I've just eaten the last Toffee Tiffin Slice.  Was that very bad?

Don't be cross, love.  There's Carte D'Or in the freezer. 

ps. I ate half your quiche as well.

Which was gramatically incorrect, surely, Charles?

I note that the law is also a bachelor. Which fits.

I have a form to sign to say that I am transferring my share of my fucking gorgeous house in the country that I can no longer afford to live in former abode to Mr Expence.

The form says "I can confirm that I have received the sum of £xxxxx [none of your business, sorry blogworld] from Mr T J Expence".

But I don't get the money until I sign the form.

So I rang Mr Expence's solicitors, and said that I wasn't going to sign something that said I'd received £xxxxx when I hadn't.

Ass: Oh, don't worry, we don't date it until we send you the money.
Sixpence: That's hardly the point I'm making though, is it?
Ass: But you have to sign it or we can't send you the money.
Sixpence: Well, can I write a note on the form saying I haven't received the money at the time of signing?
Ass: [Audibly shudders] Heavens, no! It's a legal document!
Sixpence: EXACTLY.

So having agreed that I can staple a letter to the form whilst solemnly promising not to colour outside the lines on the form itself, I then move on to Form 2.

Form 2 has to be signed by my solicitor (I don't have one, and I can't afford to get one) to say that I am who I say I am.

So, using some randomly misinformed criteria, I search the web and find two potential firms in my area.

I phone Firm #1 and they are still closed for the Bank Holiday. Clearly paying themselves far too much.

So I phone Firm #2.

Sixpence: I have to have my identity verified by a solicitor in relation to the transfer of some property. Can I bring the form in to be signed for a fixed fee?
Ass2: Are you a client of ours?
Sixpence: Not yet, no.
Ass2: Oh well we couldn't do it then.
Sixpence: Why not?
Ass2: Because we wouldn't know who you are.
Sixpence: [pauses to collect thoughts] It's a legal document, you fuckwit. I bring in the form and my passport and my driving licence and you stamp it to say I am who I say I am.
Ass2: Hold on. [There follows 5 minutes of irritating theme music during which some French bird rambles on for no apparent reason].
Ass2: Come in at 2 o'clock this afternoon.
Sixpence: That's not convenient for me. I was thinking more along the lines of booking an appointment at a mutually agreed time. Would that not be possible?
Ass2: [heaves sigh] Hold on. [Theme music and French bird return; after 5 minutes of which Sixpence hangs up.]

Anyway. I don't know what I'm doing blogging when I've a deadline tomorrow, but there it is.

Big Hair Report: Slightly scruffy, but passable.
Pants Colour & Style: White cotton Top Shop thong.
Bizarre Ailments: Huge spot on left buttock. Beautifully revealed by thong. Perhaps I should have worn shorties instead.

...except it's now 4:22am. 3:08am was when I woke up. Welcome to Insomniac's World. That's like Whicker's World, but without any Whicker. Actually not that much like Whicker's World at all - I've just looked it up on tinternet (being too delightfully young to really remember it, apart from the theme music). "Whicker's satire is so subtle it is often almost undetectable." Now that's not me, is it, boys and girls? I am many things but not usually subtle.

So TOMORROW(TODAY) I am going to ring the herbalist/acupunturist and get my hands on some more drugs pure Valerian and book another appointment to have sharp implements stuck into my body parts.

Dunno why I got the insomnia but suspect combination of PMS and imminent deadline on freelance contract looming. That would usually do the trick. Plus of course the mammoth stress I've been under for the past month (or 2? 3? 4? 5? 6? months? depending on how you look at it). Whirlwind affair, divorce, moving house and all that stuff...

I wouldn't mind sleeping, though. That would be good.

I think I'm gonna go now and draft a letter to T who is the mother of K who will be 7 next week and who I'm not allowed to see any more 'cos I'm an evil adulterous bitch but I'm sending her a birthday present anyway and I'll put the letter in with it and they can make up their own minds what to do with it. Yes, that sentence was far too long but don't go bloody expecting Sense and Punctuation (which sounds like a Jane Austen novel, n'est-ce pas?) at [time check] 4:33am.

