perioddrama
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Bloodstains Revisited
Well look who's back?
Did you really think or hope you'd seen the last of me?
I can't say as I blame you.
I'm back with my wife. We don't seem to work very well together, but we fare even worse apart. She missed the dulcet tones of my snoring, and the smell of my feet when I take my shoes off at the end of a long and tiring day. And I missed her mood swings, grouchiness and unpredicatability. I also missed my children. And there you have the understatement of the year.
So I guess that is it then. We might not be star-crossed lovers, but I can't imagine anyone else putting up with me, and there's not that many idiots around who would put up with her, and so it would seem we are stuck with each other.
But why start the blog again? After all you said...
What? Is it only the female of the species that is allowed to behave capriciously?
I think I've just decided I need an outlet. We've been back together for a few months now, and though things are to some extent changed by the passage of time, they remain remarkably the same too.
I've just got to remember not to go looking for material. God knows enough comes my way as it is, without me sitting there thinking, maybe if I said this I would get some good material for the blog.
After all, JoJo says I do not need to blog every day, and to me that's as good as having a note from me mam.
There's nothing else to tell really, I'm still not interested in sweeties, though comments are always welcome. I can't profess to coming back to blogging wiser, more mature, more stable, less attention seeking or anything like that, but then, it has only been a year. What I do have, is more material, more conflict, more blood, more periods. Tarantino came back after 6 years with a blood-fest, so much blood he had to split the killing of bill in two, and I'm doing the same, well sort of - but with wings on.
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All good things must come to an end
And also, so should the crap.
Which is where period drama fits in. This is the last entry. I've been mulling it over for a while, and have decided to take the advice offered not only to me but sometimes about me in some areas of 20six and ditch my wife. I think writing this, has brought home just how poor the relationship is. I'm a bit worried about the effect on my kids to be honest, and I hate the thought of not being a full time dad, or even going through another custody battle to earn a few hours with my daughter, but I'm not sure what else to do.
The blog, like the relationship, is old and tired now. Had I the will to go on, in any sense, it would just be a rehash of previous entries and experiences, forever repeated in some soul destroying and increasingly less amusing loop. Far better to get out, and get out quick.
Thanks for reading, and thanks for the comments....
PD
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A blank canvas
The camping trip went okay. By that I mean that no threats against my life, with or without a knife, by my wife, were made.
In fact, I should be honest, both of us worked well together to get the tent up. No arguments, and dare I say a modicum of teamwork.
The difference was I think, largely, that we are now more au fait with the routine, but also in some slight degree that this time was post rather than pre menstrual
This means that she is irritable, but not especially psychotic. On the pre days.. I seem to be the main target of her anger, on post days it is more anyone and everything. The burden is shared.
My daughter has the best handle on it. She just announces that mummy is very grumpy, or if mummy is especially grumpy, she bursts into tears. Taking the nuclear option always works, and mummy is immediately contrite. Serves her right, for forgetting our daughter is only 4. lol.
So, as I say, the tent went up without any problems. Actually, going back further than that, there was no time switch or the loss of any hours before our departure. But this has more to do with the fact that my wife wanted to get her hair done before we left. This relieved her of the stress of planning what to take, and instead she just left it to me on the day.
Which of course meant that the car was loaded, nothing was forgotten, and no one lost their temper or was exceedingly grouchy just because they had to do something.
I tried to approach the sensitive issue of packing for a camping trip, by saying that possibly a suitcase was a little unnecessary for 2 or 3 days. Amazingly, my wife agreed, saying that she had taken far too much stuff on the previous occasion.
Instead, she packed a slightly smaller suitcase.
The camping days themselves were filled with sitting around in the sun, a nice walk through a scenic village, barbecues and playing with my little girl, who is just learning to ride her pink bicycle. In fact she has something that my wife could do with: stabilizers.
Friday was a bit wet, but then where's the fun in camping if all you do is sit outside, have barbecues and drink beer. There's something quite primitively satisfying in a very male chest beating way about your family taking shelter in something you've erected. You probably get an even better sense of satisfaction if it keeps them dry. Still...you can't have everything.
Things went so well, that on Saturday I told my wife about my blog. She was fascinated. I've even let her read some of my stuff and she thought it was "quite funny".
