...that thou couldst pierce a potato with a spoon, thou villainous, tardy-gaited strumpet?

One has to worry about one's mental state, really, doesn't one.

Not to mention one's Culinary Competence.

Just been down to the doctor's surgery to have my vaccinations for Brazil, and the nurse asked me if I was over 25!!!!!!

(I think she meant Years, and not Stone).

I'm 35 in 3 weeks time!!!

She said she thought she had the wrong records out because I looked so young!!!!!

I was tempted to offer her my undying Love And Devotion, but my heart belongs to another. (no, not Susie Dent, tkk!!)

Almost went on the turn for a minute there though.

She was quite fit as well.

Anyway I am now vaccinated against Hepatitis A, Typhoid and Tetanus, although I spurned Yellow Fever which costs £55. My bro in Brazil says you'd have to be bloody unlucky to get bit by a mozzy in Rio in July (Sixpence frantically touches nearest wooden object... this being the same Sixpence that returned from Denmark with leg in cast following shed roof incident).

And with the mood swings that I am experiencing as a result of my personal circumstances at the moment, any mozzy that comes within biting distance of me is liable to get its feckin neck broken (do mozzies have necks? Discuss.)

This morning I had acupuncture for the first time ever. I'd made the appointment weeks ago to help with my insomnia but as it turned out the timing was pretty good with all the marital breakdown stress etc.

It was a pretty freaky experience. He stuck loads of needles in me and then went off for 40 minutes. I didn't go to sleep but I did drift off into some utterly trance like state which I had difficulty coming around from afterwards. I was something I am not very often. I was the R word.

Relaxed.

I know when I am Relaxed, because something weird happens to my voice. It drops about 2 octaves.

I can probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I have felt Relaxed in the last 10 years.

Pretty sad, huh?

So am I going back for more?

You fookin bet I am.

Ps. Wish I'd known he was going to stick needles in my lower legs though. I haven't shaved my legs for about 10 days!!!!! (Now now, boys, no call for masculine horror.... I have had other stuff on my plate you know!!!!)

Thanks for all the kind words guys. And thanks to the friends who've emailed me and please forgive me if I haven't responded because I'm just all over the place and trying to sort out so much stuff in one go. But your emails mean a hell of a lot xxx

I can't tell you how I am because I don't really know.

And I can't tell you here what's going on because Mr Ex Sixpence (Expence?) finds me blogging about it offensive.

So I'll not say a word, although frankly I really fucking need this outlet.

But I think we can safely say that the marriage is incontrovertibly OVER.

I got no clue how I'm gonna get thru the next few weeks/months.

But I suppose I will.

On a bit of a mood rollercoaster right now. No sleep last night again.

There must be a lot of people who think I deserve it, reap what you sow, I've no right to feel sorry for myself, brought it on myself etc.

And it's all too easy for me to believe I'm a bad person right now.

I know that my behaviour has been unforgiveable.

But I would never set out deliberately to hurt anyone. I've just got myself in a big mess over the years what with all the fertility stuff making me feel like a pretty worthless example of womanhood. I dunno what I've been trying to prove to myself. But I've surely fucked everything and everyone up now, haven't I. Including myself.

Couldn't go on the way I was and therefore it is for the best.

And I hope with all my heart that something good is going to come out of it.

But I'm still devastated.

After a sad but amicable break up on Monday morning here is what happened from Monday evening onwards:

1) Mr Sixpence turns up unexpectedly, flings wedding ring across room and announces marriage is terminated.

The reason being that I am seeing somebody else, and Mr Sixpence has apparently employed underhand measures to secure this information, since he manages to name the person in question.

I know this is not going to make me any friends. I know that it is going to lose me some friends. But I also know that they won't be the people that really know me or care about me.

I don't care how people judge me; I judge myself.

There are two sides to everything.

2) Mr Sixpence announces aggressively he wants me out of the house by 'tomorrow night' (i.e. Tuesday night).
I tell him I won't be.
He departs.

