Sunday, 20 June 2010

Days where nothing happens. . .

The title says it all really - how can someone be awake for twelve hours and yet do absolutely nothing?

I wake to the sound of Mother berating Sister for being in the bathroom. This does not shock me - as my bedroom is directly opposite the bathroom, I am often awoken by people shouting at other people for being in the bathroom. Sister leaves the bathroom and Mother and Sister visit Art Exhibition, run by bouncy Friend's mother.
I get up, shower and dress then go downstairs and make Father a cup of coffee and give it him, along with a biscuit and a Fathers' Day card. He drinks the coffee and we make polite conversation whilst I have a cup of tea and toast. Then he goes to continue with whatever he is doing outside and I resolve to do some revision.
After about an hour of doing absolutely no revision whatsoever, Mother and Sister return, having bonded. It is obvious that they have bonded as I am aware of the ties emanating from each of them. In a sort of six-year-old-secret-club way. Being of a volatile disposition, and not wishing to have my biggest faults flung at me in argument all afternoon, I try my best to ignore and instead prepare myself beans on toast for lunch. They make fat 'jokes'. The jokes are not funny.
I read the paper and eat my lunch before coming inside to do more 'revision'. It doesn't happen again: I am just too tired. Then, we go outside to have scones and jam. I don't have any scones or any jam because I want a gingerbread man, which is very nice.
Shower next. I stay in for ages and enjoy the peace and quiet. Afterwards, I make sure I clean the shower carefully because Father is my ally today and he likes things to be in order. Then I go back into bedroom and do more 'not revision'.
We have pizza with stuffed crust and watch Harry Hill during. It is nice and Harry Hill is funny, but I feel empty. I don't know why. Sister makes me want to cry, but I don't know why that is, either.
After dinner it is back upstairs and more time by myself. I can hear Family laughing downstairs and I feel like wrinkly balloon. They come and say nice things to me, but today is just one of those days.

Saturday, 19 June 2010

Lunch with strangers.

I wake up at some time after 9 this morning and lie in bed for an age, willing myself to get up. I finally lever myself out of bed, shower and dress, which is quite an achievement for a Saturday morning. Sister and father have gone to DIY place for supplies, or something, so I use the chance to get in the shower without having to wait for too long first.
After shower, father arrives home with sister and I go to have breakfast. Nothing remarkable. It is one of those days, actually - nothing really actually happens.
Lunch out is next - we go to a village pub where the menu never changes and I have the same as always - fish, chips and Creme Brulee. Sister has the same. Friends who we haven't seen for years are there with their son, who is 19 and has awful table manners - he slaums on the table and eats from his knife. Parents comment after the meal in the 'never marry a boy who does that' kind of way. I don't plan to.
In the afternoon, we go to visit grandparents. We do this twice every week: Fridays and one day at the weekend, depending on where we can fit it in. Grandparents are in better mood than yesterday, although when I say this I really mean Grandfather, who is sleeping when we arrive and looks rather sweet in his sleeping state. It doesn't last long - he wakes soon after our arrival, and we hold our breath, waiting to see what mood he is in.
Today, he chooses to be happy - laughing at his story about travelling in the War and eating two slices of cake which I give him by accident. I am relieved, but cross when I hear that he has blamed the state of his health on Grandmother and looking after her when she has been ill, despite the fact that she has waited on him for the last sixty years. Boiler has also broken and Father rushes round trying to sort that.
Home next and dinner - cheese and bean toastie and icecream. Very nice it is too. I watch the last 20 minutes of Doctor Who and read the paper before retiring to write this blog entry, despite the fact that I have no readers yet (please give me a wave if you are reading quietly!).

Friday, 18 June 2010


I wake up at about 10.30 this morning to the sound of sister and bouncy friend. Bouncy friend is arriving, loudly, so I fall out of bed and try to put something decent on before she comes and finds me in a semi-naked state in my bedroom.

Having washed, dressed and eaten breakfast, I manage to lose my laptop to sister, and friend, who are trying to revise for exam this afternoon, although don't sound like they are having much luck - the computer they are trying to revise from freezes everytime they try to load a new page, and so I find myself telling them that it is OK to use my laptop.

I am planning to do some revision for my next exam, but find it pretty impossible to concentrate, and also remember that I will be seeing teachers at lunchtime, so 'thankyou' cards are in order. It takes me 30 minutes to write two cards, although that's probably because I have to draft them first. I hate writing cards because I can never quite express what I want to say in them - I always end up sounding clipped and ungrateful or gushingly emotional. Neither is preferable, and so I find that drafting makes things easier. Then, at least, I can consider how much what I am planning to write is about the affect my social standing.

