New Year = new blog

Mrs Smith is now blogging at

http://www.mrssmithin2011.blogspot.com

If you highlight it and click the right mouse button you can then go straight there - honestly.

2010 - That's all folks

Whilst my mother-in-law christmased with us her house was visited by a mouse, Dangermouse. He ate the lagging to the pipework in her attic and caused water to cascade through her entire house - think floating furniture. She cleverly got a plumber and has loss adjusters on standby. Poor mother-in-law, but it makes more interesting news than my flu which, incidentally, is still with us.

Oh Goodness Me, it's the last day of the year and here I am moaning on. I would like to greet next year feeling as fit as a flea; I feel like a flea with bubonic plague who is a bit too fatigued to pass it on.

Now let's look at my great achievments of 2010:-
Um er. Yeah. I walked across the country. I became cupcake queen. I learned to salsa. I learnt to make stained glass windows. I swam a mile. I did some cooking. That'll do. Some of those are achievements of which I am quite proud.

After much deliberation of what to call next year's blog it's: www.mrssmithin2011.blogspot.com. See you all there.

Have a nice day - don't you dare.

I had a most satisfactory morning shouting at people and making things go my way. I took myself to Kingston and took back stupid, actually ridiculous, salad servers given to us by mother-in-law. No wonder they weren't much cop, she didn't spend much.

I bought myself some superior chopping boards with plastic labels hinting what you must chop on each one. They come in a smart steel holder and look frightfully professional. We can't understand all the pictures and so will subversively chop meat on the vegetable one and cross contaminate away like we have been doing for the last 50 years. They were marked with the wrong price so I made the assistant go and check and bring me the right ones at the right price. That's better. Good heavens, what are assistants for if not to assist and put up with me being horrible to them?

I moaned in Gap that the slippers Mr Smith bought me were stupidly small. Apparently they are American sizes and my British feet are much too large. I got a bigger size; I'm not sure I like them all that much any more but Thank you nice assistant in Gap for being the only person not to irritate me all morning.

I shouted at the man who washed my car because he insisted on using wax when I asked him not to. They charge extra and I didn't want to pay it. He then had no change. I paid him a few pounds and wished him a rotten New Year. I'm in that sort of mood. I took delight in making the idiot girl ring up my purchases in Whitestuff then changing my mind and paying cash thus rendering a till inoperable for the rest of the day. I refused to touch the fishmonger's smelly plastic bag handle and got him to place my purchases in my own bag without touching anything - I gave him the exact money along with a withering look. I tried on a coat that was much too small (the same one as earlier in the week in a different branch). I nearly wrenched off the button - woops. I pointed out the "faulty" button and told the girl to mend it. There was a dreadful mess on the floor of the dustpan and brush department of John Lewis. They told me they couldn't clear it up because it wasn't their job; they had to send for a cleaner. I asked the young man exactly how fucking idle you have to be to work in John Lewis?

I can't think of anyone else to whom I was beastly but the day is but young. Actually, if this cough doesn't improve I may be dead by the end of it.

Slippery moments

I have cleaned our kitchen and nobody can ever enter it again. There was an unfortunate incident with some salad dressing and my Prada shoes. I now have a kitchen floor on which you could ice skate and very shiny shoes with a faint whiff of vinegar about them. Oh well, at least it looks less like Baghdad.

I still feel very unwell; so does Mr Smith. It's probably his turn as he has been rather good throughout Christmas. I have now used up my entire energy walking the dog and performing household tasks and feel my bed beckoning; move over Mr Smith. We're down to the last Lemsip. Maybe we will just cancel New Year.

Sleeping soundly

Since my return from my ill advised shopping trip, which really made me feel very unwell, I have done nothing but sleep. Perhaps I have narcolepsy; perhaps I am just worn out by Christmas and this awful flu germ I have been battling with day after day. Oh how I hate being ill because it's so boring. The only interesting thing is my horrific cough and the strange rasping noise my chest makes as I exhale. I want to create things and take my dog for a long walk. I want to cook exciting things for New Year. I want to have fun with my children. I need some sea air but my flat is let to other people enjoying the sea air. I just need some energy.

My mother-in-law leaves today and, although I will miss her when she's gone, I am quite looking forward to it just being us again. The dog gets back his space on the sofa and all formality of meals will be instantly relaxed. She is very nice and I am lucky to have such a dear mother-in-law but she could win the Uriah Heap award for obsequiousness which becomes maddeningly irritating after a while. So I am quite looking forward to her taking her ever such humble arse back to Yorkshire.

