So, the kitchen won. It did, however, make the shower after the blitz even lovelier and I was only slightly pissed off when a kind, elderly neighbour insistently rang the doorbell three times to deliver some Tesco vouchers for the kids to take into school. Struggling (due to the body lotion on my hands) to open the front door (that sticks and therefore calls for a two handed approach) to a septugenarian man, whilst only half dressed (most of that outfit consisting of a turban style towel round my freshly washed hair) is just one of the perils of having the only kids in the street. The neighbours hear my ever-present music and assume I'm available to take in their thoughtful offerings. Just cos they're up and presentable by 5.30am...

Anyway, I spose I ought to give a quick background, scene setting type post so you know just where these ramblings are coming from. I'm a 37yo single mum of three lovely, if trying, children (stereotype single-mum shag-seekers piss off right now, not only am I more woman that you could ever handle but all my children share a biological father). I love that they're trying cos I never was at any of their ages, down-trodden and emotionally abused as I was in my own childhood.

Oh, and sexually abused by my step-dad, as was my younger sister. But, 30 years after the fact, we're redressing that balance by giving statements to the police and, as of today, waiting for the call to say they're going to arrest him and charge him with rape/various gross indecencies. It won't be hard to find him; he still lives with his wife, our mother, two decades after she was told what went on. It's definitely not a river in Egypt, it's a place much closer and much more able to reach out and slap you if you don't learn how to block instinctively. Sis and I are bored to shit with instinctive blocking and have finally gone for the pre-emptive strike.

You'll probably read a lot of 'strike', 'block', 'adrenalin response', 'pressure point' references if you stick around here. I won't apologise for letting martial arts terminology infiltrate my stream of conciousness but I will say sorry in advance if I slip into japanese rather than my usual 'cockney bird moved up to Essex' style of thinking/typing. Unlikely? You'd think, but I do love a drop of sauce and have a strange (for strange, read sad) ability to type sober when totally squiffy. I've been known to proof-read martial arts articles prior to publication whilst two thirds of the way down a litre bottle of Napolean and not miss a single spelling/grammatical error.

Anyway, things that occurred to me today...

Dyslexic teenagers are so much more internet aware than their parents. And, therefore, so much more able to introduce icky spyware that makes the whole system slow down to such an extent that my trusty programs fall over before being able to disinfect the problems they eventually detect

Bleurgh

Procrastinating

A lot of it about, ain't there? Having determined to do this blog I sit here with a head full of thoughts and tinker with settings rather than let them out through the keyboard. I've now decided that I really ought to have a shower and put some day clothes on before I get going, it seems somehow inappropriate to be in front of a new audience without the armour of attire that would pass muster in polite company. Well, polite-ish, anyway.

I'll be back. Clean, refreshed and smelling of cocoa butter body lotion. Or fabric conditioner and washing up liquid if I get distracted by the guiltfest that is my kitchen.