Enough Already!

By alison March 1, 2012 13 Comments 4 Min Read

See the thing is this: they don’t warn you. They don’t say,  this is how it’s gonna be Cupcake, two steps forward and three steps back. Forewarned is forearmed you see. Had I only known that life was going to be a constant waltz of the kind that requires a motorcycle helmet to survive I wouldn’t be so constantly disappointed by the slings and arrows of my own outrageous (mis)fortune now would I?
Heck yes, today I’m playing the victim card. Because mis-fortune, according to my gorgeous friends Kath and Diane, follows me around like a bad smell. And no-one likes a smelly housekeeper now do they? Not when life is supposed to be a symphony of lavender and roses  anyway.
So the weekend just gone got kind of ugly. Friday I dressed my half-term child in his finest rags, shoved him into Nana’s car and took off for a small jaunt around Southport that resulted in the purchase of a Bet Lynch style leopard skin top and a bar of soap I was irrationally pleased with. All that could be well with the world was as well as could be expected and even the dear old Marks and Spencers cafe that has for a long time been the bane of mine and Mum’s life had decided to bless my little boys day with a new range of gluten free sandwiches. I felt happy. Which (clever me) I have come to recognise as an emotion laden with foreboding…
We got home and the cat trotted past me soaking wet. Now this isn’t all that unusual in itself because Jimmy is off his little pussy head and will happily take a shower or dip his head into a washing up bowl full of bubbles and has recently learned to turn the kitchen tap on all by himself. Oh joy. So I wasn’t that concerned until I heard dripping and being not very brave at all sent my four foot high bodyguard in to the kitchen to investigate. He laughed. A lot. and came out with sopping wet socks. Bad sign number two.
For while we were away the boiler had leaked and a flood of yukky water had  come through the kitchen ceiling dripping until the whole lot fell down. Oh yes. The kitchen ceiling was on the kitchen floor. The newly tiled floor. And the door between the kitchen and the outhouse had swelled and split and there was ugliness of the wet kind as far as the eye could see, and I was, I must confess, a tiny bit hysterical until my DIY knight arrived in his Renault Scenic and bashed a bit more of the ceiling down and evacuated Finley to Mums and me to Kaths so he could drown without interruption.
So I had a little cry and I bought a lot of mops and then I went home to a ceiling that had been covered by a piece of board and a man despairing of a house that seems to want to eat itself and we ate chips straight from the paper and guzzled black vodka cocktails and pretended the whole thing was some kind of wacky dream and the very next day we decided to shift focus from a kitchen that now required inspection by the insurers on to the little postage stamp at the front of the house, so Richard built a little wavy wall and erected posts in preparation for a  pretty little picket fence and I bought a new mat because it is Spring and a good Brocanteer always buys a new doormat in Spring. And despite it all we were feeling pretty smug and planning a meal of baked eggs and blue cheese and just as we had decided to nip out for a bunch of sage (of all things), I stepped out, my left foot skidded on the new door mat and my right leg got squashed under my huuuuge bum as my whole body slammed down and back on to the metal edge of the front doorstep.
Readers I screamed the lane down. The neighbours must have thought I was being murdered (though none of them came out) as Richard tried to get me up and I refused to budge because I was too broken and sobbing too much to explain myself. And when he had finally dragged me inside, he peeled my sock off  and I screamed a whole lot more because my foot looked like a turnip and the purple map of Britain spreading across my back was making sitting up or lying down impossible and I felt impossibly sorry for myself and a little bit exhausted and to top it all I couldn’t even hobble into my falling down kitchen to admire the gap where the ceiling used to be!
And so the following two days were lost to hot baths and  long spells on the sofa with bags of frozen peas attached to my person. All my plans went out of the window. No work got done. Brocante stood at a pretty little standstill. The house collapsed into wrinkly dusty ruin. And I walked around with a cold-sore on my lip and troubles on my mind. Was this karma? Do I need a list of the kind Earl still seems to be addressing? Apologies to the universe and the woman in the library who I swore at under my breath when she provided customer service of the truly awful I can’t be bothered with you kind? Do I need to take her a potted plant and admit my misdemeanour? What about the crazy woman in the school car park who I screamed at when she wouldn’t let me park? Is she poking sharp pins into a little Alison voodoo?
Dear me. I am trying to tell myself to cheer up because it might never happen, but trouble is, it probably already has…
Enough already  if you don’t mind. There is only so much this little lady can take.