To all of you who have done your September dot to dots on your calendars, have you coloured in your Junes? Next Year I think all months will be d.i.y. More fun.

Sailing to the Sales

Best Christmas present: New kitchen knives from my mother - with which to stab members of my family.
Worst: It's a toss up between the Coronation Street teapot and a pair of very beautiful white slippers in completely the wrong size..


Still feeling pretty unwell with a gloriously awful hacking cough that sounds like consumption, I was a bit fed up with staring at the four walls and an ugly teapot. Therefore I thought an outing for me and mother-in-law to the Sales was a grand idea. Mr Smith started with "There will be no bus service" followed by "The crowds will be insufferable" then "Nothing will be open before 12." Oh I am so pleased I never listen to a word he says. A bus arrived in a few minutes to whisk us to Westfield which opened at ten. We shopped spaciously with very few people, watched the ice skating, bought some bargains and tried on a tiny weeny beautiful red coat but it was just too small, got proper slippers to replace the cinderella sized ones Mr Smith had bought me and looked at all the expensive shops such as Gucci, Prada, Tiffany and Dior. We had a thoroughly excellent outing and didn't have to put up with any tutting or sighing from Mr Smith. I did feel pretty exhausted by the time we got home and I really did not aid my recovery from this awful germ by trudging round Shepherd's Bush on such a freezing cold day. However, I had a lovely time and proved Mr Smith wrong - Oh so happy.

Happy Boxing Day

Many people spend Boxing Day performing healthy pursuits such as hunting or walking or running up hills. Not us. Oh No Sir; we do Christmas all over again with more people and presents and food and wine and merriment. We like to celebrate Christmas over two days. Actually, we really like to prolong it for about five then, when completely saturated by the whole thing, we stagger into New Year and have a repeat performance. Well, we cannot be accused of not knowing how to enjoy ourselves.

It's my turn for cooking today. Sensible Alison really did a good show yesterday and I thought I would never eat again but, suddenly, I am feeling quite hungry and in need of a gift (and not another stupid teapot). My parents are gracing us with a visit. Although my mother is definitely barmy and can be extremely nasty, she's not a bad present giver. My father is just quietly charming. They don't tend to stay for very long as they are positively Ant and Bee in their buzzing around and I am sure will be going on to annoy another family member for tea after us. So it's a case of "What have you got us? OK you can stay for lunch. Now go." That's how family Christmas visits should be. Mr Smith's mother seems to have moved in.

It's Christmas at last

Happy Christmas one and all. What did your stocking produce? Father Christmas does have appalling taste; he brought me a Rovers Return teapot with matching mug. I despair. If anyone had bought me a bottle of sloe gin or port I would have had a glass by now for my breakfast... but they didn't.

In a moment of extreme folly last night I gave the boys indoor fireworks. They have burnt the house down so we all have to go to church to take refuge. Then we're off for Christmas lunch with Sensible Alison and Unpresuming Ed and their four bolshy children who are all just that bit viler than ours.

We're mostly ill. I am getting better but very slowly with dreadful bits of dying with the most awful hacking cough between the few hours of feeling almost reasonable. The Apprentice's cough is even worse than mine. Mr Smith is trying to be ill but really his flu jab seems to have done the trick. The student suffers from such malaise at all times we don't know if he's well or not. Mother-in-law is not allowed to be ill or I'll shout at her.

I'm dreaming of a well Christmas

I didn't die in the night though there was a point at which I thought I might and another where I wished I could. Oh, how beastly is this vile flu. I need a t-shirt bearing the logo "I heart Lemsip" though people might misread it and think I mean Lembit who I don't fancy at all; does anyone?

I have absolutely no idea what anyone in this house is going to eat over the next few days except ham. A tangerine perhaps - and would you like a slice of ham with that? I think the Christmas ham is growing larger not diminishing - a bit like me.

I am going to make mince pies - delicate little ones with filo pastry and germs, then hang up my stocking and dream of wellness.

Laid up ... with gifts

I didn't think I could feel much iller but I am now considerably worse. There isn't any of me that doesn't ache and oh how it hurts. I can't stay in bed as I have a student to slap and a mother-in-law to entertain. The Apprentice seems to be getting better but Mr Smith is now complaining of not feeling great. He was so gloating about having had a flu jab, it serves him right.

