Blissfully Boring.

Plans for the weekend?

I’ve used this forum and my limited readership, like a bit of cathartic exercise these last couple of days.
I have vented and released and I feel all the better for it. Now, a stunning Sunday morning has dawned, sun low in a cloudless Autumn sky.
This is gonna be a good one.

The same dogs down the hill are barking, the way they do on and off during random hours of the day and night. Hard to identify where their plaintive calls are coming from, as the plains below are smothered in a layer of mist. Or is it fog?
Roosters crowing, birds chirping, traffic stilled (not that we get a lot) and children stirring.

Today should prove riveting.
There are chores to be done, exciting stuff like laundry and ironing and vacuuming and maybe some gardening. As the breeze picks up, swirling away the mists below and the day warms the insects and birds into their work, we will share the load, so hopefully we are free of tasks by midday.

Wifey is at work. Her new role, shifts. It stuffs with her sleeping patterns, almost as much as a transitory two and a half year old does.
Will he need a nappy or is he down with the potty?
Will he sleep through the night or demand a cuddle, sometime in the small hours?
Will he accept a cuddle? Or is he going to want the comfort of a breast?
I’ll ponder all these questions and more, as I vacuum.

Cobwebs to be swept from the deck, with its attractive view simply a sideline, something peripheral. Cars to be cleaned, if we can be bothered getting that carried away, driveways swept. Even mowing the lawn, if I am feeling particularly motivated.
With a bit of luck and some coercion, the kids will share some of that motivation. We may get finished early, head out for the afternoon for quality family time, explore some of our locality.

Of course, it is half nine in the morning and I am still sat here sipping coffee. The television is on. But hey, the washing machine is on, the dishwasher too.
Not a great deal of progress to be found there and to be honest, how boring, how mundane, does the plan for this cheery Sunday sound?
Blissfully boring.
Magnificently mundane.

Despite the little chips of progress I am making on the routine, unwritten to-do list, the whirlwind cyclone that is our children will destroy it all, in a matter of moments. Even their own efforts to help, responding reluctantly to orders and commands, delivered in an ever increasingly exasperated manner and tone, will amount to little once the shackles are released and they are free to wreak havoc once again.


I’m not looking forward to winter. The long, hot, dry summer we have enjoyed or endured as is your want, giving way to the relative cool and damp. Nearly April and still the sun shines, still the rains refuse to come, still the nights are not a great deal cooler than the summer highs of climes further south.
Long days, dark dominating light, lunar not lighter. Kids in doors more, both at school and at home. Closer, louder, smellier.
Grateful I am working again, torn at the way I have so readily adapted to being back at work, the way I am not missing all the bonus time with my kids, time I had as recently as the beginning of this summer, as much as I thought I would.
As much as I should.

Or should I?
Is my guilt justified? More-so, is it manufactured?
Am I really feeling guilty or am I actually relieved? There is certainly relief in witnessing my children carry on with their lives, as if my influence over the last year or so, the past few seasons, accounted as negligible at best.
I am happy. As much as any slightly over weight, balding yet perversely hirsute, middle-aged man can be. Happy, to have reclaimed a piece of me which was missing, absent without me even being aware it was gone. Until it returned.
Why do we do it? Why do we like to do it? (allow me the luxury, on this fine day, of generalisation)

Routine. Structure. Of course, income.
I am not robotic, no slave to a machine but I am happier, feel more complete, when I have dirtied my hands, when there is sweat on my brow, when my back is bent and aching.
I am never more satisfied when the job is done, my mind long since having turned to the next task.
But for all that, chores are different.

I could abandon the vacuuming before the plug reaches the socket. No guilt, no remorse. Let the dishes pile high, I will simply turn my back, not venture into the kitchen, stay clear of the laundry, letting the washing fester in a musty, damp, sad and sorry pile at the bottom of the machine.
Sweep the deck? Na, wait for the wind to really get going. Heck, it will bring as much crap as it removes, so why bother?
Make the bed? Na, I will be in it again before you know it, so the point is exactly?