3) Phone Other Man, Mother and Oldest Friend, all of whom tell me not to leave the house.
Besides the very vulnerable position this would put me in, I'm freelance and I work here. I have a huge contract to complete by end June. My office and everything I need to complete it is in my house.

4) Take 2 temazepam.

5) Sleep for 2 hours.

6) At 4 a.m., write list of Things I Need To Do.

7) Drink large glass brandy.

8) Cry for next 7 hours.

9) A Friend to whom my eternal gratitude will never cease arrives to pick up the little pieces of me and provide a Shoulder on which I weep, dribble and snot for several hours.

10) Have to pull self together and conduct two research phone interviews in a professional manner.

11) Friend makes possibly most delicious lunch I have ever tasted.

12) Have to prepare for outdoor poetry event I am delivering later on.

13) Depart to go and buy some packing boxes since it seems inevitable that I will be leaving house at some point.

14) Hit cyclist with my car.

15) Collapse on pavement in utter, resigned, hysteria and misery, crying my eyes out and leaving more snot trails on Friend's jacket.

(The cyclist is ok. He has a grazed kneee. There is slight damage to his £6,000 bike.)

16) Purchase packing boxes.

17) Go to poetry event. Picture scene: wild, bloodshot, puffy, purple eyes, badly concealed by make up hastily applied in car, big frizzy ginger hair not brushed for 24 hrs, vague aromas of sweat and misery.... Hello, I'm Sixpence and I'll be your professional writer for this evening!!

18) Only expecting 3 attenders but 13 turn up!!

19) Set off for poetic ramble around countryside.

20) A howling gale begins to blow and I struggle to make my weedy, sobbed-out, overtired voice heard about the rising storm as the brave poetry fans in their pacamacs huddle together and we are lashed by wind and rain.

21) We give up half way and go back to the library for cheese and wine.

22) I go home.

So that was pretty much it for yesterday.

The cyclist was a personal highlight. Admittedly it could have been worse, so I suppose I should be grateful for small mercies.

And you know where he was on his way to when I ran him over?

The funeral parlour.

Mr Sixpence moved out today.

After 12 years of being together, 6 years of marriage.

8 years of unexplained infertility, 5 failed rounds of fertility treatment, 1 miscarriage.

What can I say? We crumbled...

As my nearest and dearest know, I am the Queen of Bizarre Ailments; this is not a case of being a Hypochondriac as I generally soldier on, but merely a case of being rather unfortunate and experiencing unusual ailments, afflictions and injuries with a frequency which does not seem to occur in normal people. In fact I am thinking of starting a separate blog merely to report upon my Bizarre Ailments.

So I was not surprised to be recently injured by PATE.

Yes PATE.

I reached into the fridge for some sustenance and the b*st*rd corner of the pate packet caught my wrist and violently ripped it open (ok a slight exaggeration) giving me all the hallmarks of a self-harmer (as opposed to an innocent pate consumer).

And now my pate injury has got infected somehow (pork liver in the cut perhaps?) and is throbbing angry red and yellow causing me to waft around in a cloud of TCP.

I am thinking of complaining to Tescos, since frankly following on from the Self Checkout Incident and the Dinted Kidney Beans Incident, the Pate Injury Incident is the icing on the (Tescos Finest) cake!!!

So if I die of septicaemia, dear readers (and I don't want to know if I've spelt that wrong - perhaps I should just have put 'blood poisoning') then I trust I can leave it with you to pursue the court case on my behalf. Go on, sue the b*st*rds who brought my short ginger life to a premature close.

I thank you.

The Library Service has employed me to deliver an event next week which seemed like a good idea at the time - a walk on a summer's evening through local rural parts accompanied by poetry on fitting natural themes (although I did point out yesterday to the organisers that I was not quite sure why I had been given this contract since my natural themes tend more towards SEX AND BODY PARTS than trees in leafy splendour, cattle lowing etc.)

However this event is now seeming like less of a good idea for a number of reasons:
1) Librarians. (Mental aside to D: you're a filthy whore!)
2) I can't find a fecking route in the allotted area that inspires me to read anything I've written.
3) The date of the event is..... wait for it......... the date of the England v Sweden match. Yes, Tuesday.