Other Things To Do At BrocanteHome

13 Comments

  1. Alexandra says:

    Oh you poor thing Alison! It sounds like you've been having a terrible time, although you wrote about it in such an amusing way that I couldn't help having a giggle. Best wishes for your recovery xxx

  2. Oh My Lordy Lord! did your oven get wet? how awful and now I imagine you have the Godawful task of getting quotes etc for the insurance company,and poor you taking a tumble! Hope all is ship shape very soon xx

  3. I hate those weeks 🙁
    Rest, read, bathe and cry all you can. Then get up next week and start again!

  4. dangermom says:

    Oh, how awful. It's amazing how misfortune seems to come in big fat glops, isn't it? I had one of those weeks myself pretty recently. I'm so sorry about your poor foot and your kitchen!

  5. Megan says:

    Oh Alison you poor thing! Rest, rest, rest and recover, both you and your house. Sending you virtual hugs. xxx

  6. Seasider says:

    Oh how awful. I sympathise. Having just missed a step in my home and ending up with a broken ankle, I know how you're feeling. Phone calls to services had them mostly saying 'at your age' .. as if I'm ancient. Treat yourself kindly and think 'this too will pass'.

  7. Tracelaine says:

    Darling! My hubby amuses me by telling me that life seems to kick our ass in threes – count your three, then, rest assured it’s over ’til next time.

  8. anwylyd says:

    How dreadful! You poor thing! Wishing you all the best from across the pond. Rest up and heal. You and your home will be well soon. If it’s any consolation, your site is helping me recoup from my own pathetic day. Your words bring a ray of light into the hearts of many! Keep your chin up.

  9. Hels says:

    Brace up lady…that which does not kill us only makes us stronger…there, don't you feel better already..? If that doesn't work there's always alcohol…

  10. Katherine says:

    Oh, no! I fell down our stairs two days before Christmas, and my knee is only now feeling somewhat like normal (x-ray and MRI!!). It’s nothing like my falls of the 80s-90s (what can I say~ I had a clumsy few years at one point!). I truly feel for you. Hugs & get well soon! 

  11. Amanda says:

    Wow! You really do it up right don't you. I hope you're feeling better by now and that the sun is shining again. I am actually starting to see a little spring here. It's a lot too early and it's a litle scary. I hope we don't freeze off all the fruit tree buds with this early warm and sunshine. I see I have snowdrops in bloom in my backyard this morning. I need a new door mat… I'll try not to slip on it. Hope you get better soon. Love, Amanda

  12. lazy h says:

    Just – blimey Alison. That is epic.
    Hope you feel better soon. And your house too.

  13. Wilhelmina says:

    Oh no Alison! Do rest up you poor dear. What a ghastly conflagration of misfortunes. I must admit we had a house like it. We did. How we loved it! How it ate us. We fixed it up so as not to get bad karma and sold it. Have a modern flat instead, but you know, it's like a box. You can furnish as you will.
    I must have offended the Fates anyhow as I first damaged my ribs, then a disc in the spine, and no physios for a fortnight over the festive break, barely got fixed, my little one back in pre-school where there are three nasty bugs, one of them real influenza. Got one, got bronchitis, then got the gastro one and now have influenza. I wonder if garlic around the neck will work. The influenza was also caught by my four year old daughter, but she got better faster, and by my husband who had been vaccinated for work. The doctor said it was a milder case. Mild influenza. Now that doesn't exist.
    Here's hoping Spring restores our fortunes. And your kitchen.

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