Saturday, 31 May 2008

There's none so blind as those that cannot see.....

So, there we were getting ready for the usual Friday night drinkathon at our local 17th century inn. It’s a ritual; it’s what us older folks get up to on a Friday evening because it doesn’t take much thought, it’s a three minute walk from home, (well three minutes there and fifteen back what with all that weaving from one side of the road to the other), and there are quite a few fences to cling to for support and to guide us back home after partaking of a sherry or two of an evening.

Now, on one or two occasions we have been known to drink enough between us to embalm the residents of a small care home whilst also living up to the term ‘blind drunk’. These are not times to be proud of, I can tell you. I hang my head in shame at some of our antics as we should know better at our age; frolics such as the time himself, my husband, thought it would be a right old laugh if he raced me back home in the pub wheelbarrow only for it to overturn and to tip me out at the bus stop where two of the village’s staunchly po faced residents tut tutted down their snooty noses at us. Or the time we tried to cycle back after stopping off for a ‘quick one’ and after several ‘quick one’s’, on the way home, careered out of control into a hedge. Luckily my ankles were hanging out so himself could get a good grip to heave me out of there. Or the other time I was getting home fine until someone stepped on my fingers....... The list goes on dear people, but I am too ashamed to divulge any more of our antics. But at other times, we have been fortunate enough to have had the foresight to stop for a drink after walking the dogs, whereupon, their sobriety has meant two superb guides with excellent homing instincts to get us back to the old homestead in one piece and all for the price of some water and a packet of pork scratchings.

So there we are, last night being Friday, we followed our usual ritual of showering, me buggering about with the menopausal hair until it looked less ‘mad old lady’, himself taking ages combing his hair which baffles the poop out of me as he doesn’t have any, and both of us finally donning our drinking boots for our skip, hop and a jump up the pub. Sure enough it was a typical ‘early doors’ selection of Chickenwing Pete, Bob the Belcher, Rudolph the red nosed barman and Maltese Mick who isn’t Maltese and isn’t called Mick......don't ask. Soon we were joined by our good neighbours and drinking buddies who pop in for a snifter or two on the way home to their country pile for the weekend; a jolly nice pair of good old eggs, and no mistake.

Around 0900pm himself is usually suffering from the munchies, i.e., starving hungry ravenous and could eat uncooked road-kill and expects loving wife and partner, whilst being fourteen sheets to the wind, to dish up a three course meal of Michelin star standards. Now, given that I cook from scratch this is quite a feat to achieve when both eyes are looking out of one socket and an accomplishment that has been known in the past to result in me almost losing one or more fingers whilst julienning his fecking carrots. Himself can be heard belly laughing all the way from the den as he is being mightily entertained by such gems as ‘Have I got news for you?’, whilst Moi lacerates my hands to hell and back whilst clinging to a work surface to stay upright. Oh how I love those evenings.......

........Not....So enough was enough and after one particularly harrowing cooking session and a near visit to casualty I left him in no doubt that Friday night munchathons were his department from now on. Suffice to say himself can cremate food and still say that it is underdone. Here is a man who is supremely talented in so many areas that he puts mere mortals to shame but ask him to cook a sausage and it could be used as a lethal weapon as it is as hard as anything similar fashioned out of steel. Realising that he could quite likely burn the house down when bladdered and attempting to cremate anything within reach, we reached a compromise. I cooked in bulk and froze his Friday night meals and all he had to do was learn how to drive the oven and the microwave.

So, having set the scene further let me continue last nights tale.........

At around himself’s usual ‘I could eat a scabby dog’ time, attempts to put one foot in front of the other and walk in a straightish line were made and we entered our humble abode without head injuries and the need for a stomach pump. Accustomed as he is now, he raided the freezer, unbeknown to me whacked on the oven at the highest temperature possible and disappeared to the study to surf the net for while. I on the other hand visited a few blogs to catch up on my favourite reads and before long, could smell burning. Given that we were rather shit faced, himself had forgotten to set the timer and the burning smell was an indicator that full scale cremation of his dinner was in full flight. Dashing to the cooker, I opened the oven door whereupon a volcanically hot wave of heat whooshed over my face, buggered up my fringe, melted my eyebrows and burnt the shit out of my eyelashes. Oh and as an added bonus my new fecking lenses are now welded to my eyeballs. Such a good look, first degree burns. Jamie Oliver eat yer heart out, you’ve got nothing on himself here when it comes to cooking the food and his wife all in one go. Talk about living the dream eh?

