Fuck the holidays

Two more weeks of the summer holidays and in spite of my cheery appearance I’m sinking.

Yes, I know things could be worse and I need to get a grip. A boy, younger than my own son Joe, has just been murdered in Barcelona. There are landslides and war and . . .

and it doesn’t stop me from feeling the despair of the every day.  There’s the endless feckin washing, EVERYWHERE around the house because if I put it out on the line I’ll be doing the hokey-cokey with it all day when it starts raining sideways during a sunburst.

There’s  the ironing which took me 3 weeks to get through and then it was all back in the wash basket within two days.

The sofa in my bedroom is piled high with the half-worn/not-worn-for-long-enough-to justify-putting-in-the-wash clothes. I wake up and it’s staring at me and I want to put the whole fucking lot in a bin liner.

Then there’s the cooking.  I have two Facebook cookery pages #BudgetCookingWithGillWatson and #EasyVeganShit.  I loved posting my homemade meals on these pages. My 16yr old daughter is vegan and making interesting and nutritional meals for her and posting about them made me feel like I was achieving something. I’ve posted almost nothing  over the last couple of months..
Last week I spent over 2 hours making a vegan moussaka for Zoë. I drank 1/4 litre of gin whilst I was in the kitchen and by the time it was ready I had almost lost my will to live. 
I know sharing home made food with family,  friends and strangers is a wonderful thing. I cooked in Preston town centre yesterday for #FeastForPeace and  the  highlight  for me was a Swiss lady telling me that my Lancashire broth and dumplings was the exact same thing that her mum used to make for her as a child in Switzerland – barley  and lentils and split peas with vegetables. She couldn’t believe it was also a British classic.

When my cousin was killed by a shark on his honeymoon the only way I could think of comforting his parents and brother was to cook for them. I baked steak pasties and apple tarts with love and sorrow in every step of the process. I know the importance of cooking.
But sometimes, and always in the holidays, I literally cannot be arsed. If the sun is shining I want to be out in it and if it’s dark and raining then I need to get out of the house to stop me reaching for the vodka bottle.  Ged-the-husband has been working all day, six days a week and he’s been coming home to an empty fridge and the suggestion of a lovely little dinner out in a country pub.  This should be a treat and a joy but it’s not if it becomes the norm because you’re too lazy and depressed to cook.

And if you can feel another roll of fat with every pie and chip dinner.
I tried to snap out of it. I went out and bought tons of fruit and vegetables and 0% fat Greek yoghurt. My plan was to feed us all fruit and yoghurt for breakfast, fish and veg for lunch then a teensy bit of fish or meat in the evening with delicious salads of  mango, spring onions, lettuce and crushed peanuts with a squeeze of lime.  We would stay off the booze for a month and be new people by the new term. 
On the day I shopped for this new lifestyle I was worried that we only had four weeks of the holidays left. I wanted the new me detox programme to be longer.

By 4pm that very day I’d already downed  a stinking great vodka with passionfrut juice and had a bottle of Sauvignon in the freezer because I couldn’t get it cold quick enough.

Is it addiction? Is it depression? Is it self-indulgence of an aspiring middle class bitch who doesn’t have enough to worry about and should get a grip?
All three.

12 thoughts on “Fuck the holidays

  1. Awww Gill I do like be reading your very honest accounts of everyday life/challenges/addictions! It’s such a mood lifter I chuckled all the way through reading this last account, keep up the good work honey and re-stock on voddy and Sauv…..it’s THE only way to get through ‘life’ hahahahahaha xxx

    • I actually have a hangover this morning which made me think ‘Hooray, I’m not an alcoholic if I get hangovers!”. Or it could be a reaction to those freaky pig fat things from the Chinese.
      There seemed to be much disgruntlement on FB last night so I’m putting it all down to the eclipse. Chin chin, lovely lady. Xx

  2. Too late, I found it cheeky funny. And, besides, I would drink with you any time just to discover what we would come up with or laugh about.

    As for the depressing parts, just lay off paying any attention to any of the so-called “news” for a week or two and see how you feel. Would work wonders.

    When one considers the hundreds of millions of us – actually billions now – who are NOT directly involved with what is reported, who get on with our lives among all types of people, faiths, gender preferences, etc., we are on the whole doing alright.


    • Hi Ron. Nice to hear from you. You’re absolutely right about leaving off the news to remain sane. I have been cutting back somewhat and posting a lot less. The run up to the general election nearly did me in. Xxx

    • It’s hell isn’t it? And today Joe has gone off the rails because he couldn’t have the school bag he wanted. It would have been so easy to have screamed at him for being a spoilt brat but I know it’s all his fear of high school and need to create the right impression on his first day. Honestly, the only answer is gin.

  3. My only advice, is break the iron. Not used one for years. Not watched or read the news for a very long time and that also helps. Love your blog and compassion. And honesty – life isn’t always a bed of roses and we need reminding of that sometimes. Because reality tv and glossy magazines are intent in making us feel inadequate for being normal. :)

    I don’t even have young children (all grown up and not planning in making me a granny) and already I am so over the summer. House and dog sitting two dogs for 5 weeks – the first summer in the UK for 2 years and I am also doing the hokey cokey with the washing. And reaching for the SVB at 6pm because I can or going to one of the many country pubs because despite being here all day I don’t want to cook. It all started so well – a 5 week detox I said, couch to 5k I said. Then fell in the bathroom, bruised ribs and couldn’t move off the sofa for a week. FML and pass the wine. It got so bad I broke into the secret stash of Champagne I found. And that is because it is a 15 minute drive to a shop and I don’t have a car. I am in the country in a swanky house that belongs to someone else and nothing works (seriously no one understands how to make the microwave do anything) and the cooker is a hit and miss with the oven having a mind of its own and the hob has only one setting, high so I burn everything. By the time the husband gets home I am grouchy, hangry, because despite two fridges, two freezers, all the food it out of date and I forgot to buy anything for my lunch, not seen a person for 10 hours, and live for 7 pm the SVB, chips and dips and My Kitchen Rules and MasterChef Australia. Watching others cook is soothing and much better than cooking in a bonkers swanky kitchen with 35 mugs, 100 glasses, food in 5 locations and a tap that has not stopped dripping for 5 weeks. I am going home on Monday. Cooking will still be optional but I can walk to shops and have conversations with people instead of dogs. My only advice, is break the iron. Not used one for years. Not watched or read the news for a very long time and that also helps. Love your blog and compassion. And honesty – life isn’t always a bed of roses and we need reminding of that sometimes. Because reality tv and glossy magazines are intent in making us feel inadequate for being normal. :) Going sober for October? Maybe.

    • Thanks Caroline. My personal page is public btw so you can always follow the day to day madness on there. I got in the wrong car at the tip this week.

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