My weird 'eyeball eating itself' disease decided to make a reappearance last night which meant I spent another Saturday sitting in eye hospital in Stevenage today. I did what I was told last time which was to go through A&E and get a referral to the eye unit. A&E was a sight for sore eyes this morning, (sorry, couldn't resist), as it had been their Christmas party the night before. They were on go-slow already before the bloke in front of me started kicking off about nothing in particular and I began to worry at 11.40 that I wouldn't get into the eye place before it shut at 12. I did, only to be told that they were full and they wouldn't see me today and I should come back on Monday. I very politely told the receptionist that they really would see me if he could just get a message to them with the name of my problem. Huffing and puffing he reluctantly went round to the doctor and came back with a right cob on saying that 'luckily' I could wait and be seen.
I have managed to wear contact lenses for three days in the last four months and today I was told that I was back to square one and one three different sorts of eyedrops every hour for eternity; well, six more weeks. I think the time may have come to possibly stop my contact lenses by post order as we have racks and racks of the things in our bathroom now. As I am unable to drive in the dark and was not going to get to Norwich in the light my lovely weekend plans went down the toilet.
Whilst all this was going on, Stu and the boys were off Christmas tree shopping. I joked to my Dad that I was quite glad to be in hospital if Stu was having to handle the boys plus Christmas tree plus his first go at getting it standing up straight in the stand. Unfortunately, when I returned home it was still leaning against the front door in its netting. Stu and I have thus far avoided any marital Christmas tree erecting disputes by a wonderful invention I found called 'tree-in-a-box'. It pops out of its box, fully lit and decorated onto a stand in ten seconds flat. The boys began to be a bit miffed that they couldn't actually hang anything on it though so last year I caved into it being tree-in-a-box's last stand.
I admit that I wasn't in the best mood when I returned home this afternoon. Stu had no chance; it was never going to end well. He took charge of tree-lifting and I made myself chief stand-screwer. Within two minutes it was standing straight and stable in the lounge. Happy days.
'The feet are wonky', muttered my foolish husband.
'Who gives a crap; the tree is upright', replied his mutinous wife.
Taking his life in his lands, the poor, unfortunate man began unscrewing the screwed in and up-until-this-point, stable, tree. He received a tirade of verbal abuse for the following ten minutes that he screwed, unscrewed, lifted, replaced, screwed, unscrewed, etc., etc. and yep, you've guessed it, the tree would no longer stand upright, or in fact stand in any way at all. Zak removed Sebi from the room at this point as he thought it was best for him not to be around his parents at this particular time... To cut a long, painful and potentially divorce-inducing story short, Mummy ended up attaching the tree to the ceiling, Daddy legged it to the pub and the Angel Gabriel decided that Christmas was not worth the hassle and tried to top herself by flinging herself from the top of the tree. Ho, ho, fucking, ho.
The kids are happy. The tree is, as of 17.59, still standing. I intend to drink enough champagne that my blurred vision soon becomes normal. Man Utd. surely have some hope of beating BOURNEMOUTH at least, so I would imagine that peace and tranquility Chez Ward will soon be restored. Could just do without the ghost of tree-in-the-box past, gloating quite so much from the attic. ;-)
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