A plaster obsession

My daughter has a bit of an obsession with plasters.  She wants a plaster for all minor and non-existent injuries.  Apparently plasters are actually magic.  They can heal all wounds - real and unreal.  With this in mind and because I'm obsessed with lyrics, if she says "I hurt myself" but it's pretty clear that she hasn't.  I respond by singing a line of Johnny Cash's Hurt to her.  It goes a little something like this:

Daughter: *no evidence of accident, proffering invisible wound*  "I hurt myself......"
Mummy: *musically*  ".........today, to see if I still feel".
Daughter: *looks ambivalent, goes off to do something else*.
Mummy: *looks 'comedic', goes off to find plasters*.

PS. Daughter is wrapping a sticker around her thumb as I type.  It's not a sticker mummy, it's a plaster.  The obsession continues.........

Singing for myself

For the first time in the history of my romantic awareness I've sung love songs without a specific person mind.  Since about age 14, I've either been in unrequited love or one half of shared love. 

At this moment I can say with honesty that I only have love for my daughter, myself, my family, my friends and for humanity.  I am not in love.  I am happy.  I am single.  Life isn't perfect.  Life never will be.  But I'm settled with all that I have.   

When I sing, I sing for myself and I listen to the words my soul speaks.

xx 

Don't Mug Yourself - The Streets

I had a hankering for Sharp Darts by The Streets

Not-groovy: Tax Credit Anti-helpline

Can I strongly suggest that the new government employ about 200 more Tax Credit Helpline workers because I really feel like perpetual hold, being cut off after being on hold for an hour and not getting through in the first place doesn't constitute an actual service fronted by a helpline.  Offer a Chat Room Helpline, like Ebay does.  It's still fucking annoying but at least it doesn't cost millions of pounds in a phone bill.   

The Tax Credit Anti-Helpline hold button music is playing as I type this blog.  It has a jazz feel to it.  Thus, I sometimes pretend that I'm in a funky jazz club.  Hi, and welcome to Jazz Club.  This is the Tax Credit Anti-helpline Total Twonk Face Band.

On drums: a repetitive beat, barely perceptible above the bad line crackle.
On bass: totally addicted to bass but after 30 minutes of holding, slowly going off it.
On keyboards: crazy freestyle melody, trying to distract caller from perpetual hold and failing dramatically.
On lead guitar: guitarist has got fed up of the perpetual hold button and has fallen into a crack in the stage, guitarist thinks she's in a alternate utopian dimension filled with pink unicorns.

Cue cutaway shot. *Points then presents a Jazz face*. Total twonks. Not groovy.

    

Damn tories

God damn tories.  Go the fook away.  Boooooooooooo. 

The benefits of being married to Benedict Cumberbatch

The benefits of being married to Benedict Cumberbatch are clearly myriad.  Yet, essentially the key benefit is indicated with the words 'Benedict Cumberbatch'.  Married to Benedict Cumberbatch!  MARRIED TO BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH.  Can you imagine?!  Ye gods, Sophie Hunter - you wonderfully lucky lady. Every day must be a dream.  

xx