I’m being kicked out of my home. We’ve done nothing wrong, no rent arrears or anything, but my landlady has given my home to her darling daughter, (Princess) Fiona.  Although they own a massive farm, an industrial park, a waste dump and a laundry and at least 15 rental farm cottages, some of which are even empty; (Princess) Fiona decided that she wanted mine.  Possibly, it’s in part due to the fact that I’ve repainted it, re-carpeted it and turned a run-down old cottage into a home; one she liked, a lot.

When I got the letter I cried.  Then I rang Dolly Fish who is always there for me, as a single parent she can’t afford to go out.  She calmed me down.  Ok, maybe she didn’t actually make me laugh, not that I’m complaining or anything, but she’s studying comedy at University now and they haven’t got to the “being funny” module yet, so it’s not allowed.  They grade them at Comedy Uni like this;

Absolutely Hilarious – (First).  Careers include senior management in either the NHS or Local Government and designing high-end fashion.

GSOH – (roughly equates to a 2:1).  Career options include; Big Brother contestant, WWE wrestler or Dentist.

Lol –  (2:2) Careers include receptionist at a doctor’s surgery, car parking attendant and Jehovah Witness.

Fun! – (Third). Career: Page 3 girl or Christian rock band.

Jim Davidson – (Fail).  Graveyard attendant.

The next nightmare on the moving scene was breaking it to the kids.  I approached it positively.  I explained about (Princess) Fiona and told them that it was nice for her (to steal our home) and we should feel happy when good things happen (even to bad people), cos then it means good things might also happen in our lives.  Then I asked them where they wanted to live.  We have three choices Witney to the West of us, Eynsham to the East or stay in this village and move three doors down, to one of the houses that wasn’t good enough for (Princess) Fiona.  Their answers were as follows:

Sami: “Eynsham”

Amba: “Witney”

Asha: “This village”

Dumb question or what?

(Princess) Fiona

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She stood in front of me, her loud voice threatening me.  I focused on her bright pink lipstick, contrasted against her unnaturally dark hair.  I have to say she was quite attractive, very slim, but incredibly muscular – I knew these weren’t empty threats.  She had a gang of various sizes behind her, but she was their alpha.  They followed her every move.

I was totally new to all this.  An innocent out a Monday morning, caught in the crossfire of abuse.  I’ve always wondered where aggressive behaviour was learnt.  Now I know, first hand.  The leader of the pack was about my age.  Here she was, in broad daylight, shouting and threatening like some crazed maniac.  Thank god my kids weren’t with me at the time, (two in school and one in nursery).  I hoped that she’d leave me alone and just move along to someone else, but she stayed right opposite me, for what seemed like an eternity.  Eventually she turned her threatening glance to others in the crowd.

Now, in any normal confrontation, I’m the first one to speak up for justice and accidently get my partner into a fight.  But as I’m single, I have to be a bit more careful.  This time, I just kept quiet.  (I’ll repeat that for those of you who know me well),  I said:

I just kept quiet.

I watched her expertly move round the crowd, attacking with either her glare or her voice – talk about working it.  I just avoided eye contact, hoping she wouldn’t single me out.   Happily, she showed-off how to knee someone in the face – as if that were normal.  Lucky for us, she didn’t pick out a volunteer.  Then she shouted at us to follow her lead.  Most of the people there, like me, hesitated.  It’s just not something I feel a great desire to practise, let alone use – well, except perhaps on her.

“Do it NOW” She screeched.

“Pretend you’re grabbing a head, pulling it down and kneeing someone really hard in the face.” We did it first towards one knee, then on the other, then alternating sides. I found a surprisingly natural rhythm ensued, once I got started.  I have say, that the energy in the room seemed to increase noticeably during those sets.

Finally she left, shouting at us over her shoulder,  “See you all same time, next week”.  I breathed a sigh of relief and sat down, (slumped to the floor hyperventilating).   My first “Legs, Bums and Tums” class was over.

“Wow”, I panted from the floor,  “that was amazing” I lied.  Then I chatted to some mummy who was doing cooling down stretches, hopefully disguising my inability to get up.  Eventually, I staggered back to the car at half my normal sedentary speed – due to my wobbly legs.  In the Leisure Centre car park, I passed the Yummies from the class, eagerly unlocking their bikes.

“Maybe I’ll bring my bike next week”, I thought to myself.

I drove home, crawled up the stairs, and found myself back in bed by eleven am.

Result.

Legs, Bums and Beds


Oh my bed I really love you,

Exercise I hate.

But now I’m fat – my bed is empty.

The choices that we make.

I run, I walk and cycle too,

True it can be quite fun.

But I’d rather have a bar of chocolate,

And just sit on my bum.

Legs bums and tums, I promise weakly,

For fitness and for pace.

But if she screeches one more time,

I’ll knee her in the face.