Monday, 29 September 2008

You can run, but you can't hide!

Current mood:  amused
Well, Mum must have found out I was snooping at her letters somehow, and is now deleting certain messages she writes to Emma from her deleted box, something I didn't even realise was possible!
Of course, this makes me even more curious about what's being written, and as we all know, curiosity killed the cat.
Fortunately, I'm not a cat.  Remember, Mum prefers using my computer to moving and getting her own, and she doesn't understand how to clear the toolbar history, which means I can still snoop at what she's written on the day she wrote it.
There was a good laugh a few days ago, but I forgot to copy it.  Emma asked Mum why I got such a say in the house decorating-wise, and she didn't.  Er, you aren't going to be living there?  Of course, we all know that Emma's answer to that would be something about Mum "finally dying and leaving the place to her".  Jealous much?
Oh, and I've "GOT to quit this woe is me crap.  Although I'm never going to be happy.  She can just see I'm that kind of person."  Well, Emma, maybe if you had kept to your promise and gone shopping with me, you would have learnt a bit more about me as a person rather than the "rival to the inheritance" that she seems to think I am.  I can be perfectly happy, if only I can get a decent job so that I don't have to have hundreds of kids like yourself.  Sorry, but marrying and breeding is just not my way.  I want a career, not a man.  (Well, unless he's willing to support my madness, of course!)
Now here's Mum's summary on me from today, after she "bashed a few colour cards."  I notice she didn't even mention the smashed wall.
"David looked at me in horror - said he can't afford to get anything re-done.  desiree came over and started to kick me, knocked me flying, said I was preventing HER from getting out of Perivale.....sod her.  She doesnt care what the place looks like anyway, she wants to leave as soon as she can."
She's obviously playing up to Emma as her "favourite daughter".   But please, I didn't kick her or knock her flying, did I?  You just heard the recording.  She hit herself in the knee with a spade and blamed me for kicking her.  I don't think she was exactly knocked flying by the spade...I mean ME...anyway.  Otherwise, she couldn't have been marching around the extension ranting about smashing the place up.
Of course, Emma played up to her:
"Why don't you ever liston to me - know one ever does i told you the colour cards would look different at different times of the day, i asked you why you were letting Desiree have such a say when she probably won't live there that long. i told you the family history room looked dark and i wasn't on about taking the sofa people to court but the people David works/worked for!"
But she has her usual bitter side as you can see.  Mum can't see that though.  She sees a kind person who agrees with her.   I guess if I ever get out and make it to Vancouver, Emma, Nick and the kids will move in with her to stake a claim to the house.
Well, I thought it was funny, at least.    xxx

Mum Smashes a Wall

Current mood:  stressed
Oh dear, I really don't know where to start.  This weekend has been stressful to say the least.
Yesterday we went to Uxbridge, in search of the Lego set that my nephew wants for his birthday.  It was half price in Woolworths (£17.50), but still the three of us all had to chip in towards it.  Yes, I had to chip in towards THEIR present to my nephew, because I'm the only one who hasn't been spending like crazy on e-Bay.   That's where saving gets you in this household.  So much for spending it on normalities when we move house.
Mind you, it looks as though I have plenty of time to save up more money.
After LOVING the house on Friday, Mum decided she HATED it yesterday.  Weird, because nothing had changed at all.  The builders don't seem to do any work these days.
Picton walked in on us in order to close the windows and wipe down the next lot of fungus.  Yes, they're still just wiping it down.  I don't think they intend on doing anything to actually kill it.
He mysteriously had to rush off (again!) so he didn't have time to talk to us about the numerous new problems we've found.  There are far too many electric sockets in that house - there are TEN just in the extension.  Who could possible need ten electrical appliances running in one room at the same time?
Anyways, more to the point, let's move on to today.  The plan was to go to a family history show in Hampton, and then "save some more money" by going to Hampton Court Palace again.  Mum decided she had to go to Woodberry and take a look at the colours in the morning light first though, and things got a little out of hand.
It was the first time we'd been to Woodberry in the morning since the extension had been up, and we discovered just how dark it really is in there.  To cut a long story short, Mum went mad.  She can't see well enough in her family history room to do anything, and would "prefer to stay where I am and use Desiree's computer".  I'm sure you would.  She's broken a piece off of the bottom of my computer screen now (you know those little foam pieces that cover up the screws around the edge?), which annoyed me somewhat.  I know it's only decorative, but this was supposed to be my nice new computer for my first ever bedroom.  Not to mention she now says the wall between her family history room has got to be rebuilt, because the way they've built it there's no room for "her cuckoo clock" (which she's always said she wants there, even though she hasn't got one at present!)  God only knows how much all this will cost to fix, let alone how much time it will take.  *Sighs*
Anyways, I needed to get out of that place.  So I went right up into the loft and tried to sing "Part Of Your World" again, and I think it came out pretty well.  I haven't uploaded it yet, as I have a couple of recordings, both of which have good and bad points, and I really need to figure out which is the best.
Well, the second was definitely the best, but it kind of fades out at the end as I heard Mum crashing up the stairs to get her "handbag" (the transparent carrier bag with the blue mouldy handle - the expensive dog bag she got at Hampton Court is still "too good to use". )  Well, that's when things went crazy.  I followed her back down the stairs, where she tripped on one of the Wig Woman's colour cards.  This seemed to set off her rage, and she began stamping on it, shouting "WHO CARES?  I HATE THIS F***ING HOUSE!!!  I HATE F***ING PICTON!!!"
You know she'd already stamped on a couple of colour cards before?  Well, she started walking about the house picking them all up and tring to destroy them, while David and I looked on in dismay.  She tried to rip them - they were too tough.  She tried to scrunch them up - they were too thick.  So she made do with bending them and creasing them, and then jumping up and down.  Suddenly, Picton, his fake wife (the Wig Woman colourist) and his kids walked by the house.  Mum started trying to open the window - I thought just to shout at him, but she now says she intended on throwing the bent, muddy cards at him.  Fortunately, she couldn't get the windows open which only angered her more.  I did record all of this, but accidentally clicked the delete button, and started up a new recording.
I must warn you that this is an actual exert from our awful lives, and may not be suitable for minors or those of a sensitive nature, due to bad language and sudden noises!   Skylark Productions are proud to present "The Alder Family ~ Episode One: Mum Smashes A Wall" (PLEASE LISTEN if you can - it's hilarious!)

Unfortunately the recording is unavailable until I find somewhere else to upload it.  In the meantime, the transcript will have to do.