The point is, Wifey’s shift does not last forever. She who must be obeyed will return to her domain, her lair, before the day is done and if the chores aren’t…this may may well be the last you hear from me. Bed made or not, I won’t be sleeping in it!

I have work to do.

( The views and descriptions of the author are in no way intended as an exact replication of Wifey…she is far scarier! )


Lover Boy

I’m online shopping. For wife Number Two.

I’m not looking for a trade-in deal. That wouldn’t be wise.

I am not seeking to upgrade. Saying so would be a grave error.

A mistake you say?

Yes, most certainly. My dear wife, wife Number One, is well within earshot. She is sitting not more than a few meters from me, sipping wine and doing her level headed best to quell a stroppy toddler ( Boob in mouth is her go to method).

It amazes me how I can throw the biggest wobbly the great wide world has ever known, yet I have never been offered a breast, as a means to calming down. I think most women/partners/wives out there will find it a most effective technique for getting their Husbands back in line.

It is just after 9pm, Monday. The first day back at school for our two eldest, after the mid-winter break. (note: these blogs have slipped from chronological order.) Their return to school coincides with the return of the sun. Not to say it didn’t rain, because that really would be something noteworthy, but at least it wasn’t the persistent torrential stuff we have been subjected to for more days than I care to remember.

Enough about the weather. I would rather tell you about Yulya.

Yulya (Julia) is just one of many. I am aware when I say that, just how studly that makes me sound and naturally, I am not going to deny it. I am absolutely positive Julia will find me impossible to resist.

Julia is a thirty-two year old, multi-lingual, well educated, single, platinum blonde, busty Ukrainian. She is feminine, tender and caring. Traits I obviously rate highly, or Julia would not have attracted my attention.

Yes, of course it was her ‘traits’ that caught my eye. What else could there be?

She is a romantic. She likes to watch the stars, is kind and calm and caring and believes she would make a fantastic wife.







Julia is active. But I knew this. How, you ask, your interest peaked.

How does she stay active? She likes to dance. How does she maintain her figure? She is into sport. Just what sport in particular, Julia fails to enlighten us. I’m hoping it is rugby.

My current wife is chortling in the background as I read out one profile after another. The spelling is terrible and therefore the messages, at times garbled and lost in translation, can be confusing and awkward to decipher. In those moments, I tend to look back on the traits. You know the ones I mean.

But despite the monitor currently being awash with displays of exotic flesh, that isn’t what I am interested in. I am still interested in my wife.

So if Yulia is keen, if her or someone like her could ever possibly be tempted by the likes of me, that would be great. All Yulia needs is to be just as tempted by the kids, all four of them.

Yulya needs to be keen to take on not just me, but the whole family package. She needs to be just as devoted to the cooking, baking, cleaning dusting and vacuuming and never ending laundry as she is to her fitness regime. Yukya needs to commit to snotty noses and bumps and bruises and scraps and she needs to display a keen desire to wipe poo streaks off a toddlers bag from an exploding nappy.

If Russian beauties like Yulya are going to get online and tempt me with their charms, she needs to be the whole package herself. Her ‘traits’ and ‘talents’ will have to extend to childcare. Then I can have my wife back and she can have me.

Thanks Yulya.



“Sometimes people are looking for a lifetime, and Sometimes you find a day. Sometimes we are waiting, and sometimes forcing others to wait. Sometimes we agree to something and it seems to us forever, and sometimes escorts and understand it and had to be. Sometimes we seek to communicate, expand the circle of acquaintances, somewhere in a hurry, in a hurry to meet someone, but sometimes you just want to close your eyes and do not need anything else – just you and the silence … Sometimes we are looking forward to a stormy passions of love in the novel, and sometimes a kiss is enough to feel the tenderness and passion … And sometimes we rolls up in a blanket and have no way to warm up, because we really cold at from the outside, but from within the heart … … sometimes we also need something to hug and to hear only three words “Everything will be fine …” LonelyLove2016