Tag Archives: comedy sketch show

My Life, The Comedy Sketch Show – No Use Crying Over Spiders And Spilt Paint

My life often feels like a comedy sketch show.

“Who wants to read about your life!” I hear you cry.

Well, you for starters otherwise how did you find yourself here eh (winks slyly whilst dodging a virtual slap). So I’ve always had a knack for making my seemingly normal and pretty average life seem a little more entertaining. I don’t know if it’s my ability to see the positive in everything that allows me to give my everyday situation a lighthearted edge. But nonetheless I often feel like if I was starring in my own episode of “Friends”, in that I may get a few titters if anyone was watching in.

So it’s been a few crazy weeks. Ain’t it always!

The other day something which at first seemed initially terrifying, soon became absolutely hilarious. I was in hysterics. After the shock subsided and my heart rate went down of course.

I literally try my damnedest to make sure George doesn’t develop arachnophobia., or any phobia for that matter! I had it myself up until a few years ago when we accidentally cured it with hypnotherapy. It was bad.

Every Time I was in an enclosed space with one I would scream or cry or both. Enclosed being a room in my own house! I love gardening but hubs would often find me doing some weird strip dance in the garden where I convinced myself one had crawled in my clothes. I used to even get colleagues to catch them in the corridor at work. Just in case it made its way into our department.

So arachnophobia majorly tamed, I’m pretty brave and even catch the buggers now! So this is how a pretty ordinary Friday went down.

I was washing up in the kitchen, seriously I feel like I live at the kitchen sink! We were due to go out and I knew my mum would be turning up whilst we was out. She always walks straight in and does the washing up if I haven’t. So in an effort to show her at 34 I’m a responsible adult and I have actually washed up the breakfast stuff by mid afternoon here I was.

George was merrily eating a kinder egg and watching Zootropolis of all things in the lounge next door. Suddenly he started screaming. The I’m-being-kidnapped-by -a-maniac-that’s-climbed-In-The-Window kind of scream. I ran in and as my eyes scanned the area, I saw a daddy long legs climbing up his bare thigh!

I’m usually all like “oh hi mr skinny legs, how can we help you today” when we see a spider. But the poor kid was just sitting there clutching his kinder egg and screaming, tears rolling down his cheeks. I smacked the spider with a nearby cushion then grabbed George and whisked him off the settee to the floor. As I gave him a hug to calm him, I showed him the defeated spider laying stunned on the settee.

He had a kinder egg so to be fair the situation calmed pretty quick. I told him I wasn’t scared I was just shocked by his screaming. As I wiped his tears and removed the spider I began laughing hysterically (although I also do this when I’m nervous). George smirked as I explained why it was actually quite funny. So fingers crossed that’s turned that into a happy memory and not a future phobia.

crying

I don’t know about you but I’m a huge advocate for women being self sufficient. Despite having been in a long term relationship for 20 years, I don’t believe in man jobs and woman’s jobs. You may often see me use the hashtag jokingly embracing my inner pussycat doll with #Idontneedamantomakeithappen. I grew up watching my mum take her hand to everything and was encouraged to do the same. Not always successfully. Read all about the time I used an aerosol to hammer in a nail here.

So in our house I’m Jackie of all trades. Cooking, cleaning, DIY, decorating, gardening, changing a car battery, you name it, I can do it, or I’ll give it a go. So here I was painting our bedroom. We stupidly painted 3 of the walls brown when we moved in ten years ago. A vision of chocolate and duck egg blue was achieved but it was time to neutralise it as we are looking to sell up.

So here’s me on day two of white washing the walls with a magnolia emulsion. Day one went great. I painted the whole room in the last hour before preschool pick up. Then gave it a second coat after picking George up. Don’t ever let it be said that you can’t get shit done with a toddler around. All you need is an iPad and a pack of Haribos.

So day two and it needs a final coat. I’ve just about enough of my lush satin paint to finish the three walls. Let me set you a scene. The furniture is all pushed to the middle of the room. The tele is covered with a dust sheet in case there’s any splash back. I pick up the tub of paint, place it on the windowsill (yeah you see where this is going) proceed to prise the lid off. It’s a little stuff after using it the day before.

It pops off quite forcefully, the tub flips….the end of the divan, the bed sheets, the laminate flooring covered! Thick oozing paint. Thankfully hubs was due to go out in ten minutes but was still around because at that moment I really did need a man to make it happen! I needed him to lift the bed whilst I got the paint off the leg and stopped it being smeared across the floor. Lots of kitchen roll and wet wipes later (yet another use for wet wipes) and everything was clean. We lost the bed sheets but they were looking tired anyways.

crying
Image Courtesy of Pexels.com

The bastard paint was now over half gone, Luckily I managed to mix some other paint in to make it go further and the bedroom is now looking lush, it virtually glows in the dark! Moral of the story? Open paint on the bloody floor with the dust sheet down already you twat!

