"A Disclaimer...And Stuff"

care packet from my mum in Canada...LOVE HER (only she would send me my favourite 'Hickory Sticks' at a heart attack inducing postage cost...bless her, it has made my day :)

To those who don't know me terribly well, and to those who take me at face value, I realise with hindsight that I just may have come off as a bit of a twat the other day.  I mean, what the heck...complaining about not being able to upsize ones domicile in this ISIS age of atrocities and world disasters is not only pathetic, but terribly small minded.

So....to that end let me add a better-late-than-never disclaimer:  

"I, MoaningMum, hereby recognise my inherent proclivity to be consumed with problems that a great percentage of the world's population would love to have to wrestle with.  And I am sorry if my virtual whining has been the cause of any sort of reflux action on behalf of my readers. HOWEVER (and this is a big however), things are never  in 'real life' as they appear online.  We all know that. So bear in mind that some things are just too personal (and too horrible) to make public. Life is hard and a lot of the time it sucks...in a BIG way.  I try and make light of it when I can, and try to make myself laugh instead of sobbing all day in front of box sets whilst shovelling family sized bars of chocolate into my gob." (Ah, wait a minute.  Maybe strike that last bit?)

Truth is, I have merely touched upon, not even properly delved into, the disaster that has been my life this past year.  As an 'Outgoing Introvert', I am loathe to bare my soul over a bottle of wine (make it two or three and it's a different story), nor will I ring friends in time of need and beg for much needed help and support.  It's just not me.  I keep things PRIVATE with a capital P. So when I (truthfully) claim that this past year has been one of the worst in history...I meant it.  (And it ain't just about a house.)

Now let's move along shall we?

Yesterday when I broke the tragic news of Bacon's kidnapping, I neglected to mention that poor Egg had already been in a state of great distress having already lost his two favourite possessions:  a threadbare jumper which he adored and pretty much wore 24/7 for a year (except for when I'd cunningly extract it from his body and chuck it in for a much-needed wash) AND his wallet...containing several years of his savings from birthdays and doting grandparents. (My father in particular is never to know of this as it was he who vastly contributed to the booty during several trips to Florida and Toronto, when he'd hand Egg a wad of cash and lovingly instruct him to buy himself a treat. Only Egg never did.  He'd stash it.)

my beloved Egg...

We had begged him not to bring his beloved wallet to Goa, had tried to take it off him a thousand times, but to no avail.  Wherever he went - it went. One evening, panic-stricken, he felt in his pocket and discovered it was gone.  We all ran desperately up and down the beach straining our eyes in the hazy twilight, but to no avail.  (Here I must confess that we were not so much fuelled by empathy, but greed...)

Anyway, such is life.  Losing Bacon would of course eclipse the jumper and wallet fiasco, and with the addition of what we now refer to as 'The Airport Incident' and returning home to find that we had been outbid on our 'Dream Home on the Common'...well, I should have just thrown in the towel there and then.

Cuz guess what...it was all downhill from there.