Bored

I am finally admitting to it; I’m bored. I know I should be having the time of my life exploring my new environment and indeed I have found Tescos very diverting, but there is only so much excitement I can muster over being able to buy Branston Pickle and chocolate Hobnobs for the first time in four years and I think the novelty is already wearing thin. Despite my dubious title of ‘Housewife’ I do not actually feel any marital obligation to these four walls, I never promised to dust, polish and vacuum before any kind of congregation, and as my Dutch friend pointed out, is this really why I spent four years at uni getting a degree? I had high hopes for the school committee meeting yesterday but to be honest it was a slight let-down. It seems there is already a bit of a clique in place of people who helped in previous years and all I am required to do is ‘raise awareness and encourage other parents to contribute stuff to the decorations, food and activities.’ Yawn. I needn’t have even taken my clip-board.

So funnily enough I added another few quid to the phone bill afterwards with a long call to Rose. And she’s bored too. To her credit she is at least taking some of her energy out on the garden, to the point where she has very few trees left and shrubs pruned to within an inch of their lives. But like me she is also finding herself on the sofa more often than not with an episode of Friends, a coffee and a packet of something high-fat, high-carb and smothered in chocolate. Oh dear. She even admitted agreeing to an outing that I know she would never normally have considered in her right mind, which had me reaching for the wet kipper. Although I’m not sure which one of us to slap first, I am hardly in a position to criticise. I just agreed to stay in to receive the broadband internet installers tomorrow, any time between 9h30 and 15h30. That’s pretty sad, unless I am going to use my 5 hour confinement to sparkle the house up, do all the ironing, trim the hedges and lawn and generally make Anthea proud. I seriously doubt it. If Anthea turns up she’ll just have to park it on the crumb-covered sofa, help herself to a Hobnob straight from the cellophane and keep quiet during Ally McBeal.

Pickle is also bored. It’s his new favourite phrase and he uses it several times a day, especially at bedtime. At which point I say, ‘Good! You shouldn’t have a problem going to sleep then!’ But I happen to know he’s just doing that parrot thing that children do and repeating something he’s heard someone else say – I overheard him playing with Nemo’s friend Dory the fish on the Nintendo the other day. It’s one of those pointless yet strangely kid-enthralling games where you have to baby-sit the character and come up with stuff for it to do. Guess what Dory’s favourite phrase is when she’s not getting enough stimulation? ‘I’m bored.’ Unfortunately Pickle now substitutes it for ‘I’m hungry’, ‘I’m thirsty’ or ‘I’m tired’ as well so I have to guess what he really means. Maybe he knows I’m bored and he’s trying to stimulate me?! Spooky.

By the way, if you want proof at how bored and boring I am, in case this ramble hasn’t been enough, speak to my sister. The last conversation we had ended up discussing the finer points of our respective new vacuum cleaners. True, it was interesting to discover we have independently selected the same model of Dyson despite living thousands of miles apart, but I never foresaw us both getting excited over how the ‘click’ it makes when you’re extending the tool arm sounds like you’re cocking a rifle. Having said that I think the idea of taking a gun to the housework is pretty appealing whatever mood I’m in. Bam! Bam! Bam! Goodbye washing up, so long dusting, ‘asta la vista ironing.