match made in heaven

The Royal Wedding of Himself’s sister is tomorrow.

Himself has gone to pick up his children and his dressing-up suit.

He is not in a good mood.

He has phoned me to say that he has had an ear-bashing from Moaning Myrtle, his ex. She wanted to go and is massively annoyed that there has been no relinquishing in the lack of invitation headed her way. You’d think he’d be used to it by now. The woman is skilled beyond the measure of a very (very) skilled person at moaning and inciting guilt and emotional blackmail and using her children to control the whole world including the bit that you’re living in. You just may not have realised that it’s her. Sometimes the thought of having to put up with her for at least the next 10 years (until the youngest is 18) is too much to contemplate. It wasn’t me that foolishly married her and then compounded the error by impregnating her. Anyway I digress. The wedding. The amount that Himself’s mother has spent on this shindig is obscene. Both parties are in full time professional work, are in their 30s, own their own property and are well off. And yet the widowed mother, on a limited income, is footing the bill, all the bill. The excuse is that she must because this is her girl-child. I think (but it’s not my family so obviously I can’t say anything, just moan on here) (sorry), that in these days of equality, that people wanting to get hitched should fund it themselves, if either set of parents (or anyone else for that matter!) wants to contribute and can afford it, then it can be graciously accepted. But to expect thousands upon thousands (upon thousands) of pounds to be spent on one frigging day is appalling. And a waste. Especially as no-one wants to be there anyway. They’re just family not people you’d choose to spend time with. This stupid woman (the bride) spent an age moaning to me that she’ll have to go back to work if / when she has a baby because they can’t afford (oh pur - lease) for her to stay at home. Now go back to work if you have to, if you want to, but don’t complain when you could have spent a couple of years at home with your child but instead chose to blow a fortune on one day pratting around looking like a over-priced meringue.

As you can tell we’re all so looking forward to it.

I won’t be posting pictures.

Cina gro

For a while now I have tried to be holier than thou* and have bought organic and Fair Trade produce whenever I can. It salves my conscience a bit about the fact that I’m too lazy to be a vegetarian when I really don’t want to eat anything that has a face.

Recently I have gone a step further and now have an organic vegetable box delivered. (Polishes halo*). I’ve just taken receipt of box number 2 and in it was this:

What the **** am I supposed to do with that? I think it might be a type of cabbage but I’m not at all certain!

This is the second time I’ve been sent broad-beans (with their coats on) and the second time I’ve had to denude them. I quite enjoyed that – I felt quite earth motherish, I may have to buy something floaty made of cheesecloth and a pair of clogs. (But not those nasty plastic croc things, yeuch).

The potatoes though, are a nightmare. They are more mud than potato. Even offering to pay assorted offspring has not been enough to encourage anyone to get down and dirty with these potatoes. Do they really have to be grown in something akin to clay and concrete to be organic? I’ve blocked the damn sink now and Himself is not going to be pleased.

I’ve just found out what the cabbage thing is for!

*I may get to heaven yet.