"How long have you been doing this?" she asked me.
"Not too long" I said "it's just an outlet for some creative urges"
"I like it" she pronounced.
Of course it remains to be seen whether she will feel the same way about period drama as she does about the other blog I write that I showed her....but at least now the blog concept is not totally alien to her.
I had a brief taste of normal service in the period drama upon returning home. My wife was concerned about her garden & flowers, despite a neighbour volunteering to water them in the time we were away. So she rather neatly rushed out to the garden and set about reviving them while she looked for signs of plant abuse as soon as we were home.
Which left me to lug the various shite in from the car and unpack it. It doesn't take too long, at least not bringing it in, but then somethings have to stay with the camping stuff, and others have to be put back in other places. Several trips are made down to the cellar with equipment to be stored, and other things are unpacked and put away. I had just finished, including emptying the suitcase, putting away the vast quantities of clean, unused garments, while I put the washing pile out in the washroom.
It was at that point, after 45 minutes of fetching and carrying and unpacking, that I took a chance to sit down and have a cold drink.
It was also at that point, that my wife chose to come back in from the garden.
"Oh that's right" she says. "Leave it all to me. You just sit there."
"I think you'll find most things are done." I told her...
"is that done, or done properly?" she asks...before continuing..."what's this on the floor by the washing machine?"
"dirty washing, I believe" I say
"well why didn't you just put it on?"
"Because I was thinking about having a drink, and I kept thinking I'll have one in a minute, so I decided, before I put the washing in, that I would have the drink, and then I would put the washing on. If I had known, that you would come in and find me slacking so disgracefully on the job, I wouldn't have done it." I say, with a smile on my face.
"don't try and talk your way out of it..."
No, never ever do that.
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Rejoice oh 20sixers...
PD is going camping again.
For those of you that read the blog and find it vaguely amusing, there is the hope that more material can be garnered from the proposed camping trip.
For those of you who find me annoying, and worthy of a punch in the face, you have 4 days respite not only from my entries, but from my comments too.
So... trebles all round....
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Period Drama History
Here's a period drama entry set in a different period. Set in a different relationship in fact.
I was living with a girl, not married, who again, suffered (she was living with me)(brackets ©kspragg). To slice pages off the story, all you really need to know is that I met her when she was living at home with her mum. Her relationship with her mother could best be described as strained. A little like a fit young barmaid turning up in the Rovers when Bet Lynch/Gilroy was losing her looks. Her mother wasn't sure whether she wanted to be a mum, or a best friend, and being confronted with her daughter having a relationship threw her completely. That's not to invoke the idea of any sexual tension between them, or competitiveness in that way, it's more that they both had Queen Bee mentalities and would clash.
We started living together, at a point when the relationship between mother and daughter was at it's lowest ebb. She left her mother's house with the admonishment never come back. And her parting words were along the lines of I never want to see you ever again. Ever.
Unsurprisingly, neither side made any effort to see each other. For the first 2 months. Then, her mother called round. Daughter refused to let her in, and told her to go away.
Next time, I answered the door. I made the mistake of deferring to my gf's wishes. I asked her mum to wait, and went to see her. The instructions I was given were:
do not let her in.
tell her I do not want to see her.
I should have just let her mum in. In the same situation now I would, to force them not to be so silly. But that's with the benefit of experience and a little more maturity. Not much more it has to be said.
So I explained the siuation to her mum. Said how sorry I was, said I would talk to her, see if I could get them to meet, talk this silliness out or whatever. After that she left.
Tried talking to the gf. Didn't get anywhere. Stubborn as a mule. The whole thing was nuts.
This went on for another few months. Mother and daughter still not able to see each other, daughter stopped answering phone in case it was her mother, she even stopped answering knocks at the door.
One night. I was working on some music, I had a sort of amateur studio setup, with keyboards, a drum machine , guitar and a multitrack recorder. I've got my headphones on...oblivious to everything going on around me, when eventually this noise permeates my consciousness. Someone is practically kicking the door down.
I go to the door, open it, and am just about to launch into a wtf do you think.... when I'm shown two warrant cards. They are Detectives. They ask me if I am so and so. They then say they are here about the welfare of my gf. I stand there looking blank, trying to take in what they are telling me.