So I figured that rather than read my own work I shall stop outside the Royal Oak in said village and outside any house along the way with the sound of footie blaring through open windows and I shall recite Abba lyrics.

E.g.
If I trust in you, would you let me down
Would you laugh at me, if I said I care for you
Could you feel the same way too
I wanna know
Oh yes I wanna know
The name of the game
(I was an impossible case)
Does it mean anything to you
(But I think I can see in your face)
That it means a lot
What's the name of the game

I figured this was a subtle Swedish link and although my arse is not as fine as Agnetha's I am nevertheless hoping that we may attract some attention as currently the only attenders at my magnificent event are two old ladies with limited mobility, D the filthy whore librarian and K my dear friend the event organiser. And surely a crowd of irate footie fans pursuing me down the lanes could only make for a more Creatively Stimulating Literary Experience.

In my dreams a knight on white charger appears to remove me from this frankly excruciating situation and we disappear into the sunset together with Abba blaring on his ipod (not sure where ipod fits on suit of armour but no doubt I would be happy to hold it for him. And his ipod.)

Also I am not exactly a Born Rambler, I have blisters on my tiny feet from wandering the fields yesterday, the cows kept looking at me funny and I trod in a big pile of Poo which splattered up my ankle.

Remind me again why I haven't got a proper job.

...make you smell of chip fat??

It does, though.

Despite having the bedroom windows wide open last night due to the heat, the air was still pervaded by the aroma of stale chips.

However - on the positive side - I am now nice and brown! (Cue quote from my favourite Harry Enfield sketch - the one where Waynetta Slob says "I wanna brahn baby!! All the other mums have brahn babies!!")

It's something of a relief to finally be the colour a normal person goes at this time of year, because I am just SO white (not a bit white but very, very white). I've only ever had a natural tan once, and that was after 2 weeks sunbathing in the South of Spain in the middle of August (see Spain tag), and I went seriously purple before I went brown.

And UVA rays bring me out in a rash, so although I like the sun, I can't go out in it unless covered in anti-allergy, anti-tan, anti-fun, keep-that-bastard-sun-away-from-me cream.

But here I am - brown in all visible places - and if I've missed any bits, I don't want to know...

ps. you want salt & vinegar with them?

Today in the post I received:

1) A cheque for £269.40 from Arts Council England for some work I did for them. [Annoyance factor: -3 out of 10]

2) Junk mail from Egg. "If your credit card bills are starting to get on top of you, Egg Card can really help lighten the load..." WHY do I receive ANY junk mail when I ALWAYS tick that box that says "If you don't want to receive any crap through your letterbox, tick here"?? AND I don't believe in credit cards, neither. Never used one and never will. If I've got the money, I pay for it. If I ain't, I don't buy it. [Annoyance factor: 2 out of 10]

3) Note from Poetry London rejecting the poems I'd sent for inclusion in their magazine. "I enjoyed these but not any enough to take". Feck and bugger. [Annoyance factor: 5 out of 10]

4) A letter from HM Revenue & Customs telling me about a change to my tax code. The letter begins, "We believe you are currently between jobs..."
YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER FUCKWITS, I have been sending back self-employed tax returns for the past 2 years!!!!!!!!!! Exactly HOW does this make me BETWEEN JOBS?????????????
Cue phone call to tax office...
Sixpence: I've received this letter (blah, blah....)
Tax office: Our records show that you are self-employed.
Sixpence: So why have you sent me this letter then?
Tax office: I don't know.
Sixpence: So what shall I do with it then?
Tax office: Send it back.
Sixpence: I'll do that, and you can put it in your in tray just underneath your 'Employee of the Month' trophy...
[Annoyance factor: 32 out of 10]

And now I'm all worked up, and I'm not sure what I need more: meditation or medication. And I'd come in all nice and chilled and smiley as well. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Call me fussy, but I won't buy tins with dints in. I fondle all my tins before buying to make sure they have no dints.

