The past few weeks have had one theme - expensive. if that can be called a theme
1. The great car crash as I now call it.
So I knew I was in for a £300 excess (get yummy audi back tomorrow by the way) which felt harsh. But then a large rock clonked the windscreen of the courtesy car - I use the word car in its loosest possible sense - it's a polo and about as fast and stylish as the sweet - so I've got to pay for that as well.
2. I remembered that my dearest friend is getting married at the hotel du very expensive vin on Saturday so obviously had to buy a new outift, new bag, new breasts etc (joking)
3. We're off to Egypt on Monday so plainly that's required everyone having new outfits and me trying to find a swimsuit that prevents me and my cellulite from attracing the attention of well-meaning whale rescuers
4. The tooth fairy is now overdrawn after Charlie lost the entire top row of teeth and, having checked the nasdaq on these matters, reliably informed me that the going rate is £2 per nasher.£2!!!!!!
5. Then we had the big showdown over the bubble gum machine in toys r us. This article, taller than me and the kids put together, required extra diesel to transport it home. This was because the only way to get it in the car was to remove the roof and have the heating on higher than would be considered normal in an equatorial paradise.
The good news however, is that since the changes at work, I now find myself with several million quid to muck about with. I approve vast amounts of spend for things I'm not sure about on a daily basis simply because the people who knew what they were doing have been made redundant. The icing on the cake was the recent news that I am to have a purchasing card with a stingy monthly limit of £20k. Hurrah.
However, since if my life depended on it I wouldn't know how much is in my bank account, I am now consumed with terror about somehow breaching sox compliance and being carted off to jail a la Enron. I haven't got off to a great start, 4 days after the card is approved I'm off to Sharm el shag and mysteriously have a new dkny handbag. All innocent enough, but i'm a bit anxious to have been entrusted with such grown up stuff.So if anything does, er happen to me...can someone please produce this blog at my trial???
My mother in law is still embroiled in her drink fuelled fling with William the second. I have never met him, but from time to time he threatens Mr PR with IRA style punishment for imagined slurs on him. In fact the only slurs on him are his own and my mother in law brought on by being constantly pissed. The latest threats came as a result of Mr PR shaking William the second's hand rather limply. This was because when they met recently, and I quote
'The silly old git of a vagrant has a wizened finger, he'd just come out of the loo and his hands were wet'
Fair enough - but not to William who seems hellbent on kneecapping anyone and everyone that he meets when he's had 15 pints of guinness. not a very suitable boyfriend but when did that ever matter?
My 40th birthday is looming. By looming I mean it's at the end of May and I have been very firm about NOT WANTING A FUSS.
And my wish has been granted. As luck would have it, Mr PR has been invited to speak at the Internationl Disaster Symposium in Schweinfurt the weekend after my birthday. So the Venice plans are on hold, I'm going with him and I think it's rather fitting. Fly to Frankfurt, get ICE train (yes I thought that too but it is made from metal I've checked)_ and then watch the world's greatest disaster experts outdo each other with 'my explosion was bigger than yours'
I can watch knowing that noone can match Buncefield, so we can trump them all. And I can forget about the biggest disaster of all which is in fact leaving my 30's behind.
