I know it’s incredibly English to talk about the weather all the time, and even more English to moan when it rains and then moan when it’s too hot, but srsly. We’re not built for these temperatures. Anything over 21 degrees is just excessive. We seem to have now reached that level of Summer where British people even stop having barbeques and instead stay inside in their pants with the curtains drawn and a fan on.
You’ll be pleased, I am sure, to know that I am not writing this in my pants. I am writing it in pyjamas, because there’s nothing I like better than occasionally being a massive blogger cliché.
This afternoon I am planning to brave this relentless sunshine for a little jaunt into town, but in the meantime, for those of you who I know spend your Sundays on edge waiting to hear about that exciting time I watched Netflix, This week I……
Not deliberately. I didn’t smash it on the edge of the bar and threaten people with it or anything. There was a bottle of beer in my fridge. It was the last one remaining, and, because I was too lazy to take it out, it was still inside the slightly ripped cardboard packaging that it lived in with its 3 friends that we’d already drunk.
I stuffed it on the top shelf to make room for other things, and somehow the pixies managed to get inside while the door was closed and hook some of that ripped cardboard packaging over one of the inside shelves.
That meant that when I opened the door the bottle of beer and its packaging launched itself at my face. Much in the way a cat that has been lurking in a cupboard in a horror movie might at the appropriate tense moment. I screamed about as loud as I might have done in the aforementioned horror movie and the bottle shattered on the floor into a hundred million gazillion pieces. (That’s just an estimate, I didn’t count them)
Then I made Mr Chick clean it up.
I know, just when you thought my life couldn’t get anymore exciting.
Sorry, it just got a WHOLE lot more exciting. On Thursday night I got dropped off round the corner from my house after Roller Derby practice, and as I was walking home I found a pie.
An uncooked pie, still in its packaging just sitting in the middle of the pavement.
How did it get there? Did it make a bid for freedom from the enslavement of the supermarket? Was it placed there as bait for some kind of cold pie eating monster?
We’ll probably never know.
Sorry for the blurriness of this photo, Mr Chick took it yesterday afternoon.
On a beautiful warm Saturday we travelled 100 miles down to Southend to spend 6 hours in a hot and sweaty sports hall. Because that’s what I do with beautiful sunny weekends these days.
Saturday was the last game of the Norfolk Brawds British Champs season. A season that didn’t start amazingly for us, with 2 losses, then picked up considerably with 2 good wins. This left us equal on points with 3 other teams, and the outcome of yesterdays 3 games would decide which of us finished in a position to go to Play Offs and potential promotion, and which of us got relegated to Tier 4 next season. I know, tense, right?
Our game was the last of the day, against Milton Keynes Concrete Cows. It was a super tough game, with just one point separating us at half time. In the second half we pulled out all the stops and ended up winning 155-126. That made us second place in our division, and means we are going to Play Offs in September.
As if that wasn’t emotional enough, I was then awarded a Best Blocker certificate at the end of the game. I have never got a certificate before. In fact I wasn’t even paying attention when they called my name.
Then I burst into tears. It was a bit of an emotional day if I’m honest.
So yeah, obviously I had to take my medals out for a drink. We headed out for a drink with 2 good friends of ours when we got home from Southend. I was feeling celebratory. I wanted fizzy wine.
To be honest I don’t blame the fizzy wine for todays grogginess. I blame the whisky that I totally didn’t need but seemed like such an excellent idea at the time.
This morning I woke up with that awful feeling that I was probably an arse. I bet I talked a lot of rubbish, that’s Drunk Retro Chicks special skill, talking rubbish.
I was also very impressed that I had removed my make up and put my stud earrings back in before I went to bed. I was less impressed that I had managed to throw food I don’t even remember eating all over the floor.
I am even more impressed that I still went to the gym this morning. Even if our trainer decided he didn’t trust me with heavy things so we stuck to body weight exercises. One legged squats and jumps with a hangover are about as fun as you’d expect.
And thus ends another exciting installment in the life of Retro Chick.