This post can be found in its original format at www.crapwifeblog.co.uk and http://craphousewife.blogspot.com/with pictures and video.

(I’m really sorry about the delay with today’s blog, the site hasn’t been letting me upload or track any views etc and I’m fucked if I know how to fix it.)
Mother in law has left and we’re really sad to see her go.  Not just because it’s been nice having her here, but because we’re frightened of killing the garden- she has managed in under a week to create a gorgeous garden which we can enjoy for years to come.  We’re tremendously happy with it.  Husband however, is nervous.  He knows now it’s just the two of us again that he’s vulnerable.  He’s right to be scared.  I’m going to start off subtly, I will start by reintroducing the night time challenges and build up to something major, which is yet to be confirmed.  I have lists and a clipboard and I’m going to war.
As Husband was back to work today he went for an early night while I caught up on the soaps.  I feel better now I’ve had my fix but am once again annoyed by some of the storylines in soap-land.  Ronnie Mitchell is getting right on my tits.  I still haven’t got over the fact that I waited all those months to see the conclusion of the Danielle Daughter/Mitchell Mother storyline.  I’m still angry about it. As usual, the ever considerate producers had included a help line number for those affected by the issues in the show.

“Hi, my name’s ######. I’ve been affected by some of the issues in tonight’s show- you see, I gave my daughter away when she was a baby because my father made me, I grew up distant, closed off and acerbic, and never had a boyfriend ’cause anyone I tried to have sex with lost their penis to the cold, the only saving grace in my sad little life was my overwhelming love for my sister, who I have suffocated and babied through her cocaine addiction in Ibiza and her failed relationships with a nightclub owner, unfortunately, it would appear that she has slept with the only man who had enough sense to use Anti-Freeze instead of KY when he shagged me, and they now have a baby- that they called Amy, you know, like the one I gave away- in between all this, my sister’s husband left her, and I had to save them from an icy pool, fortunately I’m immune to the cold; I’m not really speaking to my sister, but I’m making an effort because my father (who told me my kid was dead) is marrying my aunt, not sure how it’s come about, but that’s how us Mitchells roll, anyway, to get to my point, it would appear that the cleaner from the local pub who’s been following me looking sad for a while (can’t blame her, I did recently help you get an abortion) is actually my daughter, who is not in fact dead, oh, hang on, that tramp from the car lot has just mown her over. You can see my problem, I’ve very much been affected by the issues in tonight’s show, and I think when your writers are mirroring real life so closely in future, you need to think of the affect this could have on your audience.”

In typical Eastenders style, they stretched the storyline to breaking point which eventually snapped onto our screens like the cheap, dried out elastic band that holds your father’s VAT returns together in the attic.  What reward did we get for our dedicated following soaps passion? That’s right, we got to watch the whining whisperer from Telford being mown down by a slope headed heathen with a bad wardrobe and one necklace to her name.
Fuck you Eastenders.
And they’re at it again.
How long have we been subjected to the baby switching antics of Mrs Branning?  At this rate, Ronnie’s theft of baby Moon won’t be realised until alarm bells start ringing when he’s old enough to dress  himself in leopard skin nylon and a pleather mac.  Sad.  It’s not that I’m not able to empathise with the situation, it’s more that I’m mortified that the writers didn’t consider cot death alone to be horrific enough to be a storyline in itself, and they felt the need to sex it up with cot swap.
For those of you not in the UK who have no knowledge of Eastenders or the World of British soaps, I apologise for my rant as it must be pretty fucking boring for you.  It does have some relevance on the events of the day though.
I have decided that now Mother in Law has left the building that I’m going to make my own Eastenders. I have recorded the ‘dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum’ tune that indicates the end of the show onto my iphone and won’t be speaking to Husband without over acting and punctuating my sentences with it.

‘Hi babe, you alright- missed you today.’ He says coming through the door.

‘We’re out of milk.’ I say clutching the empty bottle to my chest and holding my hand to my grief stricken head ‘dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum’

‘What are you doing.’

‘Nothing’

Husband ignores the sound bite and gets changed, he’s in a cracking mood as I’ve promised him a chilled out night on the sofa and a really nice meal as during the gardening marathon home cooked fare was been off the cards along with all his favourites foods as his Mum’s a veggie.
Husband’s a bit scared of vegetarians.  His mother hasn’t eaten meat since he was about 8 and the thought of a return to vegetarianism strikes fear into his beef clogged heart.
I think I’ll leave him watch a film on his own as I’m shattered from fighting yet another migrane today.  My migraines have gathered momentum in the last few months.  Mother in Law says that she noticed a huge difference in her own battle against the demon headaches after cutting meat and alcohol from her diet.  I decide to bring this up:

‘Babe, I’ve felt so ill for such a long time, I’ve decided that something has to be done.  I have been thinking about it all day, and I’ve concluded that, to see if it helps……(dramatic pause)……. I’m going to become a vegetarian.’‘dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum’

‘Do you really think it wou-‘ ‘dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum’

‘Stop doing that, it’s really fu-‘ dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum’

‘Look, if you think it’s going to help you then I’ll do it with you, I hate to see you ill, don’t get me wrong, I won’t enjoy it, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll help.’ Says the sweetest man in the World.

‘I’m so happy you understand Husband, I know that you love meat, but I really think this could be good for us for a while, we need to start being more health conscious anyway and if it helps my headaches, that’s got to be worth it, hasn’t it?’

‘Yeah, ok, starting when?’ says poor, starving Husband. I can see him visibly shrinking in front of my eyes as the joy leaves his body.  I had promised him a steak tonight, and when He phoned from work earlier I told him about the two monster fillets I had found reduced in Morrisons.

‘I’ve made a lentil soup for dinner, so no time like the present. I had some earlier though, so you’re eating alone. I fed those steaks to the animals, they loved them.  Would you do me the honour of….(down on one knee)…. Joining me in a cup of barley squash?’ ‘dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum’

Husband settles down to his lentil soup- nutritionally fantastic but a tad low on taste, I should know, I made it myself- I found a recipe online and omitted anything that looked like it could add flavour.  Husband looks heartbroken.
The lentil soup really does look like shite.  I’m just glad I had that fillet steak, babyleaf salad and glass of bordeax before he got home.
‘dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum’

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