Monday, May 4, 2009

Bank Holiday Monday? Oh, Spare Me.


Bank holiday Monday.
Groan.

That can only mean one thing.

Rain!

Oh — and the Mother-in-Law.

I’d like to say I’m feeling optimistic (after all, it is only 9am and things could change), but if truth be known, I’m ready to shoot myself now.

Oh — and a garden centre. I’m bound to be dragged round a garden centre at some stage to look at some useless bedraggled shrubs. In the rain. Next to a crap outdoor pond. And a fifty quid crap bench. With a couple of twats on it.

Oh — and Son-of-Whirl will almost certainly create some sort of stink. Either he’ll have lost his new trainers or ripped his trousers or lost his phone, or he’ll feel ill or whine endlessly from Parva to Magna looking like his face is stuck down the snout of an invisible 3000W vacuum cleaner.

Oh — and what’s the betting we’ll stop off at some foul Ye Olde pub stinking of roast pig’s arse “for a quick half” only to find the whole place packed with surly locals playing darts, baiting dogs and burying their dead in the snug?

Oh — and no way will Girly-of-Whirly pass up the chance to drive us three hundred miles down the motorway to an abandoned retail unit on the offchance there might be a kitchen utensil sale.

Oh — and there’s bound to be a selection of rubbish cakes for us all to chew on when we finally shamble through the door having been thoroughly entertained by the multiple horrors of a flat tyre, Son-of-Whirl being sick, Mother of Girly of Whirly complaining about everything, and the repetitive thud of my forehead on the dashboard as I cry, “what have I done to deserve this? Please let me die now!”

Oh — and when all’s said and done, and Son-of-Whirl has gone to bed and Mother of Girly of Whirly lies safely nailed inside her coffin, the celebratory Pinot Noir will be corked, I’ll caramelize the gourmet supper beyond recognition (or drop it on the cat), and there will be nothing to watch on the telly but ten whole channels devoted to how Dale Winton likes to take it up the arse — or Jaws III.

Maybe I ought to lock myself in the shed and wait till tomorrow...

13 comments:

JaneyV said...

Get over yourself Whirl - the sun's shining!

If GoW is capable of driving herself then she can go to said outlet spot without you. Perhaps she and her mother can make a girl's day out of it while you and SoW stay home and do something manly.

I should be sitting on a teeny tiny chair trying to impart knowledge to brains that are nowhere near developed enough to take it because the government says they are but instead in in bed with my laptop. The sun is shining and the birds are tweeting their little beaks off.

Bank holidays are FUN!

JaneyV said...

I just read my comment and I fear I may have added to your holiday hell. Sorry.

How about getting some beer in and having a BBQ rather going to B&Q?

fairyhedgehog said...

Happy Days!

Hope it's rather better than you're expecting. We were hoping to go to on of the country fairs, but the local ones are all next Bank Holiday when my Beloved is away.

writtenwyrdd said...

With that mood, anything is bound to be better than your expectations, so buck up! Your day can't possibly turn out that bad.

I particularly loved the image of the MIL being nailed back into her coffin. Heh.

Scarlet-Blue said...

It's not raining.
My neighbours, lovely people that they are, have their builders round to bash and crash.
Bank Holidays are always hell.
Sx

Robin S. said...

Do you have to go, too? I'm for Janey's opt out plan, as I loathe 'shopping days' with a passion.

Take SOW and visit the mule, or talk about women and life. Something. Anything but shopping.

Whirlochre said...

Noon. Locked in loo with laptop.

M-o-G-o-W is here, casting disparaging remarks about the hoovering.

Still raining.

We're going to a pub in a moment. Probably burned down. And infested with lice.

Just eaten an overripe nectarine.

It was horrid.

I am my own potential exodus...

McKoala said...

Happy days!

Aerin said...

This was the most depressing thing I've ever read. Since I believe that was the point, um, good on ya, Whirl.

Sarah Laurenson said...

Even your bad days somehow sound magical with the way you write.

Want a book with your name as the author, oh keeper of the lost and extremely fun expressions!

Kiersten said...

If it makes you feel any better, it's overcast here.

No?

Well then, fake a migraine and stay in bed.

Whirlochre said...

Let me guess, Kiersten — it's 30 degrees where you are, even when it's overcast (not sure what 30 is in American heat btw).

As for books with my name on, I'm all in favour of that. The only ones I've found so far are about engineering.

Anyhow. Main thing is that I survived the day. Plus, I got to eat a slab of fish cooked in Marstons Pedigree, and watch some child archers nearly kill a man with a feather in his hat.

So, roll on Tuesday.

Robin S. said...

Anyhow. Main thing is that I survived the day. Plus, I got to eat a slab of fish cooked in Marstons Pedigree, and watch some child archers nearly kill a man with a feather in his hat.

So, roll on Tuesday.
God, I love visiting with you.

This is priceless.