Welshy's home! Yay! Out visiting friends at the moment. I'm busy feeling like death. Supposed to be joining him and E2 at Wembley tomorrow but Ew do I feel bad!

Two new budgies have arrived! Pretty white and blue hen and green and yellow cock, if the weather ever improves I can put them out to join the others!

Welshy is home tomorrow! Hurrah!
The woman with the expensive horse got back to me! Hurrah!
I'm close to having 700 pounds in my account! Hurrah!

So what have I been up too? Dying mostly. Got a horrible lurgy which is causing all sorts of pain and coughing. Not the kind that disturbs your sleep - yet! but the awkward tickly throat is annoying and its starting to make my ribs ache.

Went out on Wednesday in a team bonding effort. I think it worked. We all had a nice time, nice meals. Demonstrated Strawpedoing which caused much admiration.

Got my hair cut yesterday! For the first time since oooh the London Riots. (Not counting my "do fingers grow back once they get cut off" adventure in Supercuts. 99% convinced not a single hair on my head got trimmed.

Why oh why is it so grotty still? We're clearly living through the last days of humanity as climate change takes over (hate the phrase global warming, so many idiots latching onto it)

Urk. Mopiness again. Partly done from Welshy's news that his father is forcing his mum to sell the house that she owns 90% of. That he's not paid a penny for, for the last 10 years. Seems horribly unfair to me.
I offered the 1k I've managed to scrape together in case it helps in some way, I wish I had the 4k that I once had.
I lost it in what September? October? Had I known that come November I'd have been employed again would I have struggled on a little longer?
Highly unlikely tbh, I was so low down to the end of the overdraft. But maybe I could have given up on Idiotpony sooner and saved the pennies there? But then Idiotpony was giving me my reason for living.
Still. I wish I could do more to help.

Talking of ponies and work, its 6 weeks countdown now until I start looking for a new position. Start of May we'll be going crazy. I don't want to leave, but what can you do? My department is going out for a meal and a drink tomorrow. Should be good.

Spoke to a woman yesterday about her horse (not pony! TBx! Going up in the world!) All sounded very promising, except for the price expected. She was supposed to text me today with the postcode. Hasn't. Maybe if I haven't heard anything tomorrow I should text asking? Don't wanna seem pushy though....

Gonna have to reign in the open hatred of The Brat, Mother is growing weary.. Also, although he is a brat. I'm starting to think he's 27 now and too old for such a nickname!

Well this is the dilemma! Possible new pony (well horse a good 8 inches taller than the last two ponies). Schoolmaster jumper, happy hacker, owner happy to let me mess about and not have to worry about teaching it anyway.

Downside? 50 quid a week...... That's a fair amount really! Even for three days of pony fun!

Comment after a stash of my post was found today, including the letter I needed to authorise my new ISA, the one I hadn't got and the account had been closed.

"Christ will you stop going on about him? Neither of you are perfect but he's a damn sight more perfect than you."

Sad times.

So said goodbye to NewPony on Thursday, now to look for a new beasty.
Went out with the NMM crew last night, good to see everyone and catch up.
Charlton were playing Millwall in the early kickoff which did not go well....... 2-0 in atrocious conditions.
Watched the Rugby and wished I was with Welshy to share in the joy of Wales 6 Nations win.

Tomorrow I have to tidy all the mess the Brat has made in the spare room, then try and fix the mess that he's made on the computer so that the printer works. Of course he's incapable of fixing whatever he broke and can't be expected to tidy up his mess.

"Why do you always have a go at him! You're just as much to blame as he is."

So yeah. Fucking fun Sunday for me lined up!!!

Also. Attempt to keep this up to date more seems to have paid off. I've already posted 44 times. Thats the same that I did in the WHOLE of 2011.
Admittedly this is because Welshy is away and I'm bored but still.. Small sense of achievement here.
Next step? To hit 60 posts.
This will DESTROY the 53 I managed in 2009. The 54 in 2010 and the 55 I managed last year.
Then to chase down the 70 in 2008 and 91 in 2007!