Big Hair Report: It's 4:34am. What do you think?
Pants Colour & Style: None at present. It was a pink thong yesterday.
Bizarre Ailments: Just the not sleeping thing.

Me feller's gone out for the day with his 2 year old son to see Thomas the Tank Engine on the Great Central Railway, and I'm putting off doing the cleaning since, as you know, cleaning is not my chosen specialist subject.

However I have finally unpacked my books (hoorah!) and the place is gradually moving towards shipshape (if you ignore the huge pile of empty boxes stacking up in the corner).

I seriously need to
(1) clean the bathroom
(2) do some laundry
(3) do the washing up
(4) have a tidy round

but first I am going to put some clothes on.

I've noticed that other people conclude their entries with 'Drinking...' and 'Listening to...' so I have decided to initiate my own take on this.

Big Hair Report: Very messy. Needs a wash. Will have Sixpence Special Sunday Bath later.
Pants Colour & Style: None, yet.
Bizarre Ailments: Eczema on tip of little finger (left hand) scabby in appearance but less itchy today. Bruise on left calf obtained when mounting a stile near the Rochdale Canal still measures 8cm x 4.5cm and is blackish purple in hue. Frequent visitor the lipstick allergy has appeared resulting in flaky top lip. You're right, I do need a separate blog for my bizarre ailments...

I'm online!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, after 2 weeks of complaining to BT I finally received my broadband equipment and now I no longer have to go round to other people's houses to log on like a little cyberwaif.

Last night went to a party and watched a (very kind and delightful) member of the teaching profession pull on tight rubber boots with metal spike heels, tuck her skirt into her Wonder Woman pants and pole dance in her bedroom. No, seriously, she has a proper pole in there and everything.

So much for "we don't need no education".

Well this place is a mess, it's nearly midday and I'm still in my dressing gown, so at the risk of waking a poorly lad upstairs I think I need to go and get in the shower.

PS. I'm blogging about the new feller (whose identity as a fellow blogger will be known to you if you're a Friend) to Friends only at the moment to avoid treading on any raw nerves with his family members who may or may not be reading, and he's doing the same...

But the reason I haven't blogged is because my promised pack of Broadband equipment from BT which they claim to have dispatched on 14 August has yet to appear in the little wire basket inside the letterbox of my new rented abode.

So I'm blogging from a friend's house, whilst simultaneously drinking scotch, eating Pringles, and soothing the furrowed brow of a man driven demented by cheap household goods providers.

And trust me, I'm very good at soothing.

More anon. You'll have to wait. Sorry.

Since I'm going to have to go offline for a week from Sunday in any case, until Broadband gets installed at my new place...

...I think the old blog had better go quiet for a bit whilst the shit hits the fan and my bloke gets stuff sorted with his family.

See you soon
xxx

I've thought a lot about leaving over the years but I never knew just how hard it was going to be in reality. This makes me worry about my feller and everything he has to go through but perhaps he's more realistic about it than I was. I've cried so much over the past few days that I think I'm starting to develop gills, because my body has detected that it's clearly living in a salt water environment.

What started me off this morning is that I have to write a letter to my soon-to-be-ex-mother-in-law, as it's her birthday at the weekend and I wanted to send a card but we haven't had any contact since The Big Split. Why do etiquette books not cover this scenario - 'what to say to your mother in law when you've just f**ked her son over by running off with somebody else'...?? I've searched and searched in Emily Post's 'Etiquette' and Debrett's 'Guide to Modern Manners' but they are sadly lacking in this respect. Perhaps I should write the definitive guide.

The thing is I got upset writing the letter to m-i-law, because Mr Expence's family are good sorts and I'm very fond of all of them, especially the 4 nieces and nephews - two of them don't even know about the split yet because one has severe dyspraxia and they're worried about how she's going to react (a mistake not telling them straight off in my opinion, but I'm hardly qualified to dish out parenting advice). I want to keep in touch and be able to remember them at birthdays and Christmas but I don't know whether that's allowed (is it?) or whether they will want me to.