So - imagine my disappointment when today in Tescos I seek a tin of kidney beans with which to make Sixpence's Famous Three Bean Salad, only to find they ALL have dints in.

So Mr Sixpence cunningly eases out a tin of kidney beans from a pack of 3 tins of kidney beans.

Only at the till, of course, we get the full ring the bell, wait for a superior (I use the term loosely), and play hunt the price game, because the tins in the 3 packs don't have a bar code on.

So after about 10 minutes the chap comes back with one of the single tins of kidney beans, which the cashier scans and gives to me.

"NO," I say with unusual assertiveness, "I don't WANT one with a DINT in, THANK YOU!!!!!"

The cashier looks at me with an expression which clearly says "you arsey cow" and gives me back the tin out of the 3 pack.

Is it really so stroppy of me to want a tin without a dint in?

And if you get your 3 pack of kidney beans home and there's only 2 tins in it, now you know who to blame.

Well the outfit is bought - only a tenner over my budget and friend MS bought me matching jewellery for an early birthday present. So that's that sorted. It's sort of floaty and delicate (just like me, hahahahehehe). Quote Mr Sixpence: "It's not the kind of thing you normally wear". Boys are so good at compliments.

And having spent £85 on it I get home to a letter reminding me my car tax is due end of month. Great.

PS. Great moment in cafe at lunchtime when friend MS, trying to make conversation about my forthcoming travel extravaganza, announces loudly: "So - you're going Brazilian!"
Customers on neighbouring tables seemed to find this intriguing...

My RIGHT FOOT is tingling.
I think something stung me yesterday!

It's half five in the morning and I'm tired and bored. Cat1 is on my lap and Cat2 has gone out in a huff because I refuse to give them breakfast before 6.00am and she's rubbish at telling the time. She just thinks I'm being an ignorant cowbag. But it's a slippery slope, Cat2. You get breakfast at 5am, you want lunch at 11am, you want tea at 3pm, and before you know it you've worked your way around to an extra meal a day. I know your game, you fat mog.

Was hoping I might at least have some exciting emails to respond to, to make it worth being up at this hour of the morning, but there is a big fat You have 0 new messages in my mailbox and me sat here ranting into cyberspace like the insomniac I am.

Cat2 comes back in and scratches pathetically at kitchen door in hope that Mr Sixpence will hear and come feed her (he's more sympathetic than me). Tough luck, fatso. He's still sleeping, the lucky bastard. (Sorry dennypoos; I do seem to have abandoned my asterisks don't I? And I know they fired your rockets. )

Oh look, she's found a bowl still semi full of cat biscuits from last night. No call for the RSPCA just yet, then.

I have a lot of questions in my head just now. But I can't share them with Blogworld for legal reasons.

*sigh*

What lies ahead: a day spent shopping for an outfit for my brother's wedding in July. In BRAZIL (the wedding, not the shopping). I was thinking neon pink thong. I'm joking. It's their winter in July. It might go down to 16 degrees!! Imagine that. So I'm off shopping with lovely MS and we are meeting the lovely SKM for lunch too. A girly day. At this point in time I feel I lack the energy to face it. So perhaps I should go back to bed and do the decent thing (sleep). Easier said than done. See above (questions in head, etc).

I'll give it a try, though.

x

Nettle Beer

This is an easy recipe to follow and creates a delightful, if not usual tasting beer. It is very cheap to make and follows a traditionally english recipe. Before hops were widely used in the 17th century all sorts of plant were used to flavour the ale including nettles. (Urtica dioica). It was also thought to help alleviate rheumatic pain, gout and asthma. Nettle beer can still be bought in the Czech republic and in the north of England where it is brewed with hops and is called internettle.