Oh, and just in case you can't understand a word we say, or simply don't know what's going on without a movie to accompany the audio, here's the transcript.
*Following Mum's colour card smashing in the loft, the three of us are marching down the 29 stairs to ground level*
Mum (Sobbing): ...everything is ruined.  Everything is ruined!  I don't understand diagrams, I've got nowhere for my clock...  I've got nowhere to do my family history!  *Gasps from the excursion of keep shouting non-stop*  I've got nowhere...  I can't manage all these stairs!*Mum whacks stair-rail with her mouldy "handbag"*
Mum (angrily): So many bl**dy stairs in this house!
*Mum bangs on the wall between the stairs and the neighbours house, seemingly for no reason...*
*She reaches the bottom of the stairs and turns into the family history room, then starts grabbing random things that the builders have left there and throwing them around!*
BANG!  There goes the sellotape!
BANG!  And yet another power socket!  Where was that one going, I wonder?
BANG!  There goes a...a METAL BUCKET full of plaster (which has dried up because the builders have left it there so long)?  Where did Mum get the strength to move that so quickly?
Mum: *Gasps from the effort of throwing all the stuff about*
*Mum knocks one of our expensive kitchen tiles that we've taken to help with figuring out colours on to the floor*
Mum: The tile's gone - good!
Oh God, she's got a HUGE spade...and she's hitting the troublesome wall...
*The plasterboard chips, and pieces scatter everywhere*
Me (angrily, trying to stop Mum hitting the wall with the spade): For Christ's sake, Woman!  You've just...scratched up the entire wall!
*Mum doesn't even seem to notice me call her "Woman" (which I deliberately did to try to turn her anger away from the wall)but turns around anyway, and starts hitting the wall next to me, while I lean out of the way of the swinging spade, and try to kick it out of her hand with my foot!*
Mum: Good!
*She dodges my foot, and hits herself in the knee with the spade*
Me (Talking about the spade): Look what you've gone and done...Mum: You can kick me in the knee (Um, is she talking to the spade or me?!)  I don't care!  The wall's coming down!  I'll take what's left of my seventy (the money she inherited from her dad) and I'll PAY!David: You're not paying for this! (Er...then who is paying? Certainly not Picton who messed it up!)
Mum: I AM PAYING!*Mum storms through the extension to the french windows and tries to open those - goodness knows what she intends on doing out there!  I cringe.*
David (noticing the smashed wall, and talking through clenched teeth): Look at it, look at it!
Mum (defiantly): I don't care!  They've smashed up enough - let me smash it up!
*Mum battles with the key to the back garden, then starts banging on the glass when she can't get out*
Mum (continuing defiantly): Let me smash it up, let me smash it up, let me...  (She's obviously determined this will be the line she's remembered for in years to come...)
David (sarcastically): And you think I'm going to move here with you?
Mum (Acting as though she couldn't hear him): What?
David (Sarcastically): After this little tantrum?Mum (back to defiant):  Let me have a tantrum!  I've been QUIET through my Edwardian tiles, QUIET through my fireplace, QUIET through a second lot of Edwardian tiles, QUIET through my picture rails, now this, my family history room that he said would be dark... (I think she meant light. )
David (trying to calm her down): The picture rails are going back...Mum: He didn't....  He wasn't going to put them back up!
*Both of them clomp around the extension in a line, gasping for breath, while I stand in the family history room watching them in despair*
David (calmly): But they're going back up.
*Mum realises she's reached a dead end with that argument, and stops to think what to say next.  Finally she starts screaching on a totally different subject*
Mum: WHY?!  I don't w...she'll hit me if I say it (She won't let this go, will she?  I know I was wrong to hit out at all, but it was only that once when my hormones were going wild, and she was spitefully talking rubbish about letting the house and staying in Grottsville forever!) but I don't want this as a family history room!  I want my cuckoo clock up there!David (defending Picton, as ever): Well, then pay attention when you walk around the house another week!Mum (defensively): Did you notice?
David: I didn't give a f...  (Oh, almost showed your true colours then, didn't you?)  I didn't know anything about that!Mum: HE KNEW!Me (Talking to David and sticking up for Mum): Well, you say that she never pays any attention.  Why didn't you pay attention to her?
*David has nothing to answer and just stares at me blankly*
Me (Continuing): Why do you ignore her every single thing that she says? (No, not exactly grammatical, but I was angry)
David (outright lying): Because every day she changes!
Mum (Back to sobbing): I don't change.  I always wanted a cuckoo clock there!  Always, always, always!
*Mum decides to make a big exit, but can't find her bags*
Mum: I don't know where this bag of so-called colours are.*She finds it, and starts shuffling her feet noisily up the hall*
Mum: Let's just go.
*She decides to make a point that she isn't going elsewhere*
Mum (Sulking): We've lost twenty pounds at Hampton Court.  Who the f*** cares?  I just don't want to go back in there.
*She crashes the front door open and starts talking total nonsense for a crowd of total strangers walking past*
Mum: I'm NOT coming back in here again.  I've had enough of it.  He's absolutely ruined the place!
*The group of passers-by look at her strangely, talking amongst themselves.*
Me (Sarcastically): I'm sure they really cared.Mum:
I don't care!
And all that in JUST THREE MINUTES!  Isn't my life exciting?!
Well, I guess that's about it.  She moaned all the way back to his house, and did get to her stupid family history fair (but not until she'd sulked for ages and it was only an hour before it ended).  There was nothing there for her anyway, and she was "bored".
I'm really stressed out over that little outburst today.  She's e-mailed Picton too, although she read it out to me, and it didn't sound too bad.  The best bit is that she's e-mailed him from DAVID'S e-mail account.  Oh well, maybe the architect won't be such good friends with my father now!
Now I'm off.  Although wait just a moment, and I'll give you a good giggle in a private blog...
See you in a moment!
Desiree   xxx

Saturday, 27 September 2008

What else can possibly go wrong?