I also really, really miss the social circle of mutual friends, by whom I have been profoundly dropped when I magically turned overnight from being me into being the evil bitch from hell. Funny, that, when I never even noticed; but clearly I can't be the same kind, caring person can I? I must be cruel and obnoctious and not worthy of knowing. It's just not possible that I could still be me. I am so very hurt that not one of them has made any attempt to contact me and find out how I am (yes folks, I'm hurting too believe it or not!!!) or even to acknowledge that there are two people involved in making a marriage work or otherwise. I am not going to blog about what Mr Expence did or didn't do in terms of our marriage not working, but I am sure that he has had the opportunity to talk in great detail to our formerly mutual friends about everything I did or didn't do. I suppose it's useless to hope that I would ever get the opportunity to explain that not everything was rosy for me and they don't want to hear it anyway.

I miss, particularly, the daughter of our best man and his wife, who will be 7 on 5 September, and who I'm incredibly fond of, and really don't want to lose touch with, but see above (re: is one allowed?) (This has started me off crying again now).

I remember so clearly when Mr Expence told me T was pregnant because I had been trying to get pregnant for about 3 months then, and I really thought I was at that time because I hadn't bled for 36 days. If I could have seen into the future and known that nearly 8 years down the line I would still have no children I would have been devastated beyond belief. I am devastated beyond belief. You just never know how life is going to turn out for you, and nature can be very cruel.

Well, I am sure this was precisely the kind of sorry-for-myself post that Old-Niq was complaining about yesterday, although I would like to point out that I haven't had a drink* or licked any testicles for over a week (*apart from when I got pissed in the bath at the weekend) (*and the Baileys I snuck into my coffee the other night). Perhaps that's what's wrong with me (lack of alcohol and testicles).

So, sorry for all the misery, folks, but I shall aim to indulge in alcohol and testicles at my earliest possible convenience in a valiant attempt to seek a return to form...

Extract from my diary, 1/1/04 (admittedly, after a particularly crappy few months including miscarriage and a severe leg injury that left me unable to walk for 3 months):
"I will try and cheer up, honest. I'm sure I will go back to being Mrs Fucking Smiley Cheery Bubbly Bounce and no one will be any the wiser. Hoorah for Sixpence's strength of character! Hoorah for her humour and resilience! Hoorah for the barren old cripple! What a truly bloody marvellous sport she is."

Got half way through watching yesterday's Countdown while eating my lunch today, and TiVo had clearly had a hissy fit, because Carol suddenly started repeating the same movement (waving the letter D around) like a bad rave experience for 3 minutes, and then it switched to 'Heartbeat' for the remainder of the recording.

AND I'd just got 'carotid'!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have packed 5 boxes! However (sigh) that's only books and photo albums!!! Books and photo albums being two of my most favouritest things, I have rather a lot of both.

And here is a picture of me with some boxes. Yes, that's me, but those are not my boxes. The pic was taken recently by my splendid friend KF to potentially use in the promo material for my forthcoming Arts Council funded poetry tour (ooooh get me!!)

If you do choose, completely illegally, to smuggle Brazilian green lemons (not underripe; they're a special green kind) through 3 sets of customs in order to make your beloved authentic Caprinha on your return home from Brazil, don't, dear readers, then forget about them and discover them a week later, festering in the brand new hand luggage you purchased for your trip, which you have subsequently been too slobby to bother unpacking, because you're a scuzzy old cow.

I'm full of handy household hints, me.

What I was going to say yesterday, before all my hard work was so crudely deleted, was something along the lines of this...

Mr Expence came over, and we did the division of property thang. In detail. It's all on a spreadsheet, itemised and valued. It took 7 hours.

Managed to get me paws on most of what I desperately wanted, though I did have to concede a few small losses (my le creuset dish! my checked tablecloths! that perfect sized saucepan!)

But enough middle class whingeing... I'm very relieved it's over with.

Still dreading Friday though. But not as much as other people are.

