Emergency stop: but Lindsey's all better now. Sort of. Pic: © STV
January – the bleakest of months. The month of broken resolutions and control pants (and we all know how much I love a good sturdy pair of control pants). The month which sees women across the country demonstrating a very inelegant plié to get tights to fully engage with crotch after Christmas over indulgence.
You’ll notice I have made no reference to Christmas in the Mason household, and have skipped gleefully to 2010. Christmas Day is best forgotten. I blurted out a Very Bad Word in front of the Mother in Law when my own mother spilled a full glass of champagne over the festive table. Cue sniggering from the weans (19 and 23, but still weans in my eyes) and a cat’s arse face from the Mother in law. She only thawed after another couple of glasses of Zinfandel, by which time she was telling risqué jokes and folding her napkin into a comedy bra. (I’ve made that up).
I embraced 2010 full of resolve and determination to make this My Year. I say this every year of course. Last year I decided to formalise my (sketchy) knowledge of astronomy by enrolling in a fancypants part time University course. I lasted two weeks. The text book was too floppy. It flipped and flopped every which way when I tried to read bits of it. It caused me so much stress I had to hide it under the bed, where it still resides. Cost me forty quid too. I won’t tell you how much the actual course cost, but it was paid for with a credit card and was therefore, effectively, free.
I’m holding on to my 2010 Positive Mental Attitude with gritted teeth and steely determination. I refuse to give in, despite the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune which have blighted the start of my year. 11am on New Year’s Day saw the house storm-trooped by paramedics when younger daughter complained of pains in chest. I was still bejammied and bedhaired and had to accompany daughter in back of ambulance having hurriedly donned a comedy outfit which involved going commando (due to inability to locate pants on floordrobe) and slippers. You’ll be relieved to hear that it all turned out happily in the end, with the daughter skipping off to Glasgow to enjoy New Year a couple of hours later, whilst I took to my bed in tears with nervous exhaustion and a family sized bag of Maltesers, refusing visitors.
The following Tuesday heralded a return to work. First day was painless enough, catching up on gossip, dealing with the odd email etc etc. On the second day I awoke with a sore eye and ended up in A and E with two pairs of glasses and a pair of sunglasses, like a schemie Liz Taylor. There ensues a very dull story which I shall not regale you with. Suffice to say, I have a painful ulcer on my cornea which has apparently come about as a result of my slutty approach to contact lens hygiene. I admitted nothing to the Consultant of course. In his eyes (excuse pathetic pun) I’m the whore of Babylon for daring to even WEAR contact lenses.
Doc: “Do you wear contact lenses”
Me: “Emm yes?”
Doc: “ Do you sleep in contact lenses”
Me: “Emmm sometimes? Not often?.” (Truth – you don’t want to know)
Doc: “I don’t believe you”
Me: “ ….” Poking at imaginary hole in chair to avoid eye contact.
Doc: “Do you use separate solution for cleaning and storing your lenses?”
Me: “Emmmm yes. Separate. Yes” (Truth – I run them under the cold tap and poke them back in my eye. And I don’t need to ‘store’ them anywhere, FYI. I store them in my eyes. When they feel gritty I simply chuck ‘em in the bin and poke a new pair in)
As I say, the rest of the story is dull beyond belief and involves my lying in darkened rooms and waking up hourly to blearily plop in various eye drops which sting like buggery.
So, I’m hoping that this is all the Bad Stuff getting itself out of the way early doors for 2010. The rest of my year will be all fluffy bunnies and nice things. Hell, I might even win the Lottery. Pah.