Current mood:  stressed

David went out on his own today, announcing he was going to the bank.  We figured he was just going around the corner, but it would appear he went all the way to Ealing Broadway.  If I'd known that, I would have gone with him.  That isn't the problem though.
He went to withdraw some money so that he could give Mum and I our cash for the last two weeks.  But he couldn't get any out - we are severely overdrawn.  The only good thing to be said about this is that it finally prompted David to ring the agency about his backpay.
But they're "too busy to talk to him until next Friday".  In the meantime, we either have nothing to live on, or start living off of this loan which we have only been given by mistake.  Either way, Mum and I really are broke now.  I'm not sure there's any point me going to the Ponycon now.  I can't even afford to buy any of the ponies that are in the shops at the moment, and I want so many things once we move.  At this rate, I'll end up selling my ponies to make up the money for an education.
David also rang Chris Picton, who tells us it will cost £2300 to change the doors, and didn't even get us a price for changing the back door the way Mum wants it.  That's the price for changing it to a non-opening window, so that the only way out to the garden is via a sliding patio door.
This afternoon, we went to Woodberry.  There was a plumber there, changing the 1st floor bathroom around, but no builders doing anything whatsoever (surprise, surprise ).  The colour boards were there, and are really tiny.  But not just that - the colours are grotesque!  Well, I can't really say colourS plural.  We couldn't even tell which board was for which room!  They're all just a strange off-white colour.  I'm sure Picton's fuzzy-haired wife (now unofficially nicknamed "Wig Woman", because her hair looks like a wig, even if it isn't!) has ordered even lighter shades than she discussed with us.  The only rooms with any colour at all are our bedrooms - David and his pillar box red (which he actually LIKES!!!), me with a very strange pink colour, which is nothing like the purple I wanted (Wig Woman didn't want to help me with shades once she couldn't give me off-white vomit, did she? ), and Mum with a very bright pink which looks nothing like the dusky pink Wig Woman promised.  Mum hated all the colours so much, that she threw them down in a big puddle that had formed in the extension, and jumped up and down on them!  She even tried to tear one into pieces, but when she couldn't she had to make do with creasing it.   I'm the mad, immature one though, aren't I?
On top of that, the orange fungus on the hobby room wall is back.  Picton or one of the builders has obviously wiped it off today, but it was actually GROWING BACK AS WE WATCHED.  The wall was noticably more orange when we left, and the mould is definitely spreading.  Picton still claims it isn't mould though.
We have wiring for three lights in the back garden which we didn't ask for, and Mum doesn't want, so no doubt we'll now have to wait for that to be removed too.  There are THREE lights in the hall, when we only want one, so that Mum can put the old lantern back that was there before all this work began.  However, up on the landing in the loft, there's no light at all!  What the heck is Picton playing at?
Oh, and now we have the doors to the toilet and cupboard under the stairs.  The old ones had a pretty "tongue and groove" pattern, but these ones are just flat.  It would seem Picton just wants to remove everything that bears even the slightest resemblance to the old house.
Oh, and just to make our day complete...
We picked up the mail on the way out of the door, and found a strange official-looking envelope.  Upon opening the mail when we got back to Grottsville, Mum found it came from ScS, the shop where David ordered that ugly sofa that Mum and I finally got him to cancel six days later.  Remember how we were worried we wouldn't be allowed to cancel, but the weird salesman, Wayne, didn't kick up a fuss at all?  Well, I thought it was suspicious.  So here's the letter.
"Dear Mr Alder,
Following your recent vist to the store on 16 September 2008, I have now had an opportunity to look at all the facts and documentation relating to your order and would like to confirm the position as far as ScS is concerned.
A firm order was placed by yourself on the 10 September 2008, when it was agreed that you would confirm the colour combination by 28 September 2008.
You have entered into a legally binding agreement and your copy of this clearly states that cancellations cannot be accepted.
I do want to confirm that we are proceeding with our side of this contract and while we cannot force you to accept delivery of this furniture, we are entitled to recover the loss of profit on the order, and this we will do.
I look forward to receiving your confirmation that this course of action will not be necessary.
Assuring you our best of attention at all times.
For and on behalf of
ScS Upholstery PLC
Wayne Fitzgerald
Sales Manager"
Yeah, no wonder he was so calm about everything.  I guess he had this up his sleeve the whole time.  The contract does state (in very small text, may I add!) cancellations are not accepted - "Please not we do not accept cancellations of orders, although you may amend your order up to 7 days after placing it with us." - but, while giving us a seemingly endless lecture on why we should buy their ugly sofa, this creep Wayne clearly told us we could cancel.  His accent was annoying me, so I made a recording, and actually have him saying it, as can be heard at this link ~ Lies of a Sofa Salesman.
Listen at 00.40.  "If you want to cancel, as you're doing it with no deposit, if you want to cancel for seven days, you can do so.  I can do that for you."  Hear the evil laugh that follows a couple of seconds afterwards, when my parents are talking quietly about the whole business.
So I actually have a RECORDING of this (Insert random unsuitable-for-Myspace word here) blatantly LYING to us.  Surely we can do something about all of this?  Well, no.  English law states that we cannot use a recording of a conversation unless both parties knew that they were being recorded.  I think this country is set up to put criminals first really.
So here we are, totally broke, no sign of David getting a job, and yet labelled as "self-employed" so he can't even get any benefits, and stuck with paying for a sofa we won't even receive, and wouldn't want to use even if we did.  David says he'd rather go to prison than pay, and even if he probably is talking complete nonsense as ever, it's set my nerves even more on edge than they were already.  
I don't know what's going to happen.  Really, I don't.  I have a wheezing cough, and am finding it hard to breathe at times now.  My left knee is playing up now too, like I've got rheumatism or something.  I guess my trousers were still slightly damp when I put them on yesterday morning, but it seemed to happen when I was climbing the stairs at Woodberry.  Probably, like my bad back, it stems from sitting on the floor all the time.  I wish I could just leave all this stress behind for a couple of days.  Instead of that, the prison sentence has been extended for a further eight weeks from whenever my parents decide what doors they want. *Sighs*  Can some miracle show up now, pretty please?
Once again, my apologies for moaning and moaning on here.  I've got to shut up in real life though - Mum had an awful nightmare about me the last two nights.  Apparently, she and I went to the London Palladium to see Les Miserables, which was really The Sound Of Music, but we missed the show, so I decided to go and visit a friend at a flat there instead.  She thought I was a long time, so she went to check up on me, and found me in a self-destructing room, with a whole load of my Myspace friends, and one particular person (I won't mention names for fear of upsetting anyone) having total control over the rest of us, and instructing us all to commit mass suicide.  I find this all pretty hilarious, considering she's never even seen a photo of the person in question, and imagined them as looking like somebody in Coronation Street, which nobody in this household watches!   Anyways, I think I'd better shut up about all of my worries, otherwise she'll get a real fixation that I'm off to kill myself along with the rest of you.
Now I'm off to write to Caroline and Elisabeth, and get to bed.  I'm hoping I'll get up early enough to actually see the advertisements, and hear Tabitha in "Captain Flamingo" this weekend.  But I won't do that unless I go to bed, will I?
Bye for now,
Desirée Skylark  xxx

Friday, 26 September 2008

How dumb is my father?

