When Two Worlds Collide

Picture the scene.  A small English town in the depths of Hertfordshire, bathed in warm sunshine.  The picturesque High Street playing host to it`s regular busy Saturday afternoon market being enjoyed by locals and out-of-towners alike.  The glorious sunrays determining that everyone has a skip in their step and a smile on their lips. People browsing in the bustling market place as they choose idly from the array of colourful stalls.  Icecream vans successfully plying their trade whilst queues form for their whipped delicacies. Babies bask lazily in pushchairs with their summer bonnets of many colours strategically placed on their heads.

Tucked away from the main thoroughfare, behind the market, people can enjoy all kinds of gourmet fayre and alfresco eateries.  My daughter suggested a place she had been to once before with her husband.  We headed towards it and were relieved to see one empty table amongst the occupied tables full of customers enjoying palitable delights.

 "Well, this is rather pleasant" I remarked to my daughter as she positioned the pushchair carrying my granddaughter alongside us, facing the table.

 Glancing around I was suitably impressed at the food I could see on the plates on nearby tables, and my tummy rumbled telling me it too was impressed.  The service was good and within minutes we had given our order to the friendly waitress.  The tables were set in a traditional fashion outside the cafe but I noticed their were some benches positioned outside the grouping of the tables where people who were not patrons of the cafe could sit and perhaps eat their own food.  Gradually the benches filled with various people.  Some had salads, obviously bought from supermarkets who were happily enjoying their choice of lunch.  Couples sat together chatting; children laughed, skipped and dropped their icecreams.

Eden sat in her pushchair contentedly crunching the skips Jemma gave her.  She also loved the grated cheese put before her washed down with a generous portion of her bottled water.  It was as I looked around to see if I could spot our food being carried out by our waitress that I first saw them - The Great British Public.

Both he and she were huge! - Squashed onto a bench which visibly bowed under their weight.  He wore a grubby red tshirt, hem rolled up exposing his ample stomach.  His grey jogging bottoms sat underneath his bulging belly.  His dirty grey hair was scrapped back off his crimson face as he inhaled deeply on a roll up.  He had an air of contented idleness and filth.  His partner wore her frizzy long white/grey hair in a centre parting.  Her grey complexion complimented the stained grey tshirt she wore.  The navy blue leggings that stuck to her lumpy legs had been stretched to enormous proportions making them almost transparent.  She also dragged heavily on a rolled up cigarette. Daughter number one, aged about twenty years of age sat on an adjoining wall talking loudly to her parents while daughter number two, a girl of about ten years of age,  stood nearby in her over-sized polyester flowery dress.  Both had their hair pulled into untidy ponytails, large wispy strands blowing wildly in the breeze.

Each member of the family spoke as if they addressing a large crowd.  No need for megaphones; their voices boomed around the seated diners.  Those unfortunate enough to be closest to them appeared anxious and eager to finish their food. 

The area was thinning with a steady stream of diners leaving unfinished meals as their outdoor dining was disrupted by the family from hell. 

Then the ultimate social insult; a massive burp from Mr Slob. The deep-bellied sound resonated for miles.  It was impossible not to look round with a look of disdain on our faces. Two middle-aged blonde, bejewelled ladies sitting closeby looked horrified and shifted uneasily in their seats.   Jemma begged me to say nothing. It was an effort.

Stunned silence resumed until daughter number one let rip with a string of expletives so loud and aggressive, we very nearly took cover underneath the metal tables.  No, it was okay, she was only shouting at someone 100 yards away - something about getting some "f*****g crisps"!

I looked over at the cafe to see if any staff were coming outside to maybe have a word with the undesirables; no, they were no doubt taking refuge in the kitchens at the rear of the building.

My Rose Arch

It`s so tiring being a perfectionist! 

Today I treated myself to a decorative rose arch (for ornamental purposes only) for my garden.  It`s something I have always wanted and today I gave way to temptation when I saw one in a shop in town, for what I perceived to be, a reasonable price.  Before I realised, I had bought it and was happily walking back to my car with my new purchase tucked under my arm.  The dimensions displayed on the box told me it stood 2m high which by my reckoning meant it was of substantial proportions and not a squatty little structure I had seen in other stores.  I was delighted and eagerly looking forward to seeing it in my compact garden.

