I know, I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m shit. *bitch slaps self* I’ll get me blogging act together. I will. I will. Don’t look at me like that.

Any-fucking-way.

I haz decided, which is rare for me, I’m RUBBISH at making decisions, so YAY GO ME. *cough* I have decided to add a little weekly feature on this here blog of mine… A round-up, a summary, a culmination of the past week’s events if you will. But in reality it’ll more than likely be a week’s worth of rantings, not particularly interesting happenings and full to the brim with swearing. Sorry about that, I’m not selling this well am I, let’s go with it and see how it goes yeah?

Firstly, Ugg boots are NOT appropriate footwear for walking around in snow. Warm - yes, non slippy - pretty much, BUT they are not waterproof, consequently the dye inside them leaks and runs. Yeahhh what’s the big deal you drama queen, I heard ya, I know you’re thinking I’m making mountains from mole hills, I HAVE BLACK FEET FFS, BLACK. FREAKING. FEET. My feet look like they died 3 weeks ago. AND IT WILL NOT COME OFF. Those evil snuggly bastards. Either that, or I actually have frostbite, my feet ARE dying and are going gangrene. I prefer the first option TBH.

Next, all my Christmas decorations are plotting a vendetta against me, particularly the type I have hanging from the ceiling. Look, I’m a sucker for bunting, those fabric triangles of joy, I can’t get enough of it, the stuff is EVERYWHERE, and paper chains, fairy lights, paper snowflake garlands and all the rest, I can’t keep it on the ceiling, it’s driving me insane in the membrane. Blu-Tak, sellotape, sticky dots, drawing pins, prayers and human sacrifice - JOKE *nervous laugh* will not keep that shit up. I have found the only thing that keeps it stuck in place is Duck Tape. FUCKING Duck Tape, at least it’s silver I guess, so it’s sort of festive. Ish.

Third. Walking into a room of 30 toddlers staring you down, with suspicion and loathing in their big eyes, snot running down their chubby faces menacingly, is absolutely as foof-clenchingly terrifying as it sounds. Yes, I STUPIDLY volunteered to help make Chrimbo decorations at Bean’s nursery. I was one of four mum’s that turned up in the end, they bailed out after half hour, I was stuck there for Bean’s whole 3 hour session. It was OK, the kids were actually quite sweet once I saw past the bogies, manic looks in their eyes and smell of farts. I ate 2 VERY boozey mince pies, made a shit tonne of paper chains and little paper angels and had quite a bit of fun. However, I’m still finding glitter in my ears.

Fourth. Standing outside my local Royal Mail sorting office for 35 freezing cold minutes, in gale force icy winds, shitty rain in a queue of 40 odd people, to pick up a parcel, is, well frankly, a bunch of balls. Add that in with the fact that I knew I WAS IN MY BLOODY HOUSE when the postman came to deliver the damn thing is a bunch of INFURIATING balls of RAGE.

And lastly, leaky Uggs, conspiring Christmas decorations and lazy postmen aside, I got the news my granddad who has been in hospital for five weeks, probably won’t be coming out again, last week there was a scary phone call from the hospital to say he might not make it through the night, but thankfully he pulled through and is still fighting somehow, considering how weak and emaciated he has become since he went into hospital. I haven’t mentioned it on here or Twitter as I simply don’t know what to say. It’s utterly heartbreaking, completely unfair and totally devastating. Not only for him, but for my poor nan who relied on him so much, who hasn’t spent a night on her own for decades.

I have no words left. There’s nothing that can be said that’ll change anything, but bloody hell, I desperately wish there was.

Did you find out anything you didn’t know a week ago? The location to the Lost Ark perhaps? How to make a jolly good flan? Do let me know.

Over and out.