Ingredients:
900grams (2lb) young nettle tops
3.8lts (1 gallon) of water
230 grams (8oz) of sugar, brown or demerara sugar works best.
7.5 grams (0.25oz) of fresh yeast
small piece of toast
7.5 grams (0.25oz) of ground ginger

Method:
Boil the nettle tops in the water for half an hour (you will need a very large pan for this or preferably a cauldron).
Keeping the mixture, strain and add sugar, stirring to dissolve. I mentioned keeping the mixture as the first time I did this I strained it and poured the liquid down the sink, so had to go out and pick more nettles. Also stir in the ginger. Pour mixture into a sterile container, ask at most home brew shops for details, if you don't have a home brew shop near you then a big branch of Boots should offer a Brewers bucket.
Spread the yeast onto the toast and float on the surface of the nettle liquid. Cover and leave for about 3 days at room temperature, do not allow the temperature to fluctuate too much as this will ruin the fermentation process.
Strain again and put into clean, strong screw top beer bottles, or sealable wine bottles (I used plastic bottles and it still worked). This can be drunk after about 2 days. Still not sure how alcoholic this beer is I have never drank more than one pint in a go, it does taste like it should be though.

Other nettle recipes: Nettle Haggis, Nettle Soup

From: http://www.selfsufficientish.com/nettlebeer.htm

...about the Dec thing. (see comments on 'Donkeys' post)

I can't explain it.

I have a thing for short fellas.

(Although there are notable exceptions).

Weird celebrity crushes anyone?

Betcha can't rival this one.

Nicholas Lyndhurst.

Specifically when he was in 'Butterflies'.

Yep.

I'm going now.

Dear [sixpence]

On behalf of the whole Community Heritage Initiative team, I would like to thank you for running the poetry sessions as part of our programme of activities at the Brownies Camp.

The feedback from the sessions has been very good and we hope you enjoyed doing the sessions as much as the Brownies enjoyed talking to me about it.

Once again many thanks,

Yours sincerely
KS
Acting Project Officer
Community Heritage Initiative
"Recording and celebrating our natural heritage"

Bless!

6.39am

decaff

clock that emale

shower

(hair's still turning the water ginger)

letter from TT
we fell out last year
not heard from her since
(she's not writing to apologise
she's warning me she's gonna be at an event next week)

i ain't replied yet
(but when i do
it's gonna be to say
yeah, and I still need the apology
cos I never did what you said I did)

at my desk on time
for a change
(10am)
(yeah that's on time for me)

MS phones
we're going shopping on Sat
she's lovely
she's so gorgeous
we used to go clubbing together
and the crowds used to part in her wake
i adore her
not in that way
she's just ace

sort through my pile of stuff to do

some work (finally!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
but not enough...

send/receive a few texts
to brighten my day

make myself some mushroom fried rice
with the last egg

while I eat
watch an episode of countdown
on TIVO
from a couple of weeks ago
(quarter final)
i score 63

back to my desk

listen to playlist
i've been compiling

unexpectedly
pleasant
afternoon
in front of the computer

but I suspect that
someone's obtained insider info

(house of love)

twice

(stranglers)

tsk!
they need sorting out
so i do
(good and proper)
(i'm good at that)

and right now
dontcha know
my favourite song's playing
(absolute favourite
in the world ever)
and i ain't telling ya
which one it is
yet

ps.
my secret mole
is watching you

Back in my proper job days I received a surprise phone call from a local high school explaining that they had an awards ceremony at the end of every academic year and they would like to invite me to be that year's Guest of Honour to make a speech and hand out all the prizes.

Sixpence: But wouldn't you prefer to invite somebody... interesting???
Head of High School: We want you!
Sixpence: But... why???
Head: Because you do a lot to support young people in the area and you are a funky young thing yourself. (ok, I might have reworded that last bit)
Sixpence: Will there be free wine?

Anyway. After agreeing, somewhat bewildered, to their request, I then received a letter asking me to prepare a speech in which I would talk "for fifteen minutes about my career achievements".

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My career achievements fit in about 40 seconds, if I speak really slowly.

So I wrote the goddamn speech, which was less about my career than about “follow your heart, kids, and ignore the professionals”.

Compulsive lateness being part of my charm, I arrived by the skin of my teeth on the night, and was more or less ushered straight up onto a stage in front of several hundred kids, teachers and parents.