But life really isn`t that simple, is it?  I had refused to acknowledge one or two important factors: 

 1.  My garden, well stocked and beautiful as it undoubtedly is, is not of mammoth proportions.  Optimistically, I would say it is fifty feet long and forty feet wide, give or take a few inches.

2.  I am absolutely hopeless at constructing anything requiring the tiniest amount of brainpower.  Even with an "idiots` guide to the simplest task", I fail miserably.  My brain just does not function that way!

So, here I was, sat in my den, box at my feet, enthusiasm in my heart.  My eleven year old son was going to aid me in the erection of my latest ornamental decoration. I lectured my son on the importance of staying cool, calm and collected.  It simply wouldn`t do to get hot tempered, impatient and frustrated if things did not go according to plan throughout the construction process. We could do this, and would do it together. How difficult could it be?


A vague, sketchy directions note slipped out along with  ten thousand metal tubes after Cain eagerly opened the box.  My heart sank immediately. That many tubes?
 Right! Off we go! 
The actual screwing together of the tubes was relatively simple once we had grouped them according to size. With the aid of my pink floral screwdriver, it wasn`t long before we had two ladder-type pieces of metal lying on the carpet.  I marvelled at our ingenuity. We decided that although we would start the construction in the den we would, at some point, have to move outside once the structure had reached a certain size.  A two metre high ornament in the den not only would have looked ridiculous but would also make it impossible to move in the room.  Vacuuming would also be a nightmare!


By the time we had got out into the garden, Cain and I were working efficiently.  He put the tubes together and I lined up the holes, inserted the screws and secured them with the help of my trusty screwdriver.  All was well, although in secret, I began to worry a little about the size of our new garden feature.  Where was I going to put it?  Despite one or two hiccups, we finally managed to secure the final screw into the frame.  The top of the arch actually fitted together after a bit of a struggle, and I didn`t swear once (audibly).  After a quick cool drink I was ready to start the task of finding a home for it.


Lifting the arch into its standing position posed several problems however; the first being where to position it.  As my washing line, on the left, stretches from the back of the house leading to the shed at the top end of the garden, my two metre garden ornamentation could not go on that side.  Opposite the washing line, against the right hand side wall, mature and fast-growing trees, attrative in their own right, have now gobbled up a large section of that side of the garden, as they spread across away from the fence, so that was no good either.  I stood for several moments in the middle of the garden gripping the structure tightly as the wind whipped around us threathening to send my arch skyward.  Cain, now familiar with my frequent indecisions in everday life, had long abandoned me and was now playing happily on his X Box in the lounge. 
I then spent the next half hour shuffling to and from various points in my garden, dragging the reluctant structure, to see if I could find a suitable setting for it to enhance my pretty little patch of grass.  Once or twice I thought I had found the ideal spot and tried to force the metal spokes into the hard ground.  As we have had very little rain, this proved impossible and I only succeeded in bending the fragile prongs as I struggled to penetrate the dry, stony, parched soil.  I was beginning to sweat more than a marathon runner at the twenty mile stage and cursed my idiocy. 
With every attempt at forcing the structure into the ground and the constant motion caused by my lack of planning and decision making, the arch was weakening and twisting dramatically.  Several of the screws had been dislodged and the bottom two tubes had twisted so badly, the metal was splitting.  A decision had to be made and I had to make it now!  So I removed the bottom, damaged prong on each side of the arch, shortening it by eight inches.  Success!  It was significantly lighter and easier to manoeuvr. 
Eventually, I settled for a spot central to the garden where my magnificent arch could be seen from all angles. Standing just in front of a rhodedendrum bush, it looked magnificent, almost regal.  Talking of angles - they too were a nightmare! It took forever to set the arch so that it didnt look bowed.   Using the hose to soften the earth, the struts finally bedded down into the sodden soil and at last my efforts were rewarded.  My garden rose arch stood tall and proud, albeit with a few missing screws, slightly wonky left side and two extremely distorted lower poles.

