When I was at junior school, I decided I was going to become an actress. I can't remember the exact moment, but I do remember starting to internally narrate my actions.
I had a nightie which I adored, it was knee-length with 3/4 sleeves, a boater neckline and it depicted a scene comprising two rows of telephone booths fading to a vanishing point. Men on one side, women on the other (all identical) there were palm trees too, and everything looked like bright metallic car-paint. The women were wearing tight jeans, denim jacket, giant hoop earrings and stilettos. They were 'me'.
If I was preparing a Marmite and Dairylea sandwich for myself, which was possibly a daily ritual, in my head I'd be building my part up. "Yes Peter, I'm just making some sandwiches for us. What time are you picking me up? 7:30? OK, beep the horn". I'd go upstairs and pretend to put on stilletos and ankle socks, just like on ZZ Top's 'Legs' video.
I don't know who Peter is, but it was always Peter, which happens to be Rob's middle-name.
This internal narration took over everything, even having a bath became an episode of my own personal Truman Show-esque life. I 'spoke' about myself in the third person.
Everyone does this to a certain extent - don't they? Maybe not.
I had a stressful evening last Thursday.
I took all three boys for a haircut and it was a nightmare (I may blog about it once I've recovered). Next, I bought jeans for my 12 year old, the type which look as though they've been designed for someone with severe rickets.
That was also a horrendous experience, not helped by the crude music in the shop which could be described as "a migraine interpreted through the medium of Gabber techno" being blasted from a cheap stereo. I love electronic music, so you can imagine how awful it was if I'm moaning.
To cope with this unpleasant evening (did I mention the torrential rain, and toddler who refuses to have the rain-cover on his pushchair?) I narrated the scenes in real time.
"Now, she's buying some jeans for her son, they're not what she'd choose for him. It's difficult saying no sometimes. He really wants these jeans, and he doesn't get many treats from his mum. She spends half her life living out of a suitcase, so likes to spoil him on the rare occasions they get together".
Don't ask why I "live out of a suitcase" maybe I'm a top Kleeneze rep in my 'other' life or something.
We rushed home in the rain, only pausing to look at The Gruffalo's house. This house is being renovated, it's so creepy because it looks filthy and stuck in a time warp, yet a middle aged woman lives there (it really does look uninhabitable).
The 70's curtains catch my eye, "oh, the things Vix could make with these".
When we got home, I didn't see the mess and disorder. I live in a large house, just as described in this post.
I think it's time to start living my life. Properly.
forward to 3:49 - dream footwear
A fiver to anyone who can listen to this in it's entirety without wanting to slice their ears off
A Gruffalo, why - don't you know?