I’m not a celebrity keep me in here.

I know there are bugs flying around because I’ve snapped one up.
I have had a headache for two days that is so bad I feel like my eyes have been sewn up.
I have visited the bathroom more times than Una Armetage Shanks.
I ran for 30 minutes this morning, hoping that it would make me feel better.
It did, of sorts.
I made porridge and grated an apple into it. I thought I could do with the roughage. Jim shouted at me and said I should have eggs to bind me.
The thought of it made me feel queasy.
The daughter called trying to track down tickets she’s lost for a gig she’s going to on Sunday. I hot-footed it to the computer to assist.
Then the old man left with his guitar, amp, box of make-up, and various other bits of pantomime paraphernalia, and set off for the theatre.
I didn’t feel great but Jackson looked at me with those big, brown eyes of his and so off we went.

I walked Jackson round the houses.
The farmer was having his big yellow HOLLAND TX65, and his big red BATEMAN COMPOUND over-hauled by the agricultural fixer from Uckfield, who was swinging those two big combine harvesters around like they were Tonka toys.
I always think of ‘The Archers’ when I talk bucolic stuff, I can never remember the name of the characters in that soap. I know there’s a Brian and I know there’s a Jennifer, but as for the rest of them.
Dum di dum di dum di dum, dum di dum di daa daa!
I’ve just sneezed. Yuk!
Jackson wasn’t anywhere near as impressed by the combine ballet as I was..
We walked past the chickens, who have been tranferred to their brick built hen house for the winter.
8 wonderful cluckers they are.
I always say hello, and they always run and say hello to me. I know that chickens remember you – at least that’s what I was told and I choose to believe it.
Home to another call from the daughter who had to have a new car battery.
I made some lunch, a simple bowl of soup.
Another call from the daughter. Now she needs a new starter motor.
‘Can you see a pattern emerging here?’ she said smartly.
‘You mean you need a new car?’ I answered.
‘What do you think?’ she said matter of factly.
‘I’ve got other things to do rather than run around Sarf Lond looking for starter motors.’ she snapped.
Oh! What like spend all day and night and day and night with the new beau.’ I thought.
Are you mad? I didn’t dare say anything. I don’t feel well enough!
I left Jackson asleep on his newly washed blanket and drove into the Twillage for provisions.
By the time I had come back from shopping my forehead had shrunk into my neck. I looked, and felt, like ET.
I’ve just got out of the bath where I received calls from my agent and my wonderful Irish Horse- Trader-Car-Dealer who’s looking out for a lump of old tin for BB that is safe and can house her ridiculous subs whoofers, or whatever they’re called, that also has a new battery and starts.
As I write I have a towel holding my hair up, I’ve pulled it as tight as a ‘Croydon Facelift’ the better to help my headache.
A massive spider has just swung down on one of its threads.
I’m now sitting half on my chair and half off it. Don’t get me wrong I love spiders, they weave dreams after all, but I don’t want to eat them, touch them, or share my space with them.
This is not the jungle and I’m not a celebrity.
For those of you who don’t know what a ‘Croydon Facelfit’ is, its a very high, tight pony tail that pulls the skin and hairline up. It’s meant to make you look ten years younger. The way my head feels if I had my head winched up by an industrial crane I would still look like ET.
I can’t see the spider, I need to feed the dog, and get organised. I’m making the old man a little individual fish pie for tonights supper.
When I’ve done that, I’m sliding into my big, cool bed, the better to kill the bug that is making me feel like a pile of pooh.
The etiquette show on Sunday will inlcude two more of my compelling life stories.
1. How I was taught to fold a napkin in 1966 and ticked off for calling it a serviette.
2. How Lloyd Grossman never invited me to his house again because I didn’t know what to do with his quails egg.
Do join me on the air waves by sending me your bad mannered tales.
Y”&*=$SQUOHEW, I’ve just found the spider…………………

3 thoughts on “I’m not a celebrity keep me in here.”

  1. Hi Jeni,
    How about people who chop up spaghetti into 1 inch lengths before eating.
    Posh waiters who make you feel inadequate.
    Smoking during a meal.
    Guests who will not eat food just because they have not had it before. I hate that. Bad menners and a narrow attitude.
    Food snobs. If you are invited for a meal then you should go and enjoy an evening with friends.The food is a bonus and you shouldn’t criticise.
    Get well soon!!
    Chrissie x x

  2. Sorry to hear you’re not feeling too hot Jen hope you de-bug soon, and I am in total agreement with you on the spider front!
    Manners & etiquette – Soup & Bread, do you break the bread into your soup and eat it with your spoon or how bad is it to actually dunk your bread in your soup, I imagine technically it’s not done but it doesn’t taste the same if you put the bread in your mouth and then add the soup….would love to know can you fill me in.
    Lots of love Marmite Girl xx

  3. Hi Jeni,sorry to hear you feel like pooh! Get well soon.
    On the subject of manners and etiquette. Why do waiters and waitresses have to serve you from the left at a formal dinner? I was a silver service waitress in my youth for one night! I’m left handed and I was asked to serve a large silver platter of (greasy) baby chickens using a spoon and fork. I looked so cackhanded reaching over this large plate trying not to drop it in the customer’s lap. I couldn’t master the spoon and fork action either and resorted to nudging the chicken onto the plate and hoping that nobody noticed. They did notice and after several other calamities, (entering the kitchen the wrong way through the swing doors and finding the wine waiter in the cold cabinet with a waitress) I ended up running away and sending my Mum to collect my wages. Sadly I didn’t earn enough to cover the cost of the black skirt I’d purchased for the night!

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