Needless to say, the trainee Arsonist is completely humble today and can’t do enough for me but hell will freeze over before I let him back in that kitchen unsupervised........ The upside is that I now look like that gorgeous bit of stuff Hortense - see picture on the sidebar if you need a look. I’m off to the hozzie to get my lenses surgically removed.

"P.S. As ‘Herself' can’t see this it’s ‘Himself’ leaving a message saying Vote for Mob, Vote for MoB.....Do you think she might lift the death threat now? Please vote for her, it'll be over soon, midnight on the 1st of June, I promise and the more votes she gets the more likely she is to let me eat again....pleaaaaase, I'm wasting away....."

"Eejit, didn't I tell you to say Vote for me 'cause I can't see, Vote for me 'cause I can't see?. How the hell am I supposed to get the sympathy vote now, eh? So, err, what takeaway are we ordering tonight then?"

27 comments:

Mean Mom said...

Love the descriptions of your 'frolics' getting back from the pub'! If you had big dogs, the landlord could rope you on, at closing time, and you could ride home! Hope the eyes are OK!

menopausaloldbag (MOB) said...

Frolics, I should have been arrested for indecent exposure!

Sy said...

Ah yes. Being a younger man, I am always a sensible chap and would never partake in these kind of shenanigans. OR, lets just say I wont be airing them here until I know you a little better.

So I need to know who stepped on your fingers, and the 29 seconds actions preceeding the event! And Why is Devonshire Dave called Maltese Mick?

ciara said...

omgoodness...hope you're ok, mob. guess you'll have to make his munchies whilst three sheets to the wind again, eh? men!

The Lehners in France said...

MOB, Can't you put the oven on a timer? (I know my cooker does it, but I can't be arsed to read the instructions) Your journey home reminds me of Bastille day here when Bob and I cycled into town. There was a heatwave and by the time we got there we were sweating golf balls. We ordered a couple of jugs of sangria/cider to quench our thirst. Then cycled home, no lights on the bikes or in the lanes. We ended up falling into ditches we were so p*ssed. We arrive home covered in cuts and bruises, stripped off and jumped in the pool at midnight. What a night. Bebs x

menopausaloldbag (MOB) said...

Sy - Wish I kndw who stepped on my fingers - all I know is that they were mightilly swollen the next day but it was defnitely some big b'stard judging by the size of his hiking boot imprint on the back of hands. Fecker.

menopausaloldbag (MOB) said...

Ciara - himself now has written instructions on how to remove food from the freezer through to each step being documented in the smallest detail. There is a Fatwa out against him. He has written a hundred lines saying 'I must not torch the house when pissed and I must not maim or injure my wife in any way whilst trying to feed mself when bladdered'.

I have installed an emergency glass covered button that he can smash that automatically goes through to the pizza delivery place in town. He is to use this in times of emergency when he meets the criteria that is set for such a time i.e. he's so mashed he can't stand let alone co-ordinate thought and limbs to heat up food without having the fire brigade turn up. I made him sign a contract when he sobered up.

menopausaloldbag (MOB) said...

Bebs - what a story - absolutely brilliant. I could see the pair of you bruised and battered and dragging youselves out of ditches!

Our pals are as just as bad as us at times and we are all professionals who should know better. Good to hear you have the same outlook in life!

We have the most brilliant fun with them and we are really lucky to live where we do as it is the most beautiful village with stunning surrounding scenery for great long walks.

Luckily our miseeds happen under dark so we get away with it - so far!

Sy said...

A big guy wearing hiking boots huh? Ummm...you werent wearing a black top were you? Ohhhhh dear...

Dusty Spider said...