Current mood:  pessimistic

I honestly feel sorry for those of you still reading my blog at this point.  It's just going downhill really, isn't it?
I couldn't even bring myself to write a blog yesterday.  Everything just seems so pointless.  But now I have two days to write about.
We took Chris Picton to Waterforce yesterday morning as planned.  On the way there, David almost went through a red traffic light, Mum screamed, so David jolted on the brakes, and blamed Sickton for causing the near car accident.  That made me laugh.  So now even David the wimp has had a go at him (although not on the correct subject).
But what caused the great diversion that meant David almost crashed the car?  Well, dear Mr Sickton may have not got the quotes for changing the back doors yet as promised, but he had got the builders smashing the wall down anyway.  Er, but what if we can't afford to have them changed?  
David spent TWO HOURS discussing his shower.  In the end, he settled for what must be the most expensive one in the book.  How are we supposed to afford that?  He's not putting any thought into these house expenses at all, is he?
By the time we got on to things that effect all of us, likes taps and whatnot, Mum was too tired to stand up and look at the book, so I ended up choosing a load of stuff which she had said she liked while we walked around the shop, but I bet she'll change her mind once everything is installed, and blame me for choosing the wrong stuff.
We were supposed to go to another shop (almost everything could be ordered from Waterforce, but not the sink that Mum and I have chosen for the first floor bathroom), but David told Chris that he "had to go to a meeting at 1pm", so we were dashed back to Grottsville, via Picton's house, where the architect was dropped off.  "I'll get the quotes for the doors by tonight", he promised.  I rolled my eyes, and watched him rush inside his house.
Surprise, surprise!  David's meeting was with the agency to find out about his backpay.  He didn't come in until 6.30pm...surely they'd had a good conversation and agreed something?  Nope.  The bosses hadn't shown up again, so David had chosen to spend another afternoon working for no money.   Don't worry though, they'd "meet him tomorrow (today) afternoon as originally planned"
Today Mum and I went on a coach trip to Arundel Wildfowl and Wetlands Centre.  We had to walk all the way down to Perivale Station to catch the coach.  David was supposed to be dropping us, but decided to go to "work" nice and early today - 7.30am, a record for him! - so he couldn't (the coach left at 9am).  Hence, we were tired before we even started.
It was a great day though - we saw loads of different species of birds.  Nothing exceptionally rare - notably, lots of nuthatches (which you never see in London), and Mum saw a water rail - I just missed it!   Oh, and loads of greenfinches about three feet away on a bird feeder.  I have no batteries for my broken camera, so I'm afraid I couldn't attempt to get pictures, Elisabeth.
You can buy bags of seed at Arundel to feed the birds (which you can't do at the Barnes centre), so we got three bags for £2.50.  We got mobbed by a gang of moorhens who chased after us looking for more of the food after we'd finished up the last bag though, so I'm not really sure it was such a good idea!
When we got back on the bus, everybody else had been on a boat trip which we had been unable to find, and seen loads of water voles, so we were quite miffed, as you can probably imagine.
They decided to come back a strange way (doesn't surprise me, really - the driver was useless, and went up on the kerb three times! ), so we arrived back in Grottsville half hour late.  A good job too really.  David was only just pulling up outside the station, although he denies that, of course.  I wouldn't have fancied walking down this road in the dark at 8.30ish.  This morning was the first time we've walked down here since that car accident I mentioned a few weeks back, and I see there are candles and flowers everywhere down by the smashed wall, so I guess that couple were killed after all.   And yet the accident didn't even get a mention in any of the local papers.
And now for the best bit.  David worked all morning, went for the promised meeting and - yup, you guessed it - the bosses didn't show up again!  But obviously David didn't leave.  He must have been working until about 7pm to have only just got back for us at that time of night.  Is he a total idiot or what?
We are literally broke now.  The only source of income Mum and I have is the cash we get from David each week, and now he's stopped giving us our money.  I notice little purple paperbacks keep coming through the front door though.  Never too broke for Mills & Boon, are we?
"So what did Picton say?" Mum asked.  "Picton?  About what?" David said.  "ABOUT THE DOORS!" Mum and I said in unison.  "Oh, those.  I didn't ring him.  Was I supposed to?" David answered.  I feel sick to my stomach.  What is with that man?  Yesterday, I was getting shooting pains in my head.  This whole business is taking a toll on my health, whether people think I'm exaggerating or making a mountain out of a molehill etc.  Until those doors are chosen, the eight weeks extended prison sentence in this house of H*ll doesn't even begin.  And David can't even remember Picton saying that he was getting quotes by last night.  He thinks it was tonight.  Er, well, oh...kay.  So, WHY DIDN'T YOU RING HIM TONIGHT?!?!?!?!  Both of us reminded you before you went to "work" this morning.  And no, you are not going to get paid unless you get on to those cheating, lying "friends" of yours.
Ah, I feel a little better for that rant!
Oh, and as if that isn't enough, let's add our latest ingredient to the pan of worry.
The second loan for the house finally came through.  It's supposed to be £50,000, but they've given us £85,000!  Don't ask me.  I've said it before, I'll say it again; The people in the most important jobs in this country have got the smallest brains imagineable.  Mum has the sense to see that we need to return the extra cash as soon as possible, but David just sees £ signs floating in front of his eyes, and thinks that now we have £35,000 in our names we should use it to live on (and buy more Mills & Boon from e-Bay, of course ) and pay it back "when he gets a new job".  Who says he's getting a new job?  He's 61, and so far I see no offers coming his way.
If he decides to spend this money, we really will be in debt for life.  Plus, if anything happened to David before we move, Mum and I would HAVE to stay here and sell the other house to pay off some of the debts.  I just wish those idiots hadn't as good as given David another £35,000.  I really, truly believe it this time ~ we're all doomed, one way or another.
I have been summonsed to the communal bed, so I must go for another night of being used as Mum's footrest, before she starts screaching about how cruel I am to not go to bed when I'm too stressed to be tired.
Ooh, did you notice my new profile song?  Sarah managed to find it for me earlier today.  Thank you so much!
Best wishes,
Desirée Skylark  xxx