Delivered my spiel, presented a million awards, shook hands with a million kids, had my tits ogled by a million teenage boys (ok, so maybe the see through top with the black bra underneath wasn’t such a good idea), had photo taken a million times, and was then presented with the biggest bouquet of flowers I’d ever received. By now I was completely bewildered by the whole thing. I mean, this is just lil ol me.

Came down from the stage and one of the teachers said to me “Ooh you were so much better than last year’s speaker”.

“Oh yeah?” says I, wondering what poor unsuspecting sod they’d dragged off the streets the previous year. “And who was that?”

“Susannah Constantine,” said the woman. “As in Trinny and Susannah.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

During my stunned silence that followed she proceeded to explain that Susannah had got one of the teachers up on stage, slated her outfit, grabbed her boobs with both hands and, in front of the assembled students, parents and colleagues, said “You’ve got great tits, you should make more of them.”

This entire sequence of events left me in a state of shock. But thankfully, there was free wine…

Here is my experience of trying to buy THREE items using Tesco's 'self checkout' today.

I scan the first item - a greetings card.

Self Checkout: Please place the item in the bag.
Sixpence places item in bag.
SC: Please place the item in the bag.
Sixpence takes item out of bag and puts it in again.
SC: Please place the item in the bag.
Sixpence gets clever and plonks the next item, which is a bit heavier, on top of the bag.
SC: Thank you. Scan next item.
Sixpence takes the next item off the bag to scan it.
SC: You have removed an item from your bag. Please replace it in the bag.
Sixpence: But I haven't scanned it yet, ya fookin idiot.
SC: Call assistant! Call assistant!
Assistant: You have to leave it in the bag.
Sixpence: But I haven't scanned it yet!
Assistant: (heaves big sigh and fiddles with screen)
Sixpence scans next two items and clicks on 'Pay'.
SC: Security alert! Unscanned item in bag!
Sixpence: For feckssake, will ya gimme a fookin break!!!!
SC: Call assistant! Call assistant!
Sixpence: Sainsbury's self checkout is MUCH better than this.
Assistant: (shoots sixpence distinctly unfriendly look and twiddles with screen again)
Sixpence pays.
SC: And don't come back, ya big haired cow.

AND they didn't even have any feckin strawberries...

...to leave your barbecue guests outside, retire to your boudoir and sit there blogging on the laptop instead?

Hmmm. Not good really is it.

In my defense - my recently disturbed gastric parts are struggling to come to terms with the whole 'barbecue' concept and are making some slightly alarming gurgling noises. Which my guests surely do not wish to hear.

All the same, though...

Best go and see how me chocolate-dipped strawberries are doing (not a euphemism for anything; they are currently chilling in the fridge).

Tootle pip
x

I’m posting this for Trolly, but it was written for a friend’s birthday last year, so it’s for him really.

Biscuit erotica: it’s a new and experimental genre, but who knows, it could catch on…

I find you quite digestive
though you don’t class as rich tea,
and I’ll never call you garibaldi
if you’re nice to me.

Though I’m often labelled shortbread
and occasionally ginger,
don’t blame me if you get squashed fly
or even chocolate finger;

for I don’t care if your custard creams
when fondant fancies slip;
since you are truly cookie
and I think you’re chocolate chip.

...having had not much sleep for the past 2 nights, and being outrageously disgustingly behind on my work, to the point that I think I may possibly lose a contract (awaiting verdict), and being a bit confused and sad about life in general, I have to announce that today, just now and again, I am feeling/have felt quite unutterably splendid.

A bit like thinking that your arse was too big for those sheeny shiny slides in kids playgrounds these days, and then discovering that it isn't.

...further to previous.

Am I, like, the only person blogging at this hour of the morning who doesn't have some seriously hefty religious message to impart?

Apart from praying for a bit more sleep... I have no religious message to impart.

So me and my brandy are going back to bed. God bless us both.

...*sigh*.

Can't sleep. Too many stimulating thoughts floating around in my ginger head.

If I told you I was drinking brandy at this hour of the morning would you be very worried about me?

It's to settle my (still slightly unsettled) stomach. Honest.