Next is school. I have left, technically, which makes it rather odd that I am facing Head of Sixth and being berated for the jeans I am wearing. Seriously, they need to get their priorities sorted, especially since we must have seen at least ten people leaving to avoid Sixth Form assembly on our way in. Anyway, I make the usual polite excuses for the jeans and go to give the thankyou cards to the relavent teachers.

This is awkward. I am planning to leave them on desks, so as to avoid unecessary confrontation (I've written what I want to say inside the card - why would I want to say it outloud as well? To me, this simply seems to defeat the point of writing the card in the first place. . .). I'd even chosen to do the surreptitious card leaving at a time when I assumed all sane(ish) teachers would be away from their classrooms. But no. I meet both teachers at once and have to do the 'different hands at once handing over of the cards' move. Which does not go well. No, I give the wrong card to the wrong teacher and have to swap over. Smooth. Quick chat with the teachers about how the exam went: "Well, yes, well, OK. I answered all the right questions, anyway. . .".

I plan to spend the majority of lunchtime, whilst waiting for Mum to finish in a meeting, doing some reading as I expect none of my friends to be around, it being study leave and all. I take out a book (another Agatha Christie, accidentally - The 4.50 From Paddington) and talk to the librarian about various things, mostly books, as would be expected.

My plans, however, go out the window when I see that some friends are sitting in the cafeteria. I join them, with plate of chips and comments about the mode of attire of the cafeteria workers. The poor things have been forced to wear England kits to serve the dinner in a sort of tribute to the World Cup. Friends and I have general chat, mostly about exam failure and what everyone else is doing holiday-wise. I am doing nothing holiday-wise, although I'm not sure I would want to be, even if the chance had arisen, which it did not.

Then it is time for the second 'smooth' move of the day - I am supposed to be meeting the mother in the Library. However, due to my impeccable time keeping qualities, I forget to return to the Library until five minutes after our planned meeting time. She has gone, and so I do a half-lollop-half-run out to the car, where it is drizzling/pouring with rain. She is not there either and so I find myself faced with two choices: wait in the pouring rain or dash back inside to retrace my steps and, hopefully, come across her.

Being lazy, I choose the first option which is just as well, as no more than three minutes after I leave the building, I see her crossing the carpark, scrambling in her bag for no, not the carkeys, thus allowing me to get in the car and avoid the rain, but her umbrella. We travel to the supermarket in relatively high spirits and journey around the shop in equally good moods. I manage to 'win' the game, getting multiple packets of lentils into the trolley and walking round with them for a whole aisle before she notices. I am less successful with the Corn Plasters, which she notices after only about three minutes. The journey back is less bouyant as we are both getting tired.

We get home and wait for sister to arrive home from exam so that we can depart for grandparents. Finally, she arrives, and so we set off. At grandparents, I eat the usual assorted rubbish, guarunteed to rot both teeth and brain and manage to lift the spirits of Grandad, I hope. He is in a mood which I would give 5/10 - grumpy, but not so bad that he will not join in the conversation. He warns me to buy a map of University town so that I don't get in with 'bad crowds'. I neglect to tell him that I, as geek, would not be welcomed into said crowds even if I did manage to find them. Which I won't: I am rubbish at navigation. Grandmother manages to stuff me with rubbish and also extra £5 which is 'our little secret'. I do love her.

Dinner is fishfingers and chips, and mother is impressed because there were 11 in the packet of 10. Father in slightly better mood than the rest of week but only, perhaps, because his bites have gone down. Hallelujah.

Laptop, which I have successfully rescued from the clutches of sister, after dinner then Desperate Housewives, which is the story of murdering boy and much darker than usual. Enjoyable all the same. Then more laptop whilst parents and sister watch Gardener's World. Then cup of tea and then bed.

Favourite song of the day: Tik Tok. Ke$ha. Truly appalling, but endorphin creating.

First things first. . .

I suppose that, firstly, I had better explain away the absurdity of both the title and my 'name'. Both come from the Agatha Christie short story, The Blue Geranium which has always been one of my favourites. As I am relatively late to blogging, this was about the only thing left which didn't sound particularly pretentious, and also had a sort of cryptic feel to it which I like.

I guess I want to blog because I like to write. I don't really mind whether anyone is reading, although it would be nice to have at least one reader (hello, if that's you - leave me a comment just to let me know that I'm not talking to thin air!).