A Real estate tip I never thought I would be qualified to give.

I only ever did it twice I think, as not many people got it but I used to do a bit that went, ‘I recently bought a house. That’s not true I just wanted to say the words.’ Only me and maybe ten other people thought it was funny. One of those ten would later become Lady Wife. I wrote it because the idea of owning a home was so far fetched saying the words seemed - absurd. Therefore it had potential to be funny especially as I knew the majority of my audience were not in a position to buy a house. That’s what I told myself to numb the loser feeling real estate gave me. It turns out most of my audience did own houses and that’s why they couldn’t relate. Nothing has changed since I wrote that bit, except I’m married with a child now. FUUUCK! Don’t worry I’m actually very good at budgeting it’s just that my budget is always centred on the bones of my ass. The good news is my family love me and believe it or not, and I don’t, we went house hunting recently. I’m very much a bystander in some aspects of Lady Wife’s organised and adult life but I like to watch and take notes. So here’s a tip that I never thought I would be qualified to give:

When selling a house waft out some family smells like freshly baked bread or apple pie, or if you can, meld the two together and underscore it with a bit of Christmas. Under no circumstances should you allow prospective buyers to walk in and smell cigarettes and regret. Nothing reeks more than the scent of pending divorce. It hangs heavy in the air leaving the poor real estate agent with nowhere to go. ‘So what do you think?’ ‘I think this is what it smells like when doves cry. My inner child would only want to be here every second weekend. I walked in happy and now I want to throw a vase.’  ‘So have you been looking long?’

No this is my first time. I dared to dream and you ruined it! 

Laugh and Cry

With a candle lodged firmly in a rice cake we sang our first hearty rendition of Happy Birthday to Boy Son.  The significance of the milestone must have interacted with a motherly hormone, as Lady Wife could not stop laughing and crying in unison. I’ve never had the skills to pull off the laugh and cry, or understand it, but nor have I had the vision to marry candles with rice so party hats off to Lady Wife for having the ingenuity and emotional capacity to take Boy Son from nought to one.

Photo by Lady Wife

Eghh's in waiting.

Do you think Diabetes is too happy a word? It doesn’t really convey the severity of the disease. Cancer sounds like a sideways creeping cluster fuck whereas Diabetes  sounds like a secluded Greek island. ‘Where are you going this summer?’ ‘Diabetes, Kath wants to learn how to windsurf’. It should be called ‘eghh!’ because that’s what you say when you see your first necrotic toe. Boom! I spent two hours on a train to try that bit out. It’s a keeper*. I didn’t mind the travel-time as I love what I do but don’t put me on a train for a stupid reason.   

There’s something quite frustrating about having to prove that you speak English when the only language you speak is English. That frustration grows as the people testing your English, use it as their second, or in some cases, third language. I have nothing against folks who are smarter than me but as they are so intelligent surely all that needs to happen is a phone call! ‘Do you speak English well enough to be a nurse?’  ‘Of course I know the following sentences off by heart: Don’t worry I’ve seen it all before; I’ll be there in a minute; please don’t bite my face.’ Great you know the basics, you’re in.’ Alas no. I had to hop on a London bound train surrounded by overweight and illiterate teenage Eghh’s in waiting, with the hope that I’ll get the all clear to nurse their parents to a self inflicted and premature death. But still the positives are of the 7 billion people on the planet many are heading in this direction and one day, in the not too distant future, ignorance will create bliss. And while we’re on the topic of population control, which we all secretly want, poor communication skills in hospitals, is probably the answer.  Night x

* Whilst it is a keeper in certain rooms it can also be used to start a staring competition, which I’m fine with as my auntie was born without eyelids so I’m match fit.

Tunbridge Wells it is then.

We moved into a twee town called Tunbridge Wells, which sits an hour south of London - the not so sleepy hollow where I wanted to live.  I like the idea of getting home, looking in the mirror and saying, ‘I’ve got a dusty nostril’. Who wouldn’t want to live in a town where you can pop ‘dusty nostril’ into conversation and it not be weird? Answer: My lady wife. Yep she was quick with an emphatic ‘no’ on that one. I tried discussing the matter but she has the vagina and that was that.  I did get close to convincing her but then the London riots hit our screen all during our son’s first proper cold. Tunbridge Wells it is then. The irony being now that I’m here it’s obvious that if ever a town needed a riot it’s Tunbridge Wells. It’s like living in a tea cosy. For the first time in my life I miss hookers and junkies. They provide towns with a dash of misery and violence that allows you to appreciate your intact skin. Unfortunately I’m pretty sure they’ve all been strangled here because they’re the first people to go when everything is a bit too nice. All it takes is someone only winning bronze in the local Bloom competition, they react by not cooking their 35 year old son dinner and boom! He’s out slashing skanks. So here I am, building a life that will support lady wife and boy son and the start hasn’t been bad but, I do miss my creatures of darkness. 

Photo by Lady Wife.