One of the detectives says: Didn't you hear us knocking?
I told him I had headphones on.
"We were just about to kick your door down" I'm told.
By now I have finally come to grips with what is happening, so I ask:
"This is a bit over the top isn't it? Why are the police involved?"
"We've had a report that you may have murdered so and so.(so and so being the name of the gf)(brackets ©kspragg)
"You'd better come in." I tell them.
I take them through to the lounge. Where my gf, the person suspected to have been murdered, is sitting on the sofa.
"Why didn't you answer the door?" I ask.
"I thought it was my mum." She says.
"Have you fallen out with her?" asks the detective.
"yes." comes the reply.
"we've knocked here 3 times in the last few days, twice in the day, and never got an answer."
"I was out at work..." I start to explain.
"We know, we watched you leave." they say.
"Why don't you answer the door?" they ask her.
"Because I don't want to see my mum."
"I take it that her mum is the person who contacted the police?" I ask.
"Yes. We were told you might have harmed her, or were preventing her from coming to the door."
They left soon after, satisfied that gf was in no danger, and was alive. Asked her to sort out her relationship with her mum.
And that's how I nearly came to be arrested on suspicion of murder. Still to come on PD, how I nearly won the lottery, and how I nearly invented a cure for cancer.
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Scruffy stories!
well, here we are again. Another day, another act in the drama. Whilst we've managed to avoid major conflicts, the crankiness and moodiness are there still, but this new pill or something is lessening the fury at least a little.
Harmless conversational gambits are snapped at:
me: what's on telly love?
her: don't know and I don't care.
me: ooooooookay.
Then today, we all get in the car, but the female lead in period drama has left her handbag in the house. Not a problem. Pop back in and get it. Actually, would you like me to go and get it for you?
"I'LL GET IT MYSELF FOR CHRISTSAKES!"
slam. crunch crunch crunch up the gravel. Daughter turns round, raises eyebrows and says "mummy's a nightmare."
We both burst out laughing.
Later on in the day, we're eating a meal, punctuated as it is by, eat ups, you do like it, there won't be any pudding, that's the last time I cook for you....
daughter announces:
"Daddy is doing the stories tonight."
I say nothing.
Mummy asks: "Why can't mummy do the stories tonight?"
answer: "you read scruffy stories."
Despite the crankiness, and dormant volatility, after I'd done the stories, we were laughing our socks off making up rhymes about my daughter's teacher, so much so that mummy also came in and joined in the fun. It was the first time I've seen her look relaxed all day. It was such a contrast - it was almost emotional.
Still, only a few more days to go.
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Hard on her heels
I think things are going okay so far this innings. Maybe I'm clutching at straws, but it definitely lacks the lunacy of the last lunar cycle.
But it doesn't stop completely.
Like tonight for instance. I got home after work, okay, after work, and after a brief-ish visit to the pub, and she's upset. Because earlier she had a phone call.
"What sort of phone call?" I ask... "some perv?"
And she tells me the story of how this guy introduced himself as some name or other and said he and his wife were interested in opening a shoe shop in our area and would she have a few moments to answer some shoe questions...
She asked him how he got the number because we're ex-directory. He said he didn't know he would ask his wife. He tried to ask her what sort of shoes she likes wearing, but she told him she didn't want to talk, and said she was going to hang up.
"Then I got all nervous and flustered." she told me
But she also said the guy just said sorry and bye. She then tried to see if 1471 gave his number but of course it was withheld.
I know she advertised the old sofa's for sale in the local rag, which included our number. So I speculated, reasonably I think, that he may have got the number through the weekly freesheet, as we don't appear in the directory.
"He could be watching the house!" she says.
I can see she's upset, so I say I don't think it's likely. But he has the telephone number she tells me, can he get the address from that?
No, I say. There's no legal reverse lookup directory in this country yet as far as I know.
"You think you know everything" I'm told.
"Try not to worry about it sweetheart" I say "it's probably just some sad old weirdo who's got a thing about shoes, he looked through the paper, picked out some numbers, and made up some cock and bull story to try and get women to talk about shoes. I don't think it will be anything more than that."
"Oh that's right" she says. "TAKE HIS SIDE!"
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