Want to know why I haven't posted in so long? because I am SO technologically disabled that I couldn't find my blog. DOH!
Anyway...how ARE you?
Life has changed beyond recognition for me. Steve stepped out of the Army after 33 years and is now extraordinarily happy as the CEO of a charity which lifts landmines and campaigns for the rights of those affected by armed violence. Proud of him? Oh yeah!
And... we FINALLY own our own house. Palatial it aint - but it's comfortable, modern, it over-looks woodland (you know me by now, trees are necessary to my happiness!) - and it has the wonderful advantage of being in civilian territory which brings with it the anonimity I so craved when living on Army patches.
Now I've found you again I'll be back to post some more!
Showing posts with label Army. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Army. Show all posts
How did that happen?
What I want to know is how I got from there..... to here.
Someone has just sent me a staggeringly fancy invitation, bearing a crest, raised gold ink et al - addressed to Colonel & Mrs. SP XXXXX. Now I don't even have a name I am just the Mrs. part of SP. I want to write back to this person, pointing out that I exist in my own right and that my dad was a Printer and could have made that invitation - oh, and the 'SP' bounced around the bedroom in his Tigger pants last night - but that is not what they want to know. They want to know if Steve & I will truss ourselves up like chickens and look gracious for a couple of hours at their banquet.
I used to wet myself with excitement when these invitations turned up and in my head I'd do a 'Sally Field' - 'ME, you REALLY like me?' but now I realise it has nothing at all to do with me, and everything to do with Steve turning up wearing Mess kit &; spurs to decorate their 'do'. I am the '&; Mrs.' who has to go along and entertain some boring fart whose wife 'insists you come for dinner, and DO ask Steve to wear decorations'.
One day we are going to be found out. They'll figure out that Steve was born on a run down council estate and that I am partial to a fag and rather too much wine than is good for me.
Someone has just sent me a staggeringly fancy invitation, bearing a crest, raised gold ink et al - addressed to Colonel & Mrs. SP XXXXX. Now I don't even have a name I am just the Mrs. part of SP. I want to write back to this person, pointing out that I exist in my own right and that my dad was a Printer and could have made that invitation - oh, and the 'SP' bounced around the bedroom in his Tigger pants last night - but that is not what they want to know. They want to know if Steve & I will truss ourselves up like chickens and look gracious for a couple of hours at their banquet.
I used to wet myself with excitement when these invitations turned up and in my head I'd do a 'Sally Field' - 'ME, you REALLY like me?' but now I realise it has nothing at all to do with me, and everything to do with Steve turning up wearing Mess kit &; spurs to decorate their 'do'. I am the '&; Mrs.' who has to go along and entertain some boring fart whose wife 'insists you come for dinner, and DO ask Steve to wear decorations'.
One day we are going to be found out. They'll figure out that Steve was born on a run down council estate and that I am partial to a fag and rather too much wine than is good for me.
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