Mirth and crumbly cheese

Hearing the gasps of shock upon stating that Small has been foraging for raspberries outside, gave it a fair 5 minutes before admitting that the fruit picking was from our garden. It would appear that in the 15 years that some previous owners lived here, they developed a penchant for bush fruit -snort- including gooseberries, and what I discovered following a very bitter mouthful wasn't lethal but in fact blackcurrant. What do I do with a fuck tonne of blackcurrants? Periodically affirming that I'm not the shittest Mom in a 50 mile radius as she's feeling incredibly smug with the haul, I had to force myself not to laugh in her face as she badly washed then wolfed more than a couple of aphids along with these garden jewels.  Day 2 of covid jail saw me in more than a small tangle. Who knew covid would give me the coccyx of an aged Chippendale and ankles of a hockey player? Maybe that's just too much enthusiasm demonstrating weird and wonderful birthing positions. In any s...

  Day 1 On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you describe your customer experience? Zero. I rate it zero. I’m not entirely certain whether I’ve unknowingly infected the whole fucking planet, or whether it’ll be OK because I’ve had both vaccines and I’m a healthcare worker. The whole Test and Trace process is REALLY DAMN CONFUSING. (Small disclaimer here to state I figured it out and have followed the guidance appropriately). Ten. Fucking. Days. I’m fatter, I’m older and I’m enforceably  at home for what feels like at aeon, self-isolating with the same little fuckbag that spurred this blog’s beginnings all those years ago. And Jayne. Thankfully (for both of us), at her house. Poor sod counts as a chunky contact, so she gets to sit at home crocheting with Netflix carefully defrosting mystery meat and meals prepped in the middle ages, smug with such esteemed meal planning that an Insta-Ho would want a selfie with. I get to isolate with Barnsley's answer to Kim Jong-un. Anyone r...