Olly`s Back!

After last night`s shenanighans, I was somewhat surprised to hear Olly scratching around at the back of the fridge at 7.15am.  I thought he was nocturnal!  What the hell was he doing still awake at sunrise? 

Now, I am not a morning person, meaning I am unable to do the most simple of tasks until I have had my first cup of tea and one cigarette.  I dont even attempt to speak, listen or engage brain - it`s just not possible. So you can image my relief and excitement at the sound of the now familiar scuttling noise coming from the corner where my fridge stands.  Quickly I grabbed the cardboard tube, put aside the night before, and gingerly replaced it on the floor.  I called my son to get the hamster milk drops from the playroom.  I needed to remain calm if Plan B was going to work.  No sudden movements!  My son and I stood to attention; eyes trained on the gap beside the fridge where Olly had appeared the previous night.  I was so nervous.

The milk drops certainly did the trick as it was only a matter of minutes before little dusty Olly surfaced from the dark depths of his hiding place.  Cain and I stood stock still as Olly moved as stealthily as a lion stalking his prey.  His tiny body moved in slow motion, yet his whiskers quivered frantically as the smell of his favourite treats reached his twitching nose.  We held our breaths.  "Go on, go on, go on!" the voice in my head screamed; but not a sound was heard.  "Get in, get in, get in!" - I couldn`t bear it!

At last he reached the mouth of the tube, his hunger and inquisitiveness steering him inside.  Half way in and it was action stations.  Now! I bent down quicker than I thought was possible, tapped his protuding bottom to ensure all of him was in and scooped the tube skyward.  "Got him!" Cain and I yelled in unison.  Running through the kitchen, into the lounge and finally the playroom, I was determined to release our roaming hamster into his deluxe cage with en-suite toilet facilities.

He seemed unphased by his recapture and scurried off to re-familiarise himself with his surroundings.  He scampered up the tube straight into his toilet and head-butted the roof.  Aha! so that`s how he did it!  Once he had gone downstairs for a well-earned drink, I made sure to give the roof to his en-suite an extra hard screw.  No more houdini tricks for Olly!

Olly`s Gone!

It was with stunned silence that my son and I realised the terrible truth - Olly the hamster had escaped!  The evidence was blindingly obvious.  The roof of his toilet suite was laying on the carpet; sawdust exposed for us to see.  I looked in horror, firstly at the cage then at the lid/roof lying like a discarded toy on the carpet nearby. Then peered again at the lid and back to the cage.  It was no good.  Olly was not going to suddenly appear where he belonged in his super-duper all singing, all dancing green hamster cage.

Reality slapped harder when I remembered cleaning the cage the night before.  Damn, I must have forgotten to screw the roof on properly.  My son stood by the side of me, amidst his many toys, books and lego sets in the playroom.  We were ready to leave.  We couldnt spend hours searching for Olly.  Cain had to go to school and I had to go to work.  Reluctantly, we closed the playroom door behind us and left the house - Olly on the loose.

The day stretched ahead of us and I comforted my son by reminding him that Olly was nocturnal and would appear later when the house was quiet and the sun had gone down.  Despite the reassurances voiced to Cain, I spent many moments throughout the day worrying about our missing hamster.  The main thing niggling me was the fact that Olly`s cage sits on a desk in the playroom and I was concerned that he may have injured himself or infact died in his desire for ultimate freedom.  Would he, could he have survived the fall?

On my return home from work, I hoped against hope that Olly would be sat in the middle of the room waiting for me to pick him up and place him back in his cage.  But - Oh No! Our furry little escapee was nowhere to be seen. 

 Extreme situations call for drastic measures so I have devised not one, but two h-itech traps to fox and hopefully encapture our pet rodent.  The first one is a small plastic box with a flap which is specifically designed to ferry hammy around when his cage is being cleaned out.  I have very cleverly made it look more appealing to him by putting in some bedding and a food bowl full of his yummy hamster mix.  I am hoping that he will smell the food and in a moment of complete abandonment, sneak into the container, whereupon I will leap upon the box and snap shut the flap. Caught!                              

Trevor our cat!

