Two dozen of my favourite things... not

What can one do with two dozen of eggs, close to their sell-by date? Husband couldn't help himself whilst browsing the "offers" shelf... apparently they were talking to him, winking at him very seductively indeed... I do sometimes wonder if his brain's scrambled...

Considering we eat, oh, I don't know, two eggs each a week, I make it a six-week supply... Only they won't last that long, not without giving us the squirts (or worse!) in the process.

Max says I could make home made pasta. The hell I could, like I have nothing better to do. Tried that once and never again. The end result looked like tapeworm and was just as slimey (I can only imagine them tapeworms are slimey, never had the pleasure of meeting one...)

It's quiche today, quiche tomorrow, I guess.

Oh, yes, I've solved the "chicken or egg" question (ok, ok, I stole that one off somewhere else but never you mind)... The chicken and an egg are laying in bed together, the chicken all happy, the egg annoyed. The egg turns to the chicken and says "Well, I guess we solved THAT riddle."
Funny it ain't but puts it to bed, doesn't it?

Wanna stroke my ferret!

We've stopped buying the weekly TV guide - a grand saving of 47 pence per week (£24.44 a year)!

Instead, Max collects a weekly "Homes & something" freebie from the estate agents round the corner, which has got TV pages at the back...

So, what I'm being deprived of is a weekly dose of "My ferret helped me through sex change" and similar stories that regularly appear in what used to be "our" TV rag. Balmy treatment for the tired mind, after a hard day's work...

What I get in return is pages and pages of properties for sale I'll never be able to afford... Not so balmy for the tired mind...

Might have to resort to shoplifting next. It's either that, or I get my ferret back..

It’s only a Fiverr

Another day in front of my best friend, Herr Laptop...

Do you want to know how to wriggle out of paying a parking fine? My editor thinks you do so I'm writing away... The deadline's tomorrow, still another 1,500 words to go... Money's good, I know the subject well (ok, so I'm sad) but the creative juices are not flowing...

So I found this site to amuse myself with, in the spirit of all things thrifty... just google Fiverr and you can forget about work for the rest of the day...

On Fiverr people advertise their services to do all things imaginable for only (you've guessed it) a fiver... they can be your friend of Facebook (but only for two weeks), break up with your partner (via a medium of your choice), or make an uncomfortable phone call on your behalf (this one could come useful if I carry on like that - someone to ring my editor to explain why I've missed the deadline...)

Or, check these out:

• I'll talk with you about Harry Potter for an hour (saddo...)
• I'll say your name in my everyday prayer (now, how do I know they've kept to their side of the deal?)
• I'll be your invisible friend for a week (as in: You can talk to me all you want. Although I may not answer, you can be confident that I'm there.)
  

And, at last, a voice of reason: I'll be very happy to accept your money and do absolutely nothing in return.

Did I mention that out of every $5 you pay, $1 goes to the brain behind Fiverr? Nice little gig, if one can get it. Please nod your head, I won't charge for that.

But I had to try it out, so I've settled for "a ball of spiritual energy"... Hang on, just arrived, got to get back to work...

Got your own hips?

Age is no laughing matter. Since I reached the grand old age of 20 (ok, it was a few years ago), the aches and pains have intensified and it's time I did something about it. So I signed up for pilates. To strengthen those core muscles, as they say. Including the pelvic floor so I don't pee myself when I'm really old.

Off I went to the first class, only to do a double take in the doorway. I was by far the only spring chicken there. Let me just say the teacher's first question was: "Ladies, I have to ask, have you all got your own hips?". You're kidding, I thought, but she winked at me so that's ok. I know I have a wrinkle or two but it's really not that bad... not yet anyway...

But why am I writing about this? Simple: they're using these squashy things called "blocks" while working on their pelvis (pelvises? pelvisis? oh, bugger off). You sort of put this thing between your knees and squeeeze! I'm saying "they", because I'm using a folded towel instead. Max wouldn't let me spend £8 on the proper stuff. I know it's only a bit of foam but why, oh why, do I have to be the odd one out in all respects??

