Free Gift

It's been a week since I last posted and for good reason, on Monday I put my back out shifting an excess order of copier paper at work. I was busy fixing a printer jam when my team leader flagged up the arrival of a delivery driver in reception. Knowing her dislike for matters of the administrative variety I hotfooted it back to my desk to be met by a scowling driver and thirty hefty boxes of paper. I exclaimed at the quantity, the driver shrugged and gruffly proclaimed to be parked on 'double yellas'. He urged me to sign the docket and told me to call their office, which I did and was told it was a 'free gift' for loyal custom. I would rather they have sent a fuzzy pom pom with googley eyes to stick on my PC monitor than ten extra boxes of paper. With a reception full of clients, young, old and inebriated I had no choice but to shift the whole lot to an upstairs store room. As my team leader looked on I began loading the trolley, slowly and taking every precaution I could. I saw her look of anxiety as reception got busier still but there was little I could do, other than pile one extra box on the trolley and carefully manouver it on. She commented that I should pick up my speed, so I hurried on but no sooner than you could say 'risk assessment' I was whimpering with pain and clutching at my back. The trolley came crashing down, narrowly missing my toe and reams of paper spilled across the floor. I was sent home in a taxi. My doctor says I have to rest but I'm finding it a struggle.

All Brown

My daughter is a whizz at desserts, she can whip up a bowl of jam roly poly topped with steaming hot custard quicker than I can proclaim to be on a diet. She created a leaning tower of profiteroles for her Italian friend's wedding and won first prize at school for her prized Baked Alaska. She really is the Queen of Puddings. But whilst she is more than capable with 'afters' she completely lacks in 'befores', in fact I could go as far as saying she is a culinary disaster where main courses are concerned. Her steamed mince puddings are flabby, she burns steaks to a cinder and last time we had fish it resembled the sole of my right slipper. Understandably I did not jump for joy when she suggested cooking for us both last night. However it being the first sign of brightness in my daughter since the demise of her international love affair I agreed to her making tea and off she skipped to buy some ingrediants. Now I maybe partially to blame for the concoction she rustled up, my cupboards aren't stocked with chef's basics and neither do I have the time to read cookery books. In fact I imagine Louise gleaned the recipe for tonight's dish from the back of a cereal packet. A high fibre cereal packet at that. As I found out this morning she loaded the lasagne with bran. Aside from the burnt cheese crust it was tasty enough and she served it with a refreshing garden salad. Continuing on a theme dessert was a bran based Apple Crumble. Now this was delicious, melt in the mouth molton apples with a crunchy topping. It was so tasty I had thirds and Louise was smiling from ear to ear. She loves to cook and it melted my heart to see her smile. Indeed I thought of her happy face as I sat in agony on the toilet today, clutching my spasmodic bowel. I am still sure she cooked the meal for love and not for my Ex, who I am hoping didn't suggest the secret high fibre ingrediant.

Valentine's Day

Spent the morning washing my clothes and clearing away chocolate wrappers from behind the sofa. A woman in mouring is certainly a hungry one. How Louise keeps managing to snaffle so many sweet things into the flat is beyond me, especially as she seems to be feigning agrophobia every time I'm around. Perhaps the secret sweet smuggler pops round when I'm out at work, either that or it's the Newsagent's son. Hmmm could be onto something there. Feeling much better than I thought I would on Valentine's Day. Although annoying Louise's mess keeps my mind off my lacklustre love life. It being a Sunday helps too...no chance of the postman not stopping by or my colleagues penning fake cards and laughing into their naturally dyed hemp sweaters. Yes it's a good day for Valentine's.

Impending Doom

Little to report back on this week other than a horrible sense of impending doom as my Ex is due to drop by any moment now. I'm hiding in my bedroom with the laptop and a family pack of supermarket brand biscuits hoping she doesn't come creeping. When she discovered Louise had arrived back in the UK she insisted on coming over. I initially resisted, insisting that Louise meet her on more neutral territory but when it became apparent that Louise could barely make it to the corner shop without breaking down I relinquished and allowed one visit from the Queen of Venom. I think that's the door now, over and out.

Foul Mood

Since returning Louise has done little else but mope around my flat, drinking cold coffee and crying. For the first few days of her stay I offered tea, sympathy and a generous supply of chocolate and gossip magazines but I'm becoming tired of coming home every day to her sullen face and foul mood. It's like she is a teenager again but without the slamming of doors and my ex wife going through 'the change'. Whoever timed my daughter's teenage years to co-incide with my ex's menopause needs to be struck off the creation register. Surely nothing can be more testing than living with two women at their least rational time of life. For two or three years my life lurched from crisis to drama, I returned every night from work to a houseful of hormones, a sink of unwashed pots and broken crockery. At one point I thought they were holding Greek plate smashing parties in my absence, only to be reminded of the force of their wrath one particularly turbulent Sunday dinner. With hindsight I think my Ex was secretly jealous of Louise's emerging beauty and the number of possible suitors clamouring for her attention. Thankfully I fell into hospital radio around this time so could escape once or twice a week to the safe environment of the studio. I know I should be more sympathetic to Louise's predicament. I can imagine it is hard splitting from someone you adore but there is little I can say, other than ask her to tidy up and water the plants. Perhaps that's what she needs, maybe she needs me to be the strict authoritarian dad. I always let the Ex do the discipline but perhaps I should call on my inner Super-nanny and get her to tow the line, well at least help out a little bit. She could at least wash up.