Run Olly Run!

If that fails I have a large cardboard tube (kodak use to send my prints), open at one end which I have placed on the floor.  I have strategically planted one of his favourite hammy treats,  inside it .  I`m thinking;  Olly will sniff the fruitstick from his hiding place and be so overwhelmed and eager to savour it that he will forget he is on the run and attempt to get it.  As soon as he enters the tube in search of his goodies, I shall spring forward, grab the tube (making sure to hold it the right way up), and empty contents into currently uninhabited hamster cage. Caught! Hook, line and fruity treat!

Fractured Heart

Once again the fragile fabric that helps adhere our relationship together -

 Mother and Daughter

- has been stretched almost irrevocably;

the frail framework splintered,

sending shards shooting into my aching heart.

A fractured heart that beats only for my babies and their babies.

I trod on a thousand eggshells

and tragically cracked one too many;

now, once again, I feel the wrath of my tortured first born.

So many times this has happened;

each time I pray it will be the last.

Hoping for forgiveness for something only she knows;

unable to stop or understand her need to hurt me.

Beautiful memories of proudly loving my eldest;

fending off her bullies, changing schools;

worshipping the ground on which she danced and skipped;

slowly nullified and blurred by a million tears.

Teenage years often painful, but how we laughed!

then cried for different reasons.

Accusations made, excruciating pain beyond belief 

for she hated me.

Never being right - Always being wrong,

yet feeling her misery

none-the-less.

I searched for months unaware that it was she

 who had instigated and orchestrated our separation;

amid hurtful, hostile lies.

Fifteen years on I still search for her;

the child I cherished more than life itself.

For she was my life

and now she wants me withdrawn from hers. 

Our Heritage!

Is anyone else sick and tired of the stereotypical image which we as Brits are portrayed?  It does not seem to matter which international event; be it sport, historical, tourism or media, we are always portrayed and characterized in the same way.

• Bald or sporting a mohican hairstyle; usually with George flag incorporated in design
• Pasty-faced
• Tshirts displaying preference to particular football team
• Acned
• Long flowery shorts that clash dramatically with chosen tshirt
• Beer-bellied
• Sweaty and sweary
• Over-hairy armpits

And the men are even worse!

Commitmentphobic

Women who are unfortunate enough to be married to men who are being destructive within the marriage often resort to a childlike dependency on their partner.  Perhaps they act this way because subconsiously they believe it is easier to relinguish all adult responsibility therefore making it impossible to walk away from the relationship? 

Marriage does not automatically tie a man down or make a commitmentphobic settle comfortably.  Marriage can infact have the reverse effect making a man or indeed, a woman, feel trapped, closed in, restrained.  Common ways in which a commitmentphobic may behave:

• Pretends and believes he/she is not in a committed relationship
• Refuses partner access to various areas in his life
• Refuses to discuss relationship with partner
• Refuses to discuss emotions with partner

 Although commitmentphobics may genuinely love their partner, their over-whelming fear of commitment constantly forms an emotional barrier within the relationship.  The commitmentphobe may  get angry with their partner, subconsciously and irrationally blaming them for putting them in a situation of emotional conflict. 

When trying to convince themselves of their status, infidelity may be used as affirming to themselves, the reality of a "real relationship".  Infidelity may be used to prove to themselves that the relationship doesn`t mean anything to them and they are not infact, trapped.

When people think differently, the ability to judge is hampered by using the wrong criteria.  We assume that others will react and respond in the same way we do, when in reality the opposite is often more likely.  Just because we are human beings does not mean we will all interpret words and behaviours in the same way.  We may assume that he has the same goals and levels of emotional maturity and integrity as us; but how can he?  It doesn`t mean that he doesn`t want us; he just cant handle what we want. 

A commitmentphobic responds more to fantasy than to reality.

Unrequited Love

Diary of Heartbreak


Monday        4.00pm

Phoned him at work - he was off-hand and said he was busy.
Automatic Thought: - despair, frustration

4.45pm

Phoned him again - same response.  Tried gently persuading him to come round for coffee.  Not interested.  Bluntly refused.  He told me I shouldn`t annoy him by phoning him at work twice.  I tried to explain that the second call was to make amends for the first call (and hoping he was in a better mood) - didn`t work! 