Three a penny

Is Max a rare specimen or are there other blokes like him out there? It's been bugging me for a while...

Let me see... I suppose there's Tim, Max's brother. Came for dinner the other day, his bike helmet under one armpit, a bottle of rose under the other. I'm very partial to the pink stuff (you name it and if it's pink, I've probably drunk it) but it must be chilled and it must be good. None of that Zinfandel rubbish. Wiping Tim's sweat off it on the way to the fridge, I eyed the dodgy label suspiciously... But, to my surprise, it was actually rather nice. Tim, very chuffed with himself, said he got it at his local offie, for the grand price of £2.99. Can you even get a bottle for less than three quid?? Apparently, Tim can.

Or Dan, Max's best friend. Loaded but always used to smoke MY cigarettes. Cured that, though, when I proffered him a rollie once (bought if off the local bum especially for the occasion). Spitting and sputtering, Dan popped out to get a packet of Marlboro Lights quicker than I could say "Gotcha!" Never pinched my fags again.

Finally, take George, a business bod and an IT whiz-kid with IQ off the Mensa scale (so, again, not short of a few pennies...) George has canned soup for dinner three times a week, of the 39p per can variety. Out of choice. He's got a wife. Wife doesn't work. Wife can cook.

I could go on - they are three a penny all around me. Rather comforting, that is.

Half a laugh

Max has decided to start halving dishwasher tablets. To help the environment, naturally, not the household budget. I must say I was left speechless for once, when he announced this new measure of near-austerity living but the result was just as good as when one used the whole tablet. How can I argue with that?

Although it filled me with dread, because what's next?

The amount of toilet paper he uses is suspiciously economical already - I suspect he takes half a sheet at a time, then folds it in half, and halves again. He's not started monitoring my "usage" as yet but who knows? I suppose there's always yesterday's papers. Or cabbage leaves...

Half a condom? That would be a laugh...

How about I suggest half a bottle of wine tonight? I normally manage only a glass before he glugs the rest. I'm gonna try that one, just for a laugh...

Kitty, kitty, where are you, kitty, kitty...

According to the BBC one needs £15,000 to keep a cat alive over the course of its lifetime. You know, food, vet's bills, the cattery. We've got three moggies... Max has done a quick calculation... Oh, dear...

Fortunately most days he prefers cats to people so I'm not too worried, but there are savings to be made. Let me see...

We're ok on the cattery front - so far, we haven't had to use one. When we're not there to pander to their every whim, Grandad comes in twice a day to scoop the poop, top up the food, and lock them in for the night. Otherwise, they pretty much look after themselves. Well, two of them do. The youngest refuses to use the catflap and, the stubborn little thing he is, just sits by the back door until someone lets him in or out. Max reckons the kitten is stupid and will never learn. We do try to teach him, pushing him through the flap back and forth, but to no avail: the little bugger doesn't want to know. So, next time we're on hols, this one will probably have to end up in a cattery.

Not sure we can do anything about vet's bills. What's worse, we visit the vet's virtually once a week because all the moggies have something wrong with them: skin condition, gum disease, permanent case of the grumps. Never anything too serious but it does add up. I reckon maybe a small car by now? Max says he might try to ask for a three-in-one discount if we take all three of them together next time.

Foodwise - that's a difficult one. The moggies are fussy eaters and we never know what they'll fancy for dinner. Once I opened three different tins before they deigned to eat the contents (of the third one, that is, the first two were unanimously rejected with annoyed flicks of their tails). The contents happened to be cod in gravy so I sent Max out to stock up. The following day, very pleased with myself, I put the cod on the menu again. The leader of the pack had a quick sniff, no more, and puked all over the offering. All three requested duck that day...

Hang on, yes, at least we don't have to buy them booze and drugs! Catnip does the job most days...

The everyday beauty of being owned by a cat... HMCCAP3ZZEMV