My mother-in-law has left my Christmas present behind. She said it was Mr Smith's fault as he didn't bring all her packages when he collected her. Mr Smith couldn't care less. If I wasn't feeling quite so ghastly, I'd probably mind.

Yesterday Mad Carina came round with a glorious haul of pressies for me, some of which were purchased at the Priory gift shop during her last incarceration. I gave her a few tasteless gems of Christmas tat including some very beautiful white suede slippers and a mug declaring her Queen of Everything along with the statutory apron and calendar. She gave me some gorgeous flowery bathroom scales which make me almost not mind that I'm so heavy, a very groovy bath hat and an empty book entitled "Write your own novel". Ooooh I can hardly wait to get started. Brill friend.

Dying swan

Mrs Smith has flu. Mr Smith doesn't and, although he's kind and delivers lemsips, is inclined to shout at her with one of his Christmas rants. Mrs Smith has retired to bed with the pillow over her head where she will stay until Christmas morning.

Mumsie

I have looked in my diary today and found the page completely blank which implies I can enjoy a day of absolute idle procrastination with an afternoon film for light relief. I doubt it. I will be nursing the poor ailing Apprentice who is gravely ill, with a slight cough. Remember I am his Mother. The Student is home with trousers at half mast and a declaration that the dog is "Well fat". And I paid well good for wot his ejucashun cost an all - innit. He'll be on the sick list next as he's quite good at volunteering for anything going around. In the meantime I will send him off to do his Christmas shopping and try to get on better with him. Just in case you believe in our judicial system, I'd like you all to know he's been called for jury service in the Spring for the third time and can no longer postpone it.

Two burly men have just heaved an enormous box over the doorstep. Oh my God. It's the Christmas ham. What was Mr Smith thinking of? Has he invited several other tribes of starving people for Christmas? Who on earth is going to eat all this pig? Oh probably me.

And now I will clean my house then mess it all up again.

Festive Cheer

Mr Smith's mood doesn't improve much. Today's rant was about the airport being snowed up; not because he had a wonderful surprise Christmas holiday booked for us, I hasten to add. His brother is off to Turkey for Christmas to play golf but of course he isn't actually as he is at Heathrow under a bit of silver foil with everyone else, trying to rebook his tee-off time. Oh how my mother-in-law will be fretting. She will also by now be quite worn to a frazzle by her sleepless nights worrying if she will make it down Sowf to stay with us. Our Christmas ham hasn't arrived; I'll give her that to worry about too whilst I trudge through the snow to perform physical jerks at the gym and release endorphins and smile all day without a care in the world.

The Apprentice is unwell; he has a chill. I like the term "a chill" as opposed to flu or a cold - it sounds more Jane Austen with a slight hint of gravity if you are very poor or old. With Benylin and lemsip he'll soldier through. And, if things go according to plan, the Student will come home today then I will feel like a proper mother with both her boys safely in the nest. I'll make mince pies and sing carols loudly and out of tune and then walk the dog in the snow whilst the boys regress to 5 and 8 years old and have a snowball fight followed by an evening of rubbish telly.

I absolutely love Christmas.

My dog eats yellow snow

I have just read that Christmas lunch is about 3,500 calories. Actually, mine is probably more. The good thing about it being lunch is you might have time to make a start on the 14 hours of brisk exercise required to burn it off before bedtime; opening presents with extra vigour? Anyway, as practice for the forthcoming feasting, Mr Smith took me out for a wonderful lunch after which I took the dog for a snowy waddle up Rabbit Hill. Wimbledon Common resembles Val D'Isere with about the same number of braying Brits in skisuits including my neighbours who looked like Christmas elves in red salopettes they must have got down from the loft.

I am still too full for a cup of tea.

Snow fights

Today began with a row about brussels sprouts. How I hate the little horrors. However, Mr Smith is rather partial to them and considers them the only required vegetable from November to March. I was trying to send him out to shop for some cauliflower, brocolli and other veg of the sort I like. It was when I got to celeriac he threw a tantrum then he made it snow, massively, so no vegetable hunting could take place for the rest of the day; in fact probably not until late February.

Oh it's so deep and so white and so pretty. The council estate suddenly looks like Switzerland where vicious dogs frolic charmingly alongside their crack cocaine dealer owners. The charity shops have tinselled windows and all the stolen cars are bedecked in white mantles. All right, I was reduced to shopping locally and am trying to make the best of it.

