15 mins – had a thought

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Driving to work this morning, navigating my way around more roundabouts than should be legally built in one city, I had a thought.

My mood lifted, my grin grew.

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Photo by Emily Hopper on Pexels.com

Yes. Finally. Something to blog about. Something fun. Indeed, the kick up the backside needed to sit me at the keyboard again. Quickly the entire blog was mapped out in my mind. A little humour here, a little nonsense there, a little sharing of me. Perfect in every way. What was that? Did you mention modesty?

Several roundabouts later and quickly heading into the building, my plan was to ignore my normal daily tasks and, cheekily, whack out an email to myself, of said blog, for copy and paste and publish later on. Who would question my furious taping at the keyboard? Not a sausage.

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Photo by Mateusz Dach on Pexels.com

What could go wrong?

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Palm to forehead. I bloody well forgot it all. No hints, no a-ha moments. Nothing,

Note to self: Numpty!

 

 

Purpose of this blog. No purpose. Only a place to write for 15 minutes. Thank you so much for dopping by

Give me strength, or give me a straight-jacket…

Whenever I write about my hubby, I always feel I have to qualify that I love him more than life can believe.  The reason being I inevitably portray him as a complete fool incapable of even lacing his shoes.  Which to be fair, might be why he wears slip-ons. No,  I don’t mean that, just kidding.

So with the niceties out the way, let’s launch into the latest head-banging-against-wall moment with hubby.  I’ve actually had 2 this morning already.

Over the weekend our garage door broke, the wires on the rollers tangled and the motor took early-retirement.  Now our garage is a double one with a middle post which gives us 2 doors.  And as we’re still waiting on the repair man, hubby and I have been man-handling the broken door, which is no mean feat.  Our first attempt had me hanging onto the pulley while hubby heaved the door up.   Seems perfectly fine until you picture me sprawling backwards over the bonnet still clutching the pulley.  This as you can imagine elicited a few giggles, and we have now perfected the technique, i.e. hubby heaves and I sort of play with the pulley.

This morning though, it didn’t go quite to plan.  Hubby suggested I maneuver the car to pull out through the other working door.  I said not a good idea as I could potentially whack it .  Fair enough he says and tightens his dressing gown, slips on his slippers and leads me to the garage.  Did I mention it is raining and 6.15am?

I took hold of the pulley, hubby heaved, and a piece of mechanical wear flew past me and landed on the floor.  Not to worry hubby assures, we can still do this and so we did.   I’m happy, he’s happy, I’m ready to go.

Oddly it seems the piece of mechanics that is now on the floor was pretty important and hubby now has to hold the door in place while I drive out.  Once again on the surface all pretty easy.  I start my engine and edge out, careful not to roll over hubby’s slippered feet.

Now what possessed hubby to move away and fiddle is beyond me, and over the next couple of days no doubt he will come up with some gem for his actions.  But whatever it was, he moved and fiddled.

In the car,  I hear a rumbling.  I look up, my jaw drops. Hubby is yelling, his gown is flapping and his slippers are flying outside as he launches himself at the accelerating door.  I can’t work out which pedal is the brake, and all I can see is hubby grappling with a door he has no chance of stopping, not ever, not never, it’s on its way down.

If ever there was a moment of luck and stupidity, it was this morning.  The door hit the car but thankfully smashed the VW badge off the bonnet and clipped the number plate.  As for stupid, well need I say anymore.

Talk about heart stopping, I was convinced my car was heading for panel-beating heaven.

Number two moment is too exhausting to repeat in full, suffice to say hubby who has only just learnt how to switch on a laptop is at his office and calls me to help him access his email.  He has a couple of pages of notes on how to do this, written in his own hand that make no sense to him or anybody for that matter.

Some fifteen minutes later, me head on my desk, he reads message 1.  But to get there, he’s rebooted the laptop several times, intimidated there are power problems which were actually down to his modem not being plugged in, battled to find the arrow key on the keyboard, open an email,  and, blow me away with his insistence of needing to open an attachment when there was no attachment in sight.   As for his affection with the internet E button on the bottom left hand corner, well I could dedicate a novella to this alone.

Give me strength, or give me a straight-jacket – whatever comes first.

PS Hubby just called.  Garage door repair man is on his way….hubby has left his house keys in his van….his van is out on a delivery…