A watched pot, upset parents, and tears

Living in shared accommodation has its advantages – and its disadvantages. My mother had an old kettle that seemed to me to take a week to boil. Speaking to a friend who said that he had saved a “small fortune” by heating his water on the gas stove my mother went out and brought a new £40 kettle to be placed on the stove, and chucked away the old and admittedly battered electric kettle. While the electric kettle was slow to come to the boil, the gas kettle is painfully slow. Because it doesn’t turn itself of, you have to sit in the kitchen with it. Watching it. Waiting for it.

I am a creature of habit. In the morning I go into the kitchen, put the kettle on, put my porridge in the microwave, go to the loo, come back, take my porrage from the microwave pour my cup of tea. Not now. Now I sit and wait. I know its not long. Really I do. It is probably only two or three minutes longer. Yet it feels like 10-15mins. The watched kettle takes an age, the minutes dragging by painfully. Infuriated by the delay I make a search of the internet only to discover that a gas kettle does not save any money at all. It may even be more expensive. The damage is already done however, the new kettle has been brought and we must live with it. Or not have a cup of tea.

In other news the long suffering wife continues to do battle with other mums. Someone on her “list” sent out a recommendation of a book talking about how good routines are for children. Of course the long suffering wife had just been reading an article providing showing that routines create more tears, less sleep, and more stress all around. She duly circulated the article to the list – a move designed to generate feelings of hatred among the rest of the group only slightly less than her correct statement that cot death risks don’t decrees after six weeks but increase so it really isn’t the time to put your baby in a nursery.

Today I want to cry. I can find a reason. I want to stop the world and get off. Maybe it’s the kowladge of all the things I have still to collect from the old flat. Or the bankruptcy forms I haven’t finised filling out, or the pressure of work, or..Maybe its an accumulation of things, but whatever is causing it I want to hide under the duvet and vanish for a while. I am at work, its my lunch break – yet I wish I was at home, in a golden happy moment with my daughter smiling happily. I know I will not get home till seven or so by which time Grace will be struggling with colic (advice on remerdies not required). I know I will not eat till eight. I know I still have studying to do. I know when I do get home I will have to sit and wait for the kettle to boil.

I have read all your replies as ever – updates received on my phone which is far to difficult to reply on. I am listening even when I don’t answer. I am reading if sporadically your blogs even when I don’t post to your boards. Blah

Yours as broken as ever

The Broken Man