Yesterday I had one of those days. You know the sort I mean, we all get them from time to time. A day where you end up wishing you had stayed in bed and not bothered to get up out of it.
It began well enough, with lot’s of promise. K and I were due to visit the hairdressers at 11.45am. One of us for her grey roots covering (me) and the other for a wash, cut and blow dry. (K) The first downer began when the postman called. In amongst all the other post was a letter addressed to me from a Far Grange Park and Golf Club regarding my recent enquiry about Holiday Home ownership at their Park at Skipsea, North Yorkshire. Nothing odd in that you might think apart from one small detail. I have never ever contacted them about holiday home ownership!
Oh yes folks, it has been a dream of mine for years to own a holiday home, since we used to take the kids when they were younger to one of the many Haven Holiday camps dotted about the UK. I fell in love with them, and always vowed that if ever I came into any money I would buy one so that we could go away every year for weeks on end with the children. However that is all it has ever been, a dream. Why would this Granny, skimping all the time as she does on a state pension, enquire about owning a holiday home? And in Skipsea of all places? (No offence to any residents of Skipsea who happen to be reading this post, its probably a lovely place, and certainly the enclosed brochure of the Park and amenities made the entire place look very tempting, but IF this Gran was ever in the position of having enough money to buy a holiday home, it would definitely be sited somewhere in Cornwall!)
Yet there it was, my name, my full address complete with invite to go and visit the Park to choose which holiday home I would like to purchase! Now when strange occurrences happen to me like this, I tend to think its almost like someone is ‘rubbing salt into the wound’ and I immediately went off into one of my ‘if only I could win the lottery’ daydreams as I paid a visit to the Park site and took a peek at some of the lodges and Mobile Homes available. ‘sigh’
Dragging myself rather reluctantly from my daydream we set off to the hairdressers. I was attended to first, and whilst I was sat waiting for tne colour to take, K came over and showed me a pic of a hairstyle on her camera that she had taken up there with her.
“Yes that’s nice” I said approving of the short but neat style in the viewfinder. Then our hairdresser began attending to her. I was sat over the other side of the salon. I saw K say something to her, then she began to shave K’s hair. She had shown the hairdresser a completely different hairstyle to the one that she showed me, and the upshot of this is that she ended up with all her hair shave off…… No big deal I hear you all say. She is 29 years old . She has a perfect right to choose how to have her own hair. Hmmm.
I always dreamt of having a girl. My daughter in my mind would resemble Shirley Temple with gorgeous long locks cascading down her back. She would be feminine, pink, love wearing dresses and fluffy things. ‘sigh’ The only time that K has ever worn a dress was when she was a bridesmaid for my Nephew 20 odd years ago! And she hated it! I have never EVER been able to persuade her to grow her hair long. This I don’t mind as I tend to always have mine fairly short as well, but all shaved! She looks like a boy. I already have two boys. But I was upset with her because of the ‘sneaky’ way that she did it, showing me a perfectly presentable hairstyle that was more like she usually has it done, and then showing our hairdresser an entirely different picture of her preferred ‘shave it all off’ look. ‘Sigh’
We exited the hairdressers, and the downward spiral continued . We waited 55 minutes for a bus to Halifax. FIFTY FIVE MINUTES! This wait was made infinitely worse by having to endure lot’s of gawky stares from motorists and their passengers as they slowed down at the roadwork traffic lights just next to the bus stop. Why do people in cars always grin like demented idiots at you as you stand there waiting for a bus? They’ll get their comeuppance when all the oil runs out and they realise they’ve lost the use of their legs! Humph! Not only that, but one minute I was roasted prompting me to take my raincoat off, then the next minute a breeze seemed to spring up, prompting me to put my raincoat back on again! I must have gone through that manoeuvre several times during the course of our 55 minutes wait. So much so that I began to get on my own nerves…’sigh’
At this point and by the time we boarded the bus, I was really fed up. Arriving in Halifax, we hurried to Argos, picked up a new catalogue, and then intending to go to K’s favourite eating establishment, made our way up to McDonald’s but it was cram jam packed with people queuing for a meal, so we had to then return all the way back down to Burger King. (Actually I am beginning to prefer Burger King, their chips are always crisp on the outside, but soft on the inside, whereas MickyD’s chips can often break your teeth.) Following that we went on to Marks and Sparks where I bought five t-shirts for my
newly acquired third son daughter to add to her already considerable t-shirt wardrobe. Then we made our way to the bus station, but despite making a valiant dash towards our stand once I realised that one was due to depart, we still managed to see it pull out and disappear. What is it with us two and buses? ‘Sigh’
“Right!” I exclaimed to K. “That does it! I’m off to the shop to buy some Random’s!” Nothing better in my opinion if the day in question is determined to lay you low, throw everything it can at you, trip you up and knock you back down than stuffing your face with calorie laden Random’s! So my dear readers, I didn’t last long in my resolve to stay clear of them did I?