I had a wee chat with my little manager today. We had a office wide meeting yesterday and there was lots of thinly veiled critisism of what we're doing. Confusion about the back dated files we're trying to fix.
Little manager got upset. I stuck my oar in. Ignored though. Decided going in May is the right thing to do.
I'm not staying in a position where this kinda shit goes down and i'm paid at least 4k less than what I deserve for doing this role.
I was umming and ahhing about going right away but Little Manager doesnt want me to go, so I relented and told her I'd stay and help get things sorted.
But I gotta get my shit in order. I can save more now as tomorrow is my last day traipsing to Kent to see Newpony.
So. Setting up a new ISA. I got 357 in my holiday account. 100 in the new ISA. I can put the 20 a month I'm now saving into that ISA. So an extra 80 a month on top of that 80 for the foreseeable future.
Its not the amount I was hoping for, but fuck it. It's a start.

Well here's my dilemma. Had a bit of a google to see what I could find similar to what I do now. Found two jobs that pay at least 5k more than I'm on now.
Then I googled my job and it was advertised in May 2012 as starting salary of 7k more than I'm on now. How do I argue this? How do I say that I want that salary or at least close to it?
How long can I leave returning my contract to see if my wage goes up this week or even next week?

ARRGHHHH!!!!

Always, always setting myself up for crushing blows.Turns out my payrise wasn't my payrise after all, but a one off 100 pound bonus for being "employee of the month"! Hardly feel like I deserve it. I'm fairly useless in that place.
Turns out according to my new contract I'll not be getting a pay rise at all. So. Bang goes the dream of a pony or possibly moving away. Out.
Bang goes the possibility that I'd finally be earning OK money and not have to face E's scorn for being a "bad" saver as she sees it.
I will wait and see for a fortnight, just in case the money does change but I think my decision to move on in May has been made for me and that in itself makes me sad. I like my commute and its lack of people. I like the surprise treats in my office. I like being busy. But if I know my job is valued by other people as paying more than 7k than I am currently getting, it only makes sense to move on.
It would be good to be closer to home, it would be good to have less dicking about getting anywhere, although I do not want to travel with the hated commuters, nor pay more than the current 23 pound a week I do on travel already.
I like the people I work with and I feel I'd be letting them down if I go, but I think I need to. One fortnight. Just enough time to see if its not just an error. I think I'm better off staying till May so then I have a good solid 6 months experience. Must go!

So cold today! Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!

Back from my hols! Loved Budapest, totally reccommend it for a short break, rode on a boat down the Danube, went to a 16th century Turkish bath for the day (inc massage!), learnt what duck with lavender and honey tastes like. Oh and tobacco ice cream and rosepetal sponge cake!
Tried an awful shot called unicum and then we got a sleeper train (not much sleeping down - totally put me off the transiberian railway idea!) to Krakow.
Again loved it, took a bit longer to get used to it than Budapest, Climbed up to Walwal castle and had two lovely meals in the restaurant. Made a harrowing journey to Auschwitz and went to one of the oldest universities where Copernicus himself studied. Found a lovely cocktail bar and had a great time before zooming on to Prague.
Found Prague a bit of a disappointment, lots of lads on "lad's weekends" and bit more expensive than the other places. Saw the Astronomical clock and had a good wander about. Ate pancakes and laughed when the man told Welshy rather firmly "No. No you cannot have bread and butter."
Another nice meal and more cocktails in the Old Square and then to the zoo, not sure I liked the zoo, lots of lovely animals but some doing rather disturbing repeating behaviours.
Lame Ocelot kitten and otter with no working back legs as well.

Home late on Saturday and today just lazing about, I got my payrise. Not as much as I was hoping, but still 6k more than I was on and 3k more than I've ever earnt before. I could get my pony now. Soon, although I'd struggle to then make any savings. Hard decision!

I also appear to be getting new birds! Two budgies to live in my aviary and possibly an African Grey parrot to live in the house. We'll see.

God I hate packing. I can never find anything, there's always the dilemma of what to take and what to leave (solution - only take hand luggage, if it doesn't go under Ryanair's 10kg limit, you probably don't need to take it. Always take extra socks though.)
Where to find your camera when its under all of Welshy's tat - why we need to keep two broken rucksacks is beyond me.
Getting wound up because people insist on buying you bollocks for your birthday or Christmas, its just fucking rude, I've been telling people I don't want owt for years, but yet they insist on ignoring my wishes and buying crap that I don't want nor need.
Anyway *deep breath* its done now. Passport, boarding pass, moneyx3, book, camera. Done.

