Dribble, But Nothing To Do With Football

Sitting here at my trusty computer, looking out  to watch the rain fall heavily against the window, It looks like another day where the 'lights are on but there is no one home.' I have writers block.  I have had writers block all week, and even thou I hoped my mojo would return this weekend, where is it. It must be outside with all the rain and the howling wind, because I can't find it. Try as I might to think of fantastic titles, and interesting content, all I can come up with is dribble.

"Childhood memories", my partner, now sick of hearing me walk the floorboards in the back bedroom, shouts up the stairs. But not today, I am finding it hard to remember the good times. Oh there was many, but I am not just in the mood to recall them.

"What about the harvest festival" Gordon thinking he is being useful shouts again. No I can't be bothered recalling that either. Oh dear, is this going to be a black miserable day too. Now I am told that all good writers, not that I am fooling myself that I am one of them, get writers block occasionally. And, the tips are, take a break, people watch, relax, go play sport, very contradictory. Go for a walk, have a meal out, enjoy the company of friends, with diary and pen in hand to take notes. You see, I am not able to do any of those things today. I am dog sitting.

Bouncer, god bless his cotton socks, is still with me.  Fighting this terrible illness that makes him so weak. Gordon the toy boy taxi driver, is driving again tonight, and I don't expect him home until after 4am. Where he will cough and splutter to wake me up, gain my interest so I ask about his interesting fares, then unceremoniously fart out loud, turn over and go to sleep. Have you ever noticed that about men, so loud.? I am not being sexist when I mention that, because apparently, although I don't believe it, I snore!

 I went to see my grandson Callum, but the witch, oops sorry, daughter in law wouldn't let me nurse him. So you see I have no inspiration today. Zilch, nothing, not one eye opening little bit.

I often look in the mirror standing in the hallway, "Mirror mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all". Not I, as I am brunette. Steady, boring and uncomplicated. How I wonder if it is true that blonde's really do have more fun. If only it was that simple. I could apply for shares in Clairol and have a different adventure every day. Who am I? Well, I am Gordon's long suffering partner, 14 years, who deserves the medal the most.? I am Craig's mum, Callum's grandmother. I am mother in law to the beautiful Rebecca and mistress to all the animals I own, although I am not sure that includes the goldfish. I am a friend and confidant to many, I am a loyal and loving carer to all my old people. I guess really that is good for starters.

If only the mirror could transport me, if it could work me out, to a place to give me inspiration. The Rocky Mountains, yes I have always wanted to go there. Austria, beautiful but would need a millionaire for company. So outrageously expensive. Lake Bled in Italy, oh so serene, surely there would inspire me. Maybe I could just go to Greece and meet a bronzed Greek God. Although I wouldn't know what to do with him. Well, I guess that only leaves me home.

Home is where the heart is they say. Very true. But, I am so sick and tired of washing dishes, even thou I have a dish washer. I am tired of hoovering rooms, ironing, running errands, going shopping, cooking meals and so on, and all that said in one breath. Wow. 

Valentines Day is on the horizon, no flowers for me. The local florist closed down at Christmas. No chocolates either as I am on a diet and most definitely no meal out, the toy boy is working that night, with a "look at the money I could earn", when I complain bitterly at being unloved. What need of money do I have, I want to shout and scream "MONEY DOES NOT MAKE YOU HAPPY!!!!!  When I know the reply will be "agreed, but it helps" Oh dear, is that desperation and despair I feel coming over me?

I want to shout "Who am I", but the mirror doesn't answer, because it is the same familiar face looking back at me. The years have been fairly kind. I almost pulled a 17yr old in the night club the night I went to the dogs, then he took a sharp turn to the right to be sick in the toilet. I still have all my own teeth and hair, although it's dyed. The starvation, and over coming the chocolate withdrawal symptoms have paid off as I could have fancied myself in my new outfit. Gordon still says I am beautiful and my son says I am trendy, dread to think what the daughter in law says, and as for Callum my grandson, he is to young yet to have an opinion.

I still have my mind and most of my faculties, I say most of as other bits, are turning due north. But actually, when I look in that mirror, I see me.

Staring around the house, which isn't a palace, but it's warm and comfortable and smells nice,Just as long as I remember to towel dry the dogs after a walk. The log fire is burning red and the spitting from the logs somehow is comforting. The kitchen is well equipped and I love to stand and bake. Gordon's favourite is chocolate brownies, Craig's is black forest cake, and as for Rebecca, she loves ice-cream.  I bake shortbread for my friends and cup cakes for my old people, I am a dab hand at those. I can even bake a pavlova. My friends recipe of course, never fails. Dripping in fresh cream and tantalising the taste buds with the sharpness of the strawberries and the luscious texture of caramel sauce. My mouth is watering.

You see, writers block or not, I am dribbling. Writing about nothing of importance, but hey, watch this space I'm on a roll now. Maybe I Will write down my recipes.

"Is that a recipe for life", I hear you all ask, or a recipe for that delicious pavlova with the caramel sauce? You will have to wait and see.