I literally couldn’t wait to tell my mum and sisters as it took us all right back to our childhood. My step dad John was up a ladder, paint on the top of her ladder, carpet down…you guessed it. The poor watering can got kicked all the way down the garden as me and step sis were sent to McDonalds to get a large milkshake to cheer him up.

I’d like to point out that no watering cans were harmed in the writing of this post, none made after the year 1995 anyway 😜

Keep Calm and Carry On Linking Sunday
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Moving house the Gorgeous George’s Mama way

When nothing goes to plan, I try my best to laugh about it. Like I’m staring in my own comedy show. But this time I truly pissed off the karma fairy. This is my tale of moving house, the Gorgeous George’s Mama way.

So I may not have blogged for a few months, but if you follow me on social media, Instagram in particular, you will know that we have recently moved house.

It was a plain sailing kind of experience. If you can imagine plain sailing whilst a big ole’ pirate ship is shooting cannonballs at you which you are trying to dodge. After you dodge the last cannonball, you envisage a life with your toes dipping in the warm sea surrounding your ship. Needless to say, no one told you that sea would be full of sharks trying to bite your legs off.

Let us add a little clarity to this cryptic analogy. So the house sold after 5 weeks on the market. Mid October and I was feeling smug. I literally thought I was the dogs bollocks at selling houses.

Don’t get me wrong. I spent months grafting, with a little help from hubs, mum and step dad. The house was decluttered, spruced up, along with the garden, and when the estate agent pictured went online, friends actually asked how the hell I had done it and where was all our stuff. “Just don’t look in the garage” was my reply!

So having sold our house in mid October, you may be surprised (or not, if you have any experience of solicitors), to know that we didn’t exchange and complete until mid February! It was literally the smallest and simplest of chains. But alas my name is Cassandra so nothing is ever simple. In case you aren’t aware, Cassandra was a greek goddess who had the gift of knowledge but was cursed that no bugger would ever believe her.

This is the literal story of my life. Not only that, if I have ever phoned up to make a table booking in a restaurant, I swear to you, it always has a problem or wasn’t recorded. The curse obviously extends that people listen to what I say and then completely disregard it. Am I really cutting the solicitors slack because of a goddess cursed name? Who the feck knows. Welcome to the workings of my mind.

Without going into the boring details, it was a shit storm that should’ve been over way before Christmas 2018, but solicitors (being the poorly paid individuals they are, sob sob) dragged their heels and nearly drove me to the point of being ill. I’m serious. My period didn’t arrive through stress. Hubs, George and I completely missed Christmas after all contracting flu and it took us weeks to get our strength back. I really don’t think the added stress helped.

One day in February, after multiple excuses from everyone, I flipped and told the estate agent (who regularly liaised with the solicitor) that it was making me ill and I had passed the point of impatience now. What do you know, we exchanged that day!

That day ironically, I was at a hospital appointment 90 minutes from home. I had arranged for my mum to collect George from preschool, got the train to London, my bag strap snapped on the way. I arrived to be told the clinic had been cancelled two months prior but they forgot to send me a letter. This was the same morning I had told the estate agent I was a woman on the edge.

Thankfully the cancelled clinic worked in my favour as I was seen by a different clinician who is finally getting somewhere in diagnosing a condition I’ve struggled with for the past 6 years.

In the meantime, my phone is going crazy. We had found a rental of dreams and was totally stressing we would lose it due to the solicitors doing the procrastination dance. Hubs took over whilst I was in London. Spectacularly we had secured the rental and exchanged on our sale before I arrived home.

All was starting to go well. The rental of “dreams” was ours. I decided the song by Pink “A Million Dreams” was the soundtrack to our move as it kept coming on at appropriate times.

So we moved in. The removal guys came highly recommended by a friend who had recently moved but also by the majority of our town (after a quick facebook search). To cut a long story short, I shall use this quote;

“Not everyone that smiles at you is your friend”

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back to be honest and to have the manager of the removal company making false accusations about us, whilst I sat staring at a damaged house I cracked.

I continually had people drum into me that moving was the most stressful thing you can ever do and that point it all flooded over me. Overcome, I took myself off and cried for an hour. Whilst I always try my best to laugh at a situation as I know there is ALWAYS someone going through worse. But at that point I had nothing left to give.

Onwards and upwards. My hubs came to the rescue and took over dealing with the situation. Meanwhile, I got in with making a knob of myself with the new neighbours.

Whilst moving some bits over to the new house, the man next door poked his head out of the upstairs window. He introduced himself as Denzel. I’m a bit like Chandler out of Friends, in that I try to be funny to avoid awkward conversation. I promptly declared that I was called Cassandra. Quipping that with him being Denzel, we were halfway towards starting our own episode of Only Fools and Horses on the street. Lets just say he didn’t laugh.

So in a very brief and laughable nutshell, that is our moving story. You can read more here about why we decided to leave the property ladder.

 

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