Left feeling hurt, unwanted, a nuisance and frustrated.  Also angry but ultimately defeated!

Course of Action:-   Do not phone again!  Get on with life!

Tuesday     10.05am

He phoned me.  Feeling anxious after speaking to him.  Phone call went well enough although I detected underlying tension.  This made me feel uneasy for the duration of the call.  He said he wants to talk to me which is making me even more nervous.  From past experience I know he will say we have to stop seeing each other.

Have agreed to see him at 8.30pm.  Dreading it! He is majorly stressed at the moment so I don`t know what`s coming - but I don`t know how to avoid it.  Feeling hopeless and extremely emotional.

Automatic Thought:- desperation, nervous apprehension

Secondary Reasoning:-  Impossible as I feel so churned up emotionally.  Frightening realisation that I have to somehow get through the day.  Keep occupied.  Go and visit a friend. 

It`s difficult because I wanted to do painting today but if I do I won`t get rid of this awful feeling of dread about tonight.

He`s spoilt my day - AGAIN!

Thursday        10.30am

Waiting for him to call.  Beginning to feel uneasy and fretful but fighting it by occupying myself around the house, keeping busy.  Mentally going over the conversation I might have with him when he does phone.  Trying to ignore the knot in my stomach that appears to be increasing with every tick of the clock and each car I hear passing my house.  Trying to reason with myself that perhaps he is busy at work; ignoring the voice in my head telling me/reminding me that he wants out of this relationship we have been in for three whole years.  Telling myself that even if he does ring it would be out of his feeling of duty or possibly guilt and not because he really wants to speak to me.  I guess that`s what really stings, if I am totally honest - the fact that I desperately want him to phone because he wants to - not because he feels pressured into doing so.

Maybe I should take a step back and give him space - but how can I do that when he fills every space in my life?

I must remember how annoyed he gets when I have phoned him at work recently.  A call from me will only serve to cause me more stress and hurt by his behaviour towards me. 

I MUST NOT PHONE.

Automatic Thought:-  Feeling sad, alone, anxious and frustrated

Saturday    9.30am

When I am with friends, performing drama or rehearsing with my band, I feel at ease with myself.  There are no underlying feelings of emotional uneasiness or real unhappiness.  I can be myself totally.  I am not overtly sensitive to other peoples` or even my own emotions.  I operate fully as an adult woman.

When I am with Michael I spend most of the time gaging his mood, trying to second guess him, trying to get inside his head.  I psychologically watch my every move both physically and verbally.  I easily lose control of my emotions if things become uncomfortable and spend the whole time with a feeling of uncontrolled panic deep inside me.  My mind is a confused whirl, a complete mishmash of emotions.  Occasionally I expel my true feelings from my soul in the form of tears and breathlessness.  With each outcry of emotion goes any inner strength and sense of self-worth.  Eventually, I am drained; empty. Broken. 

Moreover, the inner turmoil is still there stagnant and horribly devastating to my soul.


Written at a time of great upset and confusion, all in the name of "love", when I seem to have lost all sense of reasoning. My heart was definitely in conflict with my mind as I searched for a solution for a broken heart, and the power of the written word for me, was astronomically cathartic and necessary. I thank the Lord that I came through it with my heart and mind reasonably intact.

Written by Jsjcreations

Forbidden Love

I can`t help it that my love is on the line for you

Can`t help it that I screw up everytime, it`s true.

I`ve tried so hard to hold onto the reins

tried to ease up but it speeds up once again, it`s true.

Can`t help it that my love is on the line for you.

I can`t help it that my thoughts are filled with you

Can`t help it that I hope you feel the same way too

I realise you cannot be my man

I know I do not figure in your future plans

but I can`t help it that my love is on the line for you.

I can`t help it that I fantasize and dream of you

Can`t help it that my body aches for you, it`s true

Tried to keep within the boundaries agreed

always knowing that your love I mustn`t need

but I can`t help it that my love is on the line for you.

