addiction · Alcoholism · getting sober · Middle Class Britain · Uncategorized

Small Town Surreal Moment No. 1

We live in a small town. A small town by the sea. A small town by the sea that is full of older, greyer people. ABF (Alcoholic Boyfriend) and I are also keen photographers, so in a bid to join the local community we decided to join the small town photography club, which, as you’d expect, is also full of older, greyer people. We have lowered the average age of the club by about 20 years, and being that neither of us have age on our side particularly, I guess you get the picture.

At the last club night, we were in groups critiquing each other’s photos. Generally not much to report, pretty average comments and discussions going on between the 6 of us in our group, until a photo of a bunch of mushrooms growing out of a tree branch covered in moss appeared in front of us. That’s when it all got a bit surreal.

The very ‘Tim-nice-but-dim’ lady sitting next to me looked at the photo and said “I wrote a children’s book when I was younger. I called it Magic Mushrooms but everybody said it was a bad title for a children’s book, I am still not sure why”… ABF and I glanced at each other with a raised eyebrow…

The very nice double-barreled-surname lady sitting next to ABF, who looks and sounds like she should be a lawyer living in Surrey but actually makes donuts for tourists in our very small town, responded with “have you ever tried a magic mushroom?” ABF nearly choked…

Very nice man with a mono-brow that rivals Basil Brushes tail, sitting opposite Donut lady, replied “No, which country do you get those in? I haven’t travelled that much, I have only really been caravanning a lot in Cornwall.” ABF stared speechlessly across the table at me…

Very nice man with hand-knitted cardigan on, this week it was green but he also has a red one, an orange one, a blue one, a yellow one and a grey one – same pattern obviously, mused “is that a photo of a magic mushroom? Is that why it is growing from the tree branch? How clever.”

ABF mouths across the table “I need a drink”. Me too my friend, me too…

I’m not sure that this photo club is going to do much for the reduction in alcohol intake!

addiction · Alcoholism · getting sober · Middle Class Britain · Neighbours · Teenagers · Uncategorized

How to Upset the Neighbours

How to upset the neighbours…

So we, my slightly insane crowd of special people (and the rabbit), moved in to our middle class house on our very quiet middle class street 6 months ago.

Until recently I thought I was pretty middle class so I’d fit right in, I have a barbeque after all so I must be. In fact I googled it! I have a smart TV, a Dyson hoover thing, some vinyl (but no record player, the ex-husband has that), an IMac, Samsonite AND Antler luggage (only one is stipulated on the list of things that makes one middle class). I have at least 2 sets of matching coasters and a Mulberry bag. So there you have it, I MUST be middle class…

It was all going swimmingly well with the neighbours when we first moved in, they were super friendly, anything they can do to help, there were bin collection day timetables posted through the letter box, sweet conversations about how to prune the apparently rare apple tree in the back garden, I even got a card and a kiss on the cheek at Christmas. Through January and February though it all got a bit frosty. Not so middle class anymore, a bit trailer trash instead I’d say. I think they could have coped with my not very middle class looking front garden, and I have to say it is a front garden disaster, a disaster that will be dealt with when it’s not bloody raining. It’s the noise that comes out of my house that is more trailer trash than middle-class. It’s impossible to be middle-class or even slightly civilized with a teenage boy and an alcoholic bf in the house (or face planted in the front garden at 1am for that matter) the shouting is astonishing. The teenager is shouting, stamping around the house, the ubiquitous teenage, and extremely loud door slamming. The bf is shouting, mostly at the shouting teenager, or he is pissed, throwing stones at my bedroom window because he has forgotten his keys again. If it wakes me up, it wakes them up. Where did my middle class ‘I must talk things through rationally and with respect’ attitude go? I must find it again and quickly because all this shouting is bringing my house into disrepute and I am no longer as middle-class as I thought I was. It is written all over the neighbours faces. My declining status as middle class in this very quite neighbourhood is either a result of the noisiness of my special people or it’s the Mulberry bags, have the neighbours worked out that I have a load of fake ones?