Mr Smith's temper was not at it's very best due to golf being snowed off. I have a nasty feeling this is merely the start of his grumpiness and it will accelerate throughout Christmas trying my patience to New Year. The usual referee, mother-in-law, might not make the Christmas fixture as she lives in the very snowy north. I have yet to suggest to Mr Smith he goes up the M1 to get her; I'll wait til he's in a better mood.

Christmas orders

Most of my on-line Christmas shopping has arrived but I am beginning to feel a little anxious about those things that haven't and what about all the presents to ME? My mother-in-law told me a woeful tale of her husband one year declaring before Christmas that he hadn't bought her anything. She, quite naturally, thought the present must be a Ferrari or something as he couldn't possibly be so unappreciative of the woman who did absolutely everything for him and his four children all year as well as slave away over Christmas. When Christmas morning came and he declared in his Yorkshire tones "I told thee woman, I've bought you nowt" she was a trifle disappointed. She divorced him.

There is an enormous parcel under the tree for Mr Smith. He thinks it's a ride on mower; it's actually a goat. No, it is something quite boring as I am trying to discourage so much golf and promote more G is for Gardening. I have also bought him a new Times Atlas of the World as ours has become so yesteryear with countries such as Yugoslavia or the USSR all being one thing. Maybe we will find ourselves an exotic holiday destination - East Wittering.

The Lovely Claudia is coming to play and I will skip exercise class and finish icing her cupcakes and wrap her pressie. Then we will chat and laugh and smoke and be bad mad girls.

B for lamb

For those of you who now have your 2011 Mrs Smith calendar, enjoy defacing it with many squiggly lines or the odd appointment and consider yourself on my top 10 best friends list or related to me. Those of you who don't have one it's either because I haven't delivered them all or because I hate you.

Got back from the sea absolutely ravenously starving and ate some rather delicious lamb thingy I found. It appears Mr Smith had cooked it for dinner tonight as a welcome home for me. Oh dear. I'd better whizz to the butcher and buy more lamb and try to replicate whatever it was.

The general standard of Christmas card through our letterbox is pretty shoddy this year. The best so far is a large moose from the vet and the worst the W-Bs who boastfully sent a photograph of themselves with billions of orfspring. Someone please tell them this isn't quite the done thing; a robin in aid of cancer says it so much better. Well done to I D Jane who made her cards herself but actually has done them so well you would be convinced they were shop.

Production lines

I have been marvellously productive recently. My 2011 calendars are nearly finished. The last month is August which has gone a bit wrong quite apart from you thinking the last month should be December. Some of them have holocaustic disasters with tsunamis of paint sweeping across the days where I've had a little accident with messy paint on sleeve and upset the water jar. Gives them that home-made look.

I waded through a pile of ironing up to the ceiling and ironed it. When I'd finished, I found a whole clotheshorseful squirrelled away by Mr Smith in the guest bedroom. How dull. He can iron it. Well, he could if he could get to the ironing board but it's part of my slightly rubbish apron factory. My Christmas aprons would be so much better if I could sew straight.

Mad Carina bought me a little book of Christmas cupcakes. I feel wreaths and sparkly star cakes coming on. The wreaths could double up for wakes.

Off to swim a mile again today. David Walliams eat your heart out. Or, on second thoughts, I might just do fat aqua zumba - more fun and less knackering. Then I will grace the seaside with my presence and take in sea air putting roses back into my cheeks.

Tick tock

Mrs Smith has a new watch and it is quite lovely. Please remember to ask me the time at repeated intervals.

In/out and about

Mrs Smith's top places to be this week:

The gym - My woeful overindulgence of the past few days requires urgent attention. I went to loads of parties and must have accidentally eaten some of the guests.

Selfridge's fabulous shoe department - Mr Smith watched Mary Portas's review of it on tv recently and they had a close up of my mouse shoes ... along with the price. Oh no. I told him they were a marv barg, not £230.

My bedroom - divinely immaculate as I cleaned it and recycled all the old books and clothes and threw out a mountain of rubbish. Mr Smith has set up a little camp with his easy chair and reading light. I suppose it is his room too, unlike the seaside.

The watch shop, any watch shop. I want a watch. Mr Smith has cleverly spied a Longines by which I could be tempted but it is a bit terribly expensive.

Richmond Park - those deer are getting into training for their forthcoming sleigh pulling. Maybe we'll have venison on Christmas Eve.

West Sussex - I feel the lure of the sea.