Written at a time of great upset and confusion, all in the name of "love", when I seem to have lost all sense of reasoning.   My heart was definitely in conflict with my mind and the power of the written word for me, was astronomically cathartic and necessary.  I thank the Lord that I came through it with my heart and mind reasonably intact.

Written by Jsjcreations

Gone

Each time she says "I love you", he says "I love you too",

and yet there is no evidence; his actions don`t ring true.

Of late she`s been pathetic and cried a million tears

yearning for some guidance, some hope for future years.

She`s begged him to be honest, to tell her what went on;

top marks for being consistent, but the truth will come along.

They`ve lost all converstion; he uses her for his needs;

money, car and cigarettes, a bed and constant feeds.

*****************************

She pleads with him to understand her heart is bruised and torn

he dodges pain-filled questions, responding with a yawn.

Insisting that they go to bed together not as one

he`s sound asleep in seconds; her lonely night`s begun.

*******************************

Why does she bother caring; worrying what might be

when really all that`s left of them are painful memories?

*******************************

At times they act like strangers; there`s nothing left to say

What happened to affection, did they lose it on the way?

It`s like they talk two languages frustrated with the task

of trying to understand each other; they hide behind a mask.

He laughs at her suggestions, mocks her when she cries

oblivious to her torment, unable to compromise.

*******************************

They used to be so tender, lived in each other`s dream

looked forward to a future living as a team.


Written by: Jsjcreations.

Who Understands You?

Do you ever feel that no-one understands you?  As much as you try to articulate your argument, the words seem insufficient and dont quite come out as you would wish?

Okay, I know I`m in a lull, a depressive void, a stressy mood, whatever you want to call it, but what frustrates me more than anything is the fact that I seem unable to articulate properly or is it just that I do not have the ability or vocabularly to voice the true meaning of what I am trying to say?!  Do I really have to search out a fellow depressive to find someone who can actually understand me?

People say "surround yourself with positivity" - maybe they dont live in the real world.  Have they tried living one single day in my shoes?  Or there is always the very helpful suggestion that "maybe you shouldnt think about what you dont have and focus on what you do have".  Well, yes! -  on a positive day, that is possible.  But when you feel under attack from all angles it is not quite so easy and straight-forward to implement.

I have been accused of many things this week, some of which have emotionally bruised me and some that have left me wondering and indeed worrying just how my family perceive me.  Oh, we have our moments of great joy, love and fun - usually with me being the target of ridicule and mimicry - which I have learnt to take good-humouredly.  This week however, I feel as if my ideas have been misconstrued by my darling daughter and some of the things she said stung like the sting of a vicious bee.  After the initial pain, the feeling of despair deep in my soul is somewhat debilitating.  She didnt understand what I meant! And I dont have the emotional energy to correct it, to argue my point!

Oh, I`ll get over it - I always do!  But do I really?  No-one knows because no-one really understands me!

One of those days

What an utterly miserable day!  It was so miserable, it may well have been a Monday, but it wasnt, it was infact a Thursday.  The day started like any other day really and everything seemed to be ticking along at a reasonably normal pace until my son opened the car door outside his school in readiness to clamber out. 

 Instead of the usual, "Bye Mum, love you", I heard "Mum, where is my lunchbox"?

 I silently cursed to myself but outwardly smiled at my beloved as I didnt want to upset him for the day and said "No worries, I`ll pop back home for it - you go in now and I`ll drop it into the office in a little while for you".

Managing 0 - 60mph in under five seconds, I pointed the car in the direction of home, cursing loudly as the realisation hit me that I would not have time to "put my face on" in the car whilst parked up in the carpark at work, as I was now going to be late after the frantic lunchbox drop-off. 

Work did not improve my mood.  Several stressful incidents irritated me to the point of combustion and it was with a huge sigh of relief when the clock struck three.