Next Sunday I move into the rented place. Gotta start packing today. It's gonna be hard. I surely do love this crumbling edifice. But Uncle Mo said to me "It's only bricks and mortar," and that's true. Nevertheless, bricks and mortar that we've spent the last 4 years transforming from shit tip into classy des res (with our own fair hands, not paying some other fecker to do the work). It's not perfect, but I've put a lot into it (though I'm sure Mr Expence would disagree).

But as much as I'm miserable about what I'm leaving behind, I'm also looking forward to getting out of this excruciating situation and starting the new life. It's hard to see what's ahead just now, but one step at a time, eh...

And me feller's gone missing. Radio silence. Last seen mid-word on email at 19:56 yesterday. All kinds of stuff going through head. Hope he hasn't drifted out to sea...

...just lost my entire post!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Twattery.

Have been having a full-on wailing, howling sesh in the bath, accompanied by massive glass of white wine. Which means that I am now very clean, very damp, slightly sozzled, and vaguely resemble a puffa fish.

All of which is ok by me, because I really needed that. Trust me.

Just learned 2 things from watching yesterday's Countdown (at which, I regret to report, I scored a paltry 55):

Susie Dent is partial to men with tattoos!!!
Form an orderly queue at the tattoo parlour, boys.
Yes, the lovely Suse likes illustration on her naked canvas.

The word (honestly, this really exists. Even Suse couldn't believe it) VIDIOT.
"A habitual, undiscriminating watcher of television or videotapes."

sigh Suse is both delightful AND informative.

If only she would notice me! Alas, I have no tattoos to offer her. But my consonants are very nice indeed.

Ik kijk voor hem in het midden van de stad
Waar het water zacht rood buigt...

Had to use one of them there translator thingies, so I do hope the Dutch readership (yeah right) will forgive any imperfections...

sigh Counting days, again...

Just starting to come to terms with which hemisphere/timezone I'm in, so thought I'd better actually write something to appease Dennypoos, instead of just posting gloaty pics...

I got a job this morning!! No honestly, I did. A real job where somebody is going to put me on their payroll and I have to do what people tell me to (therein generally lies the problem). Ok ok so I KNOW I said I would never EVER go back into employment, BUT... everything else is going to a bit wobbly and challenging over the next few months (relationships, money, somewhere to live, office facilities etc.) and I thought a bit of routine and stable income might come in handy... Plus, it's only a temporary post (7.5 months) and it's part-time, so I might survive without getting too bogged down... I'm trying not to get too depressed by the fact that this is the same job (different council) that drove me completely insane in the past and turned me into the stress monster from hell... after all I am older and wiser now... aren't I???????

I went for the interview abit scuzzy and unprepared and they still offered me the job... I was so half asleep this morning that I almost left the house without a bra on.... stumbled down the stairs to go out the door for my interview and suddenly realised things were jiggling about a bit wild and free under my dress.... As interview tactics go it's unconventional, but who knows, it might have worked.... Decided not to risk it in the end though... put them away in a respectable fashion!!

At least I was wearing pants. And proper ladylike shoes (didn't get around to tights, sorry). And a jacket with a collar and everything. Didn't quite get as far as brushing my hair... I suppose if I had been really serious I would have tied it up neatly instead of letting it be its big scary self, but there's only so far you can mislead an interview panel, don't you think...??

Anyway. I have a job and that's that. Just gotta wait and see what salary they offer me now. I need to push them to top of scale, 'cos me and the new feller are gonna be SO broke for the next few months. And goddamnit - I'm worth it!!!!!

So - this leaves me with 2 days per week to do writery things and keep up a bit of freelance stuff and maybe, if he's very lucky, clean the house occasionally... Goes without saying that this arrangement requires occasional back scrubbing and decaffs in bed in order to be legal and binding...

You know what tho? I really, really f*ckin love him...

...sigh sorry came over all girlie for a minute there!!!!

New job, new man, new rented abode shortly to be moved into.... if it wasn't for the horrible, spectacularly upsetting divorce and division of property stuff and leaving my beautiful house in the country and 2 lovely cats behind, I might even be quite... wait for it...

happy.

(Maybe one day!! Watch this space!!)