Wednesday, 24 September 2008

Just another blog to help pass the time. *Sighs*

Current mood:  impatient

Well, there's honestly not that much to say about today.  David took Mum to the optician this morning, and they depressed her further, telling her that she must have had exceptional vision, and glasses will never come up to her standards.
I desperately wanted to record Mulan's "Reflection", both on my music cassette tape, and a WAV file of myself singing it.  I think the lyrics to that song are truly beautiful, and it's about in my range too.  The video eventually loaded - just as my parents pulled up in the front  garden.  Stupid dial-up!
I thought we would go elsewhere in the afternoon, which was why I hadn't been bothered about not going out this morning, but I was mistaken.  David took off to "work" again, so I didn't leave the house.  I spent most of the day talking to Grace on MSN and recording a new MLP song tape, with all the new G1 commercials that have been put up online lately.
David was supposed to be seeing the bosses about his backpay today, but guess what?  They didn't show up.   So do you know what he's doing?  No, not ringing them up, demanding his money.  No, not taking them to court.  (He doesn't have a contract or any proof of what they owe him anyway, remember?)  He's going back to work for them again tomorrow.  Is he totally stupid or what?!
Well, I guess that's it.  I'm thoroughly miserable about not moving for at least another eight weeks, and Mum is telling me there's something "seriously wrong with me" for getting depressed.  After all, I'm "setting too much store on moving house anyway".  I don't really care what other people think.  Life here is just not normal. 
For instance, I woke up in the middle of the night, and had to urgently go to the toilet two nights ago, but getting there was a nightmare.  First I have to crawl across the bed, clamber over Mum's feet while she kicks me out of the way, stagger out on to the landing - and find the bathroom door closed.  David's in there, turning pages, reading Mills & Boon.  So I dash down the stairs, half asleep, rush through the kitchen, sidle past the two black sacks of recycling, to the "frog bog" (our downstairs washroom).  The light packed up in there many years ago, so I sit down and close the door, plunging myself into darkness.  I grab the torch from the top of the boiler, and try to switch it on.  After no less than seven attempts it works, and I get a very pale orange light.  Then the toilet flushing begins.  Three times I have to sidle past the before-mentioned recycling bags with buckets of hot water...then an ironing board falls on top of me, and I splashed a load of water on the floor, which I then had to crawl around the floor and mop up.  Finally, I returned to bed, getting kicked by Mum once again on the way.  I was no more comfortable, and felt I needed to go again.  That is just not feasable for a girl at that time of the month, is it?
At least when we've moved, they'll be no more of that.  It's got to be better than this dump, hasn't it?!
Right, I'm going to shut up now.  Tomorrow we have to meet up with P*ss Sickton again.  In fact, we have to drive him to another bathroom shop at 8.45am.  So I've got to get some sleep, before the next lot of stress.  I think I might add a countdown for eight weeks to house moving to my profile, even though I know Sickton will be lying again, and it won't be just eight weeks. At least it'll help me get through what I hope will be the majority of the time.
Desirée Skylark  xxx
PS.  Speaking of Mulan's "Reflection", is it on Myspace anywhere.  I'm looking for the Lea Salonga version (can't STAND Christina Aguilera!), but I can't get any of the Lea Salonga pages to open on here, and it's certainly not listed under Mulan.  Thank you!