I drove the five minute journey to my son`s school, the windows and sunroof open allowing the breeze to cool me down.  The radio was playing chronic sounds, so I drove in silence, a welcome break from the constant chatter and obscenities I endured in my workplace.  Relaxing in my car for a few treasured moments, the sun beating down on my face, slowly I began to unwind.  I parked the car a short walk from the school gates but even-so felt my legs and feet could not manage one more step when I eventually entered the playground.  In a few moments the children drifted out of the school building and I waved, almost energetically, at my son who was standing by his teacher straining to see me amongst the other mothers in the crowded playground.  Once he had reached me we hugged, asked each other how our day had been and walked slowly back to the car.

When you are so tired and fatigued it can take a while for something to register and this was the case as I pointed the fob with the keys attached, at my car.  I looked at it in confusion.  It didnt look right.  Then it struck me.  The back had come off it exposing a tiny spring and nothing else. 

 "Oh No" I thought, frantically trying to make sense of this latest mishap in my life. 
 "I cant open the car!" 
 After explaining the situation to my son, we began to re-trace my steps.  Nothing! 
Once again I entered the playground which by now was somewhat deserted except for the chatty mothers who stood around in groups talking about absolutely nothing of any interest to anyone but themselves and their boring friends.  I spotted the black back to the fob fairly quickly and was even more relieved when my son excitedly found the glinting battery nearby.  We both sighed a massive sigh of relief and once again trundled back to the car.  After placing the battery in the fob and screwing the back into place I pointed the fob in the direction of the car again and ....nothing!

"What now?"
 my anger and heat exposure symptoms were beginning to surface. My hands were sweaty, my fingers unable to grip the fob as I tried to unscrew the back of it.  Thinking that I may need to turn the battery over in order for it to work, it was imperative that I open the fob; eventually the awkward task was done.  It was then blatantly obvious to me that the device actually needed two batteries. Damn!

Deflated and totally exhausted with the searing heat of the afternoon sun, we headed back once again to the playground.  "How stupid can I be?" I silently berated myself.  My flagging son was beginning to show signs of dehydration as we searched once more in the dusty patch where we had found the first battery. 
 Nothing! Nothing but dried grass, pebbles, the odd twig and parched soil. 

After-school football had finished and some of my son`s friends came to join us on our quest for the missing battery.  One of the mothers whom I had known for some time and formed a reasonably friendly relationship with, offered to help search and after a while suggested we go into town where I could buy some more batteries for the damn fob.  With no bag, no purse, no energy and no money, I was reluctant to do so but finally accepted her kind offer of a short-term loan and a lift into town.  As my son`s lips now resembled the surface of the moon, I realised the futility of our search and felt an uncomfortable realisation that I might be abusing my child.

I leapt from the vehicle, stumbled out is probably the correct description, and headed forthwith into the retail store that we all know and recognise as Halfords.  A man stood at the till discussing the life story of his motor car so I headed for the first assistant I could see who wasnt doing anything, which wasnt too difficult.  The young girl seemed only too happy to help and soon had the necessary batteries in her hand.  After paying for them I asked if she would kindly put them into the fob for me as I had shut my glasses in the car, along with everything else I needed at that time.  As she reached for the fob a woman, standing alongside her, who I had not noticed previously, stated in that tone that simulates running ones` fingers down a blackboard "No, she cant do that!"  I looked at her in total disbelief.  "I beg your pardon?" I responded, in a tone that simulates blood boiling.  "Head Office have said we arent to change batteries no more cos of the sulphur in em", she eloquently informed me.  I was ready to smack her, really hard!  I quickly explained the fact that my specs were locked inside my car, making me as blind as a bat and also gave her a brief account of the past hour and a half of my life.  "Nope"!  she wasnt going to shift, "Head Office.........blah blah blah". 
 I coaxed and urged the eastern european assistant to please do what I had asked, and to ignore the irritating "jobsworth" who was still spouting policies at me.
I made sure to thank the young lady for her assistance and refusing to explosively react to the woman`s verbal ranting, left the shop hotter than a burning furnace.

At last, after nearly two hours, we pulled onto the drive, unlocked the front door and headed for the fridge.

To add salt to the wound, a red flag to my bull etc; two days later I received my mobile phone bill and was infuriated to find that I had been billed £9.00 for the two calls I made to Morrisons` (to ask if they sold the batteries for my fob) and to Halfords to ensure they had them in stock! What a cruel world!