Good heavens, you sound like us of a Thursday! We're lucky though, our local serves food! Flick xx

Crystal Jigsaw said...

You have a fabulous sense of humour, I thoroughly enjoyed reading this post. Hope the fringe isn't too bad!

CJ xx

menopausaloldbag (MOB) said...

Sy, knew I'd met you before! Bet you were wearing climbing shoes with spikes in them - I wondered what the holes in my hand were!

Dusty - as of two weeks ago our inn was bought over by some fantastic new chef's and the new menu is superb so it will be nosh up there before we lurch home pished as farts.

CJ - I am really chuffed that you read my post - you are a spectacular writer. The fringe will take weeks to recover but my God am I going to get some mileage out of it! Bless himself he helped me prise my eyelashes apart the next morning!

auntiegwen said...

Mob, why so posh ? You know it's a scabby dug !!

Still voting, still voting

menopausaloldbag (MOB) said...

Auntiegwen - I so wanted to call it a scabby dug - it's genetic isn't it?! But I knew the English and the rest of the world wouldn't know whit a scabby dug was! Thanks fur the vote hen, ahm rrrreallly grrrrateful! Och aye the noooooooo!

Carolyn said...

You are too funny. LOL at the vision of you with your legs sticking out of the hedge after you fell into it. Great writing...

Eileen said...

You always make me smile, this time I was laughing out loud. So funny, I can just see the whole thing being played out in my mind. I have a few stories like that, back before the kids came. Great times.
I hope you are feeling better. I would play this up, for at least a week.
I also hope you win. Good luck! My fingers are crossed, you so deserve this.
XOXO

menopausaloldbag (MOB) said...

Carolyn - ta hen. I was sorry to see you throw the towel in and not campaign for your great blog no matter how good you thought the compeition is. You deserve to be up there as you are so talented.

Eileen, kids are so grounding but just wait until the get older and leave the nest - you'll be back!

She's like the wind said...

OMG this was hilarious, loved the image of you getting home fine until someone stood on your fingers, haven't laughed so much for ages. Hope you're OK! xx

Sy said...

Yeah sorry about that. I had been drinking a few that night on a raucous Old Mans Rambling trip. They were most fetching boots though!! Sorry if I got any horse dung on your coat.

family affairs said...

I thought I'd drop in to congratulate you on coming second in the competition. I too came second in my "Mommy blog" category...I think for brits we did pretty well! Lx

family affairs said...

Do you think we should buy our outfits for when they invite us to go on Oprah?

menopausaloldbag (MOB) said...

FA - let's start smaller how about a session on the couch with Phil and Fern! Que music - da da da da da da da da da da da da da da da da dobbie doo doo bie doo! Que me pooping myself with nerves big time! At least we can dream eh?!

menopausaloldbag (MOB) said...

Sy - horse dung on my coat? Hose dung is practically a cologne and aphrodisiac around these parts what with the horsey ex hunting lot liking a good bit of horse shit warmed up for breakfast.

aims said...

And why can't himself get a bite to eat at a pizza joint or something like that? Why does a three course meal need to be out on the table?

And honey - if you're looking like Hortense now - Oh...sob....

menopausaloldbag (MOB) said...

Aims - well it was a bit of poetic license there! He never really expected a three course meal, just the one! And I wouldn't let him have pizza or any other takeaway's at the time because we were, besides the booze, on a health kick!

He's a generous and kind soul who has let me take the mickey out of him big time in the post! And all for the sake of art! Bless him.

The Lehners in France said...

Tread carefully MOB. There's nowt wrong with warmed up horse shit! When we first bought this house it had an AGA, the only tme we used the bottom warming oven was to warm up a dollop of horse turd. We found a worm in it and Bob wanted to get it a bit more active so he could identify it. It's about the only thing AGA's are good for! Bebs x

menopausaloldbag (MOB) said...

Debs - You warmed up a horse turd in the bottom of your aga, a what, dear god?! Just so you could identify a fecking worm?! I knew my comment about eating at your place was a bit like eating at a bush tucker trial! And you hand me the evidence just like that! Hah!