Tuesday, 23 September 2008


Current mood:  sick
The agency STILL haven't paid David what they owe him?  He's being a wimp and not complaining, so last week Mum and I told him to ring them up and ask them straight out what was happening about the money.
So he goes upstairs and makes a private phone call.  Upon his return, we ask him what's happening about it all.  No mention of the money they owe him, BUT they've offered him some work for Monday (this morning), Tuesday and Thursday.
David's answer to this - he's quite prepared to help them out.  He "knows they'll pay him in the end!"!  Gosh, how can he trust those people?
Anyways, he went out at 8am, and returned at noon.  Then we set off for the latest meeting with the Sicktons.  Yes, plural Sickton.  We had to meet the wife he never married too today so that she could tell us what colours to paint the walls.
Oh, and yes, that's definitely only the walls.  Our ceilings and woodwork MUST be white.  We get no choice in the matter.  I won't even go into the colours she's decided upon for us.  Most of them represent the colour kids always seem to get in their paint pallets when they mix all the colours together - you know, somewhere between vomit and stagnant coffee.
She rushed us through the whole house, while I got more and more angry.  But I'd been ordered not to say a word, so I kept my mouth shut like a good girl.  She dashed out of the house without even looking at the toilet under the stairs - so much for us getting such a deal on her advice (she usually charges £150 per hour.  We've only paid £1000.  Er...she spent about an hour and a half with us, then she "had to rush off somewhere")  But about 30 minutes later, when we were still pointing all the faults out to her stupid husband, she returned (she really had "rushed off somewhere", hadn't she?!) to tell us that we had got a parking ticket.  So that's another £50 on top!
Now let's run through a couple of of the stupid things that Chris said - the orange mould on the wall isn't mould (even though the clumps are so big now you can clearly see all the fungus spores) - it's a residue from the salt.  And no, we don't know what salt.  None of us asked him - we were too stunned to see him crushing the fungus with his bare hands and spreading it all over the walls, before quickly opening the window.  "We can paint over this stuff once the wall dries...I'm surprised it hasn't dried by now."  Can you really, Mr Sickton?!  I think the mould might just cut through the paint unless you admit what it is and treat it first!
The oven, microwave and washing machine were delivered today, but have been dumped in the front room.  No, the builders weren't even working there today, when they knew we were going to be over there!
The reason why?  They've "stopped work until we decide what to do with the awful patio doors/back door"!  Um, so that's why they've ceased work on the entire house?!  Shouldn't they at least be emptying the kitchen of all the stuff that isn't even related to our work?
Finally, he spoke to us about the doors in question.  We asked when Picton actually intends the job now.  Picton now says that work would be complete in FOUR WEEKS.  So much for us being four weeks ahead of schedule - the contract claims we're moving next Monday.  
At that point, I walked out.  I needed air, and knew I was going to snap at Picton if I didn't get out of there.  So I walked up to the charity shop around the corner - nothing there, thank goodness.  The last thing I need is to buy more duplicate ponies just because I'm feeling down.
When I returned, everyone was still arguing, but it appeared they came to the conclusion not to do anything about the ugly doors.  That shocked me, to be quite honest, but I didn't say anything.  We were then invited over to Picton's house, so that he could show Mum that transparent showers are not as dirty as she thinks they are.  He showed an incredibly filthy shower, and even Mum told him what she thought of it.
Next we went to sit down in the back room, something I really didn't want to do.  Not to be too descriptive, but let's just say it's that time of the month when I fear making a mess of other people's furniture.  And it's particularly bad this month, so don't come near me, rubbing me up the wrong way.  My hormones are everywhere.
And to make it worse, out in the garden in the pouring rain, I see a cage.  It turns out Picton's horrible rough children have two new guinea pigs, which get left out in the awful weather.  When the rain stopped, they came out and started munching on grass - poor darlings.  They're beautiful, and one of them reminds me so much of my little Sparkle, but as an Abyssinian.  They don't deserve to be stuffed with that horrid family.
So there I am, precariously balancing on the edge of the chair, trying not to touch it, with awful pains in my stomach, legs and everywhere in between (I guess the stress was making it worse - I've still got it now), fighting back tears over these sweet little piggies, when the hammer comes down on my head.
David HAD decided to get one door changed...just not the other, even though nobody had told me.  That seems pretty pointless to me.  It will cause a delay, and not even give us the result we want.  And what is the delay.  ANOTHER FOUR WEEKS!  Yes, we're now not moving until the end of November - at the earliest.  Knowing Picton, I should imagine that means about March.
I'm afraid I went a little mad again.  I pretty much kept my mouth shut, but turned away to hide my tears, which angered my parents just as much because I "wasn't being friendly enough".
Picton tried to break up the situation, and took us to look at another shower.  Mum said bitterly, "Now you've made her want guinea pigs again - you know you can't have them, Desiree.  We're going on holidays instead."  The way she put me down really annoyed me.  "If we ever move, I shall go out and get myself some guinea pigs.  You can go on your holidays on your own."  I snapped, in a silly childish way.  Mum gave me a filthy look, but no more was said.
However, when we returned to David at the table, Mum says to him, "Desiree's giving me H*ll - she even swore in front of him.  Get us out of here."  WTH?  I never swore in front of Picton, did I?  Well, unless saying "guinea pig" counts as swearing!  Obviously, I got even more annoyed, and told David that if he wants to change just one window, he can bloomin' well give me a mattress to sleep on in the meantime.  "Shut up!" he hissed, as Chris walked down the stairs.  "Oh sure, I'll play happy families again." I rolled my eyes at him deliberately, then went back to my fixed smile for Picton's benefit.
After leaving the place and getting back in the car, I was still fuming, and started screaching again.  I'm scared of myself - my depression is getting out of hand now.  In the end, David pulled the car up at the side of the road.  I know what his plan was - he was going to tell me to get out and find a hostel again.  I laughed in his face, so he said that wasn't his intention.  He got out of the car, and opened my door, grabbed hold of my arm and twisted it, and put his other hand around my neck, acting like he was going to strangle me.  I knew he wouldn't really though, so still I laughed at him.  Idiot.  All because I dared to get upset that I'm really not going to have to bed until I'm almost 18 now.
When he got back in the car, I felt the back of my hand stinging, and saw he'd scratched up all the dry skin there, so I hit him over the shoulder with a volvic bottle half full of apple juice.
We argued the rest of the way back to Grottsville - Why must I mention the fact I have no bed when Picton could have heard me - David's so ashamed of it.  Yeah, right.  Then why did he never do anything about it?  I told him if Picton had the mind to type my name into Google, he could easily find this blog anyway.  "But woy do ya 'ave to tell the 'ole world our business?!"  Well, I'm sorry, David.  But I have no real life friends to talk to.  You made sure of that.  My internet friends are so kind to me though, and a problem shared is a problem halved, right?  (If any of you want me to shut up, just tell me.  Writing these blogs just relieves so much of my stress.)  He says I've gone mad (true), and shouldn't worry about my education (doesn't that make him mad as well?).  I was the one who didn't want to go to school when I was four.  Er...  How can a 4-year-old have made that decision, and Mum taught me at that age anyway.  We're talking about secondary education, which I was going to get when we moved house.  But he never moved us, did he?  Why do all the male human beings in my life lie to me?  I'm so scared of men now.
David's not talking to me.  He punished Mum for about two hours by not going and getting her any lucozade, because it might mean getting us a joint dinner.  Well, tough.  He can sulk all he likes.  Now I'm stuck in misery for another eight weeks.  It just feels so good over there, being able to just walk out and go for a stroll.  I feel like I could actually take control of my life, and do something over there.  But now it won't be until next year.  I can guarantee that.
Sorry for moaning, but I don't know how much longer I can survive here.

Monday, 22 September 2008

So when ARE we moving house?!

