son is plugging horribly (as in one subject at 50% the other ten all less with the depths plumbed in Geography at 15%); I got yet another person telling me I’m acting ratty causing me to see my GP who put me on Sort-You-Out pills. Of course they’re exaggerating, but they may have a tiny little sort-of point: I spent two hours at Tom’s school – more than doubling the total time I’ve spent there this year waiting to get his confiscated cellphone back, eventually going to the Chinese teacher’s home across the road to retrieve it from her! I call it “Not taking no for an answer”. Some critics may call it ratty.

I took TomTom to an Educational Psychologist where I reversed into some oke’s car in the parking lot; His fucking Audi A4 right front door was suddenly his prized asset and will take R10 876 in the shade to touch up with 1½ml of white paint (I didn’t even notice I’d bumped it. Tom said Dad I think you hit that car. I went to look and had to put on my plus-fours to see the scratch);

My computer farcked out just when I needed to send emails for this farking book I’m compiling and running late on; I took my sister’s car for a valet as I thought it was a bit dodgy that the boot struts were soggy and she needs the boot to stay open while she unloads wine and turns out the fuckin’ clutch is shot;

I clean forgot about a date to join friends at the KZN symphony whatsit at the town hall – embarrassing! SSSA want my fucking fingerprints so I can attend the smugfest at Sun City (literally want my fingerprints – “register biometrically” they say). Damned if I’ll do that. Jeeeeesh!

BUT: Jessie had a great week at Work Experience; she worked hard at a busy B&B; My canoeing mate is visiting from Aussie and I met him and a dozen others for a few too many beers like the olden daze; Tom cooked a great supper and washed the dishes afterwards; The two Educ Psych’s are real mensch’s and hit it off like a house on fire with my Tom. The oke is a KZN fisherman and a chef – owns a chef school! – AND – how’s this for a great recommendation – he’s my age! Both brats still give me huge hugs (Tom makes sure no-one is watching and says LUV you Daddy as he hugs – how’s that!? It’s a healthy counterpoint to “fuck that” to some of my other suggestions anyway! Both read to me most nights; Work made target; Tobias is growing delicious veggies; Cecelia is great and is fetching her matric mid-year results tomorrow);

All is well in the world.

Even Jessie’s dull brown curtains in her room are glowing tonight!



All Worth It!

Oh, and don’t forget: Sambucca the part-greyhound labrador still thinks the sun rises at 5.30pm when I get home and she sets off for a lap of sheer delight around the trailer.


That word. When accused of resorting to cursing because of not having 
a good vocabulary, Billy Connolly said "Bullshit! I know loads of words. 
I just happen to LIKE "fuck".

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