'What the blazes are you going on about?' I hear you cry.
Well, it's simple. I had not one, but TWO prodigal things returned to me yesterday. So, after the excitement of my new Canon Powershot S95 being delivered on Wednesday, it was almost like Christmas. Except that I didn't gorge on fatty food and fall asleep in front of the TV. Or get drunk and have a punch-up with my rellies (relatives).
So without further ado, please let me introduce my 'returnees':
1. My repaired iPhone was delivered
After accidentally killing my iPhone on 13th February, I sent it to the insurance company for repair and expected the worst; months of telephone wrangling and being passed from department to department. But no sirree, I was wronger than a bankers' bonus. I got it back, and over a week early to boot.
Not only that, the repair was excellent, with not a single indication that I had accidentally projectiled the item into the fireplace less than two weeks ago. So credit where credit is due; my insurers, LSG (Lifestyle Group), did a fine job. If they were a boy, I would ask them on a date. But I wouldn't buy them champagne; they weren't that good. Maybe a Chardonnay.
2. My daughter returned from her skiing holiday in Canada
I have only just realised that I have put the return of my daughter secondary to the return of a gadget. I would like to assure you that the returnees are presented in no particular order. Unless there is something subliminal going on in my head, that is. And if that's the case, I am a really bad mother, but I will never be able to prove it purely because it is subliminal. Crikey, this could get complicated.
Anyway, as you can probably recall, when Izzy first got to Canada, she didn't want to talk to me on the phone, and I had to bribe her by threatening to set fire to her Barbie. But you will be pleased to hear that as the week wore on, and she realised how ridiculous it was strapping planks to her feet and chucking herself down a mountain, and she changed her tune a bit.
Goddamit, she even ended up sending me her first ever email towards the beginning of this week informing me that she was coming home on Thursday and was missing me. Awww......... If I was her, I would miss me too.
Pic.No.1. The Email that Izzy sent me from her skiing holiday in Canada
So when 9.30am Thursday (Yesterday) arrived I was pretty excited to see her and she was pretty excited to see me, which was nice considering she costs a fortune to feed. It makes you begrudge it less.
"I bought you a present with my pocket money," she announced excitedly.
"Cool, can I have it?" I asked beaming with anticipation.
"Here you are," she said, proudly handing me a package.
I unwrapped it and inspected the contents, "awww Izzy, you chose this yourself didn't you?"
"Yes!" she shouted, jumping up and down as pleased as punch.
Pic.No.2. Izzy's present is a this seasons must-have; a 'Moose Head fridge magnet'
"Thanks Iz, it's bloody great! I love mooses, or moosai or whatever they are collectively called," I gushed (well pleased with my present).
Suddenly the gaiety stopped. "It's not a moose, it's a bear," she stated.
Blimey, I stood corrected. But despite what she said, it was still a big brown furry thing that liked killing humans. They are all much of a muchness and that's why I will never be a botanist.
After a couple of hours listening to Izzy's Canadian holiday exploits, I offered to take her and her dad, (my ex - Steve), for lunch at the local gastropub, 'The Talkhouse'.
After arriving, we ordered our meals and were shown to a table (photos appearing in my next post for reasons which become apparent when you read it).
At the precise moment that Izzy's meal arrived, jet-lag kicked in, and in an instant she dropped face-first towards the table like a stone. I managed to catch her but she was fast asleep. I tried to eat my soup whilst cradling her in my arms, but it is bloody tough when they are five years old and weigh 20 stones (actually, I don't know what she weighs so I made it up).
"Steve, can you give me a hand?" I asked looking up at him, only to find his head slumped upon his chest because jet-lag had also bitten him like a vampire.
Let's picture the scene: Izzy sound asleep in my arms and Steve nodding off across the table.
Can you imagine how humiliated I was? To an outsider, I must have looked like the most boring dining companion ever.
So I laid Izzy on the floor, finished my soup, paid the bill, and then dragged them back to Steve's house where they both apparently slept until 5pm.
P.S. Have you ever had anyone fall asleep on you whilst dining out?