Current mood:  angry

Yesterday, we went to the Berkshire Show, which was brilliant.  We all got tired out and sunburnt (yes, sunburn in an English September! ), but it was well worth it.  Great arena events including showjumping, two displays from the Household Cavalry and their Musical Ride (I hopefully got some films of them which I can upload to Youtube once we move house and get broadband), dog agility etc.
Also, hundreds of tradestands!  Mum and I managed to get some nice fleece pullovers with horses on the front.  Mum's is dark green, and mine is purple.  They're really sweet!  The reason we really went there though was to pick up the tiles for the new kitchen and one of the bathrooms.  They depict horses and dogs - you can see the designs here.
The man from the stall kindly helped us carry them back to the car, although he put them in the wrong side, meaning I had to sit on Mum's side, and she had to sit in the front, which we both hated (she gets scared in the front of cars, and the seatbelt cuts into my neck on the left side of that car for some reason).  There was a very interesting programme on the radio about voices in radio plays though, so I was quite pleased to not be trying to keep up a conversation with Mum at the same time as intently listening to that!
I'm not really sure why we have already got the tiles though.  They've had to be put in storage now.  Yes, you heard me correctly.  Well, we couldn't take them around to Woodberry, could we?  Those stupid builders would smash them to pieces.  But don't they start assembling the kitchen tomorrow anyway?  Well, yes.  But it would appear that was yet another lie.
We went to Woodberry today, via another bathroom shop - we still can't find a nice corner basin for the toilet under the stairs though.
I am in despair over that house now.  It gets WORSE AND WORSE in there every time we visit.  They'd hardly done any work at all since we were last there.  And everything they have done is dreadful.  They've put some skirting boards in the hall now, which are full of knots and not even properly touching the wall!  They just aren't being careful with anything in that house - the new doors and walls are scuffed and scratched and dented in a way you just can't imagine.  The kitchen units remain UNOPENED in the extension.  So much for Chris Sickton having checked MFI hadn't left anything out!  As for the kitchen itself?  There's actually MORE JUNK in there than before.  And most of it isn't even to do with our work.  They're just storing more and more of their rubbish in our house.  And the end date for the work is supposed to be NEXT MONDAY.  (So much for them being a month ahead of schedule )  I'm truly sick of it.
And then I made the most sickening observation of the lot.  My parents were up in the loft looking at colours for their bedrooms (Yeah, like we're really on to choosing colours!), and I was standing in the master bedroom on the floor below.  They still haven't put the white paint undercoat on the wall where they removed the chimney breast...and our precious fireplace is still in the middle of the room getting more and more bashed up.  But I noticed the wall was turning ORANGE.   ..r inspection, I noticed the orange marks were actually fungus spores.  Yes, it appears the stupid builders haven't blocked and sealed the chimney properly, and now we have mould growing all over the wall, and the expensive retro ceiling we've just paid to have installed.  Well, Sickton had better pay for the damage is all I can say.  But more importantly, how long is this going to take to treat, and how incompetent are these builders?  They really only seem to go in that house to smoke and drink.  There are beer cans and dog ends everywhere, and all kinds of rubbish falling through the holes in the floorboards.  They seem to be making a mini-landfill under our house.  Well, I guess that'll attract and feed armies of mice and rats and make us feel right at home.
Right now, we have another kind of vermin in the house spreading diseases though.  And he'll be living with us.  Yes, I'm talking about David.  He suddenly needed to pee whilst we were discussing colours in the loft, so he set off to the bathroom in a rush to add to a pot of stagnant white spirit, which he then emptied in the "excavation".  I can only imagine he means the extension, where we will in future be eating all our meals.  Very appetising, eh?
Speaking of vermin, Mum saw another rat in the garden today.  Not surprising as David hasn't put any poison out there since I saw the last one.
Hmm, I think that's it.  The stress is definitely getting to all of us though.  Everyone's going mad.  David tried to turn the sound up on the TV earlier this week with...wait for it...THE CAR KEY!!!  And then when we went to Hampton Court, Mum decided she wanted a handbag, which cost £59!  Mum does not do expensive handbags...and now she won't use it because it's "too expensive to use".  So what are you going to do with it?  Sit and look at it?!
We're meeting up with Chris Sickton and his "wife" (the one he isn't really married to! ) at 1pm tomorrow to discuss colours - yep, he's talking about colours too.  How can he even talk about colours when there are huge holes in the walls and floors, and mould growing on our expensive ceilings?
I hope I can keep calm.  Right now, I feel like shouting and swearing at him, and I know that won't get me anywhere.  Oh, and another thing - his builders have dug up all of our neighbour's plants while putting in a new wall.  So I bet we'll have to pay to replace those too!  Agh, I'm so mad right now!
Yours in angry-ness,
Desirée Skylark  xxx

Saturday, 20 September 2008

Aww, but we all need to add some sensation to our boring lives, don't we?

Current mood:  amused
More of the Mum/Emma e-mail saga.  Please ignore if you can't stand any more of my moaning about things I shouldn't even have read!
Mum ranted to Emma and her friend, Jill, about the extension.  They seem  just as confused by this "seeing the garden from all angles" as I was.  Mum had me send them both some photos of the place, and they can't see anything wrong with it.  Of course, Emma is quite obviously jealous.  I don't think I mentioned the things she said when we let her have a look around the place, did I?  Reason being that was a public blog and I thought she'd probably come nosing.  Oh well, this is private, and right now I don't really care if I hurt any feelings, so I might as well repeat some of it in this blog.
First off, I "shouldn't be complaining about not getting a bedroom until I'm 17 - she didn't have one until she was 13!" Er, but at least you had your own bed all your life, Emma.  I would have happily taken a single bed of my own in the communal bedroom.
She then started on at Mum about dying/writing her will again.  "And even when you carp it, Desiree will still be here!  Then I can kick her out or she'll have to get a mortgage."  She then started CACKLING.  That's the only way I can describe her laughter.  I told her "I'll be long gone by then, you'll be pleased to know." which only made her cackle more.  Even Nick had to make a comment about it this time.  "Well, are you going to push them both down the stairs then.  Then you won't even have to wait for the house!"  He rolled his eyes at Mum and I behind Emma's back.  What kind of woman actually waits for her mother to die just so that she can get her hands on part of a house and kick her sister out?
Since then, she's picked on everything.  I'll "get bored with the colours I've chosen for my bedroom - they're little girl colours."  I want lavender walls, rose pink woodwork and a blue ceiling.  Maybe they are little girl colours, but I chose them when I was a little girl, and have waited this long to use them.  At the end of the day, who asked Emma's opinion on MY ROOM?!
All right, Mum did.  Just as she asked her about this extension.  Emma gets involved in everything, it would appear.  Even though she's just about as jealous and greedy as can be over this house.
Which brings me around to the latest tale of e-mail lies between Emma and Mum.  I heard the tell-tale pause when Mum read out part of Emma's latest bitter letter this morning.  So I decided to find out what was going on.
It would appear that tucking a blanket underneath a parent you have to sleep next to in bed is a serious crime.  I already mentioned how she told David I "attacked her".  Well, it gets even more sensational for Emma.  In fact, it's the only reason she's moving to this house that she hates so much (Can't just say that we can't afford to do anything else, and actually don't hate it that much anyway, can we?  That would be telling the boring truth!)
So here is Mum's version of the story:
"We've been having dreadful rows about that bloody extension and she ended up beating me up again.  She's got a screw loose - I'm so scared of being hit that I give in to her all the time."
I've beaten her up?!  My goodness, I have some strength, don't I?  And she's so scared of my super human strength too!
Emma hates me anyway, of course.  I'm her rival in getting the all important inheritance from her mother, who is currently alive, well and uninteresting.  So she chuffs up to Mum...or maybe she actually believes all this nonsense.  Anyways, she wrote this message which I think actually borders on hilarious!
"All this Desiree stuff gets my temper going i don't understand why she gets such a say - i never would have, all this getting her own room at 17 woe is me crap - i didn't get my own room until i was 13! and i never had the freedom of choosing furniture and where it went - i hated the brown carpet and was told though it was your house and it wasn't being changed! She can't go though life being "i don't get my own way i'll hit out" if she goes for you again she'll have me on her case. She needs to get out into the real word and grow up! i will not have her hitting you - and why the hell doesn't David do something???"
Right, let's take this step by step.  She's on about the terrible fact that she didn't have her own room until she was a whole five years younger than I'll be by the time I get mine.  (It was actually a couple of months before her 13th birthday when she moved here).  That means that my case is "woe is me crap".  You know what?  She had a life too - friends, education...  What would she have done if she were me?  I just do not know.  The fact she wasted her youth on boys and alcohol is not my fault.
She had a fitted bedroom, so couldn't choose furniture.  That's true.  But I'm only getting furniture that we already have from one of the three houses (this one, my grandparents' place and Woodberry), so I don't actually get to "choose" it.  I'm sure I wouldn't be getting a new carpet either, except that all the old ones were ripped out of Woodberry.
And oh dear, if I go for her again (even though I DIDN'T go for her this time!) I'm going to have the dreaded EMMA on my case.  I am so scared.  I'm sitting here trembling in fact.  What might she do next?  Claim I have a crush on every boy in the area?  That's about her limit, I think.
And yes, Emma.  As a matter of fact, I'm longing to "get out into the real world and grow up".  Being stuck in this prison is no fun at all.  Why don't you grow up and stop playing around on Facebook for five seconds?  You are ignoring four children while you're online, you know?
All right, rant over.  I'm supposed to be up early tomorrow and it's gone 1am!  I just can't take any more of these rubbish lies and silly threats.  Although the threats are more likely to make me die laughing than anything else!   Idiot.
Desirée Skylark  xxx

