Tag Archives: Grinch

A Yuletide Pity Party

grinchI worked yesterday, although I’m sure The Boss wished I hadn’t.

I grinched and grumbled the whole day, threw an almighty strop over a designer radiator and sulked in the van while The Boss gamely measured up our new, muddy building site.

When I got home (after flouncing out the van and nearly breaking an ankle in the process), I collapsed on the sofa, before promptly falling asleep.

Nerve pain, usually kept under semi-strict control with medication, had sneaked past it and was having festive fun dancing with clogs on all over my body. Hard to describe and difficult to ignore, my body was inflamed with the darned pain. After I woke up, I lay still, wishing beyond hope that it would go away.

My stomach grumbled but I couldn’t get up. I passed a few hours like this, intermittently bursting into tears whenever a Christmas charity advert came on TV. The Teenager popped down a couple of times to ferret through the fridge and sneak a few mouthfuls of squirty cream (he denies it, but I know the sound).

Eventually I ate two mince pies without squirty cream, cried a little more and gave the cat some Dreamies before I went to bed. I slept a straight ten hours, virtually unheard of as late as I’ve also been plagued by the scariest, most bizarre nightmares. Anyway, I got up, fell on to the sofa and lay there pitying myself a bit more and watched the news about Storm Barbara (Really? Do you know how many jokes I’ve had?).

So I sulked about the storm’s name and the nerve pain cranking up again. I sulked about there being nothing on TV. I sulked when I found out The Teenager had demolished the rest of the mince pies. And then, A Christmas Miracle.

The Boss texted me. He was going to Ikea and would I like to join him? Well, I could just as easily sulk in Ikea as at home – and have more reason to – so I went. Best. Cure. Ever.

It was blissfully quiet, I got to stock up on candles and had a leisurely coffee while watching harassed parents attempt to control their over-excited toddlers. Been there, done that. Nerve pain? Still thrumming away, still painful, but with the company of a good friend and a change of scenery, just about manageable.

This lull allowed me to reflect on how lucky I am to have you guys to offload to, to grumble to and to feel part of a larger group of good mates. I love your comments and your emails and who knows what my fifth year of blogging will bring?

p.s. If I hear, ‘Barbara’s going to be very windy’ one more time, I’ll cry again …

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Can’t Stop The Music …

grumpyI quite liked music before MS came along.

Even during the diagnostic process, I spent countless evenings with the ‘Bridget Jones’ soundtrack up full blast – crying and snivelling into my wine and family-sized bag of Wotsits.

If a song mentioned the word ‘alone’, I played it.

It’s only four years after my diagnosis that I can admit to you guys that Barry Manilow and Gilbert O’Sullivan were on my playlist.

Now, I can’t bear music. I’ve switched permanently to Radio 4 and have grown to love it, although I turn off whenever ‘Desert Island Discs’ comes on, pesky programme. TV dramas are a nightmare as I have to turn the sound down if there’s an emotional scene set to music.

I don’t know why this is – I get that MS can play havoc with your emotions, but music?

So I have a bit of a problem. Working on a building site equals bacon butties, builder’s tea and … music. All. The. Time. There’s a bit of a battle with the radio depending on who’s in first. If it’s the baby-faced labourer, it’ll be Kiss FM. He especially loves ‘Kisstory’ – ‘the best old skool and anthems’, which is sad as the songs are from my youth and I am not that old. Honestly.

If it’s our more mature builder, it’s Smooth Radio, which is particularly painful; sad classic pop song after sad classic pop song. And what’s worse, the builder sings along to every single one of them, and if The Boss is in too, all I hear is, ‘classic song, mate, classic.’

Now it’s That Time Of Year, I live in dread of The Boss taking over the radio. I can never forget two years ago when he subjected me to seven weeks of Smooth Christmas. Christmas songs and only Christmas songs all day long. It was horrific. And traumatic. Incredibly, when I sidled up to the client and said, ‘hey, so sorry about this music, how about I change the channel? There’s a great play on Radio 4?’ she said, ‘oh, I love it! So Christmassy! Don’t change it over.’

Even at home┬áthere’s no escape – The Teenager has a deep and enduring love of music. I totally blame myself; I took heed of the so-called baby ‘experts’ and played all sorts of music when I was pregnant, from Chopin to Showoddywaddy, to help his tiny neurons along.

Mind you, sometimes it’s handy as I can gauge his emotions, depending on which music resounds around our tiny house. He’s struggling a little with a huge pile of homework right now, so, perhaps fittingly, his choice last night was ‘Yesterday’ by The Beatles.

If I did listen to music, I’d play ‘I Can’t Stand It’ by Velvet Underground.

Old Skool?

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