A quick round-up of our most recent troubles

Current mood:  rushed

I'm not sure where I left off with my blog before all this Myspace trouble, so I'm not even going to attempt to cover everything that's happened since then.
But let me talk through the main stress-causing event from the past few days. 
Did I mention that the architect had added in an extra window by the side of the back door in order to please Mum when she thought it was too dark in the extension?  Remember how much she loved the extension and the whole downstairs after he did that?  Well, earlier this week the doors and windows finally arrived and were assembled.  We walked in to the house to think about wall colours, and got a nasty shock.  The windows and doors have ridiculously thick white frames, to the point that the whole extension and kitchen is dark.
It appears that all of us had a different idea of what doors we were having, and of course Chris Picton never showed us any photographs before he ordered them.  I thought we were having french windows that open outwards (as we now have, which Mum hates because she can't have any flower pots on the patio without the doors knocking them down), but it turns out that Mum thought she was having sliding doors (thinner frames, but only able to open up one side), and David thought we were having folding doors (even more thick frames and still with the "flower pot bashing" problem).
This is how it now looks, by the way:

Mum HATES it, and spent an hour telling us so.  She can't see the garden from all angles, you see?  How she thought she was going to see the garden from all angles when the back wall isn't straight across, I don't really know.  David and I were more concerned by those thick frames obscuring the view from the patio doors on the right.
No colours got discussed - after all, "there's no rush now.  I'm not moving until something's done about those doors!"  So yet another delay.
I kept quite calm.  But Mum obviously didn't.  The next day she awoke in a bad mood and kept screaching about how "nothing could be done, so we'll have to let the house now.  We're not moving."   I know it's stupid, but it doesn't matter how many times I hear that nonsense, I fall for it.  We had a huge row in the car on the way to the sofa shop (my parents finally saw sense and cancelled that awful patterned sofa!), and Mum said we were to cancel everything now that we weren't moving.
Come the 17th, I went completely mad.  I honestly don't know what was wrong with me, but the stress of the house and the fact my next orthodontist appointment is creeping up again just got to me, I think.  I didn't leave the house either, and with all the stress, I think I needed air.  It was about 10pm, just after Mum's "Who Do You Think You Are?" TV show ended, when I broke down in tears, and started randomly screaming.  It scared me, because I had no control whatsoever.  It was a total emotional breakdown, the likes of which I've never known.  My parents had an argument for an hour or so then David went to the bathroom, and I started pacing up and down, faster and faster, going totally mad, chanting about how much I hated Picton and all his stupid errors etc.
At last, David came out of the bathroom and I could go to the communal bed at about 1am.  No sooner had I come out of the bathroom and made the bed than Mum followed.
"Why are you still awake?!" she said, angrily.  This annoyed me.  How does she expect me to have got to sleep in a matter of about 90 seconds?  Then she threw her pillows into the middle of the double bed.  I try very hard to actually lie off of the mattress, on top of all my plush ponies by the side of it, so this annoyed me even more, and I started crying again.  Yes, I know.  It sounds awful and stupid.  But I really was an emotional wreck that day.  I quite honestly felt like smashing the bedroom window and throwing myself out of it.  Instead, I turned to her and asked her to move her pillows further across.
"My nose is already pressed against the cot." she said, which was a pure exaggeration.  The cot is by the side of the bed (David never gave up on having more kids!), and Mum was right in the middle of the bed.  I sat up and tucked the blanket in underneath her, as she'd just thrown it on top of me.  "Oh, so that's why you stayed awake, is it?  So that you could shove me out of bed?!  Well, I'm not staying here!"
Um, excuse me?  Nobody shoved her out of bed.  I tucked a blanket underneath her.  I actually sleep rolled up in my blanket so that I've got my own little "bed within a bed", if you get what I mean.  But anyway, she took off and went and slept on the lounge floor, telling David that I'd "attacked her".  WTH?
Yesterday morning she didn't even call me to get up.  Actually, I was awake anyway, but David was crashing about on the landing so I wouldn't get up.  When he eventually went downstairs (at 11am!) I dashed in the bathroom, and got called by a very bad-temped Mum who told me that they were going out without me!  At least she had the decency to tell me where they were going - Ealing Broadway, in order to go back to the optician, and go in the Town Hall to talk to the council about how much more glass they were permitted to have in the extension.
I spent the time making recordings, so I was happy enough.  They returned at about 3.30pm, looking very glum.  Mum has to have yet another eye test - nobody can understand what's wrong with her.  And as for the council, Picton has actually given us MORE glass than we are permitted to have, so if the council look into it, we will probably end up losing the window by the side of the back door too.
We went to look at the extension again last night, and Mum seems to be calming down a little now.  When we opened the doors, she realised it's just the frames she doesn't like, so maybe if we can get those changed things will be all right.  She admits herself that we can't afford to sell or let the place really, so we will still be moving.  The process will just be delayed.
Not that the work was on schedule anyway.  The kitchen units were delivered to the house today, but our kitchen is currently filled with all kinds of building junk that isn't even anything to do with the work they're doing for us!  Basically, they're using our house as a giant storage depot!
We're seeing Picton on Monday, so we'll see what happens then.  Please keep your fingers crossed for me!
Now that I can get into Myspace again, I will keep this blog updated.  There's plenty going on in the next few days, so you can expect lots of boring entries from me in the near future.  You don't have to read them, you know?  So what is it that makes you all keep coming back for more?  Strange people.
Best wishes,
Desirée Skylark  xxx