Rode last night, put out the poles to help amuse Newpony, then Owner broke bombshell that they're moving and I can't come as its too far for a non-driver.
Back to looking for a new ride I guess then!

Internets didn't work at work today. Scary how much you rely on them, couldn't do anything without them, let alone file as you can't check that its been put on the computer system before you match it with its paper file.
We alphabetasised the CRB draw, just for shits and giggles.

So yeah. I'm staying at work! Hurrah! I chickened out of asking about wages/holidays though. I figure I'll find out soon enough once I get a new contract, it all starts from new on Friday anyway. Hoping to get a new contract sorted before then anyway.
Riding started well, she was really bustling along and then switched off completely, Pony club kicks and smacks with the stick didn't encourage her at all, but made her throw her head up in protest.
I may try and put some poles up for her tomorrow, I know she's only ridden 4 times a week, but she's a baby and all its been is schooling as I can't hack in the dark, she's had a week off but is probably bored of the school.
Not that I'm convinced I'd be allowed to hack her out....

Well tomorrow's the big day! Who know's what'll happen! At least I think I know what will happen, the big question is whether I'll get the hoped for money or whether I'll have to wait a bit longer.
OMG. The cutest thing on the penguin programme. Tallest Emperor chick standing up to the naughty chick-eating Petrol, stretching himself up tall and holding his wings/flippers out to protect the others behind him.
And then an Adelie penguin rocks up to the rescue.
I love penguins!

So. On behalf of the Mother coming home today, I super cleaned the kitchen, including the work tops and dining table (which hasn't been done since she was away in the Summer). I washed all the clothes, mopped the floor.
I then blitzed the living room, again cleaning all of the crap from the coffee table, making it so we have two usable sofas rather than one. I took all of The Brat's dirty socks out, and his plates and cups and hoovered and then I went upstairs and cleaned the bathroom.
It took me two hours to do. Did anyone notice and did I get any thanks when she got home. No. But! On the other hand KFC was purchased, so it all evens out I guess.
Watched the Chelsea - Citeh game and then the cup final - silently cheering on Bradford. Hopefully I'll be off to Wembley when Welshy gets back as his team has qualified for the FA trophy, so glory hunting ahoy!

I did a little tidying in my room but wasn't really in the mood after all the cleaning I've done elsewhere but it desperately needs doing.

I wrote a little today too, rather enjoyable. I've not written anything properly (unless you count this and a few half hearted essays for that equine course I did last year) since my first year at the NMM when I wrote a rather ridiculous murder mystery story in the QH.
I used to create stories in my head but I kinda miss having the imagination to do that and the time actually. When I was younger, lonely and friendless, I made up so many stories! Hundreds and thousands! In primary school and secondary, walking the playing fields endlessly in my head, creating undoubtedly dreadful versions of Lassie Come Home or something else. I don't remember feeling lonely then. I had my stories to keep me entertained. I remember laughing at something I'd created in my head and thinking "well if I can amuse myself, then who needs friends?"
Poor lonely little Charby!
I wish I had the time and imagination to do so again, and the skill. I realised I didn't have the talent to be an author so it kinda died a little.
The last stories died inside me a few years ago, but I enjoyed revisiting that game again today.

I so wanted a drink on Thursday but then when Friday rocked up I just didn't fancy it and today its so, so, so, so cold I really don't want to go to football. I have so many layers on its tricky to do my jeans up and my feet hurt in trainers as my toes are so crumpled!
There was a little snow flurry this morn which raised my hopes but its gone again now. It didn't settle either. So annoyed. It was lovely at the start of this week I thought I'd be able to go get some plants for Geronimo and get them in the ground. Now I think its too cold for that and possibly too early for pansies

 *makes mental note to google later*

I want to go out and get pissed tomorrow. Sudden urge! Will make do with being good.
There was a mouse in my office today. Never in your life would you have seen such a drama! Everyone on their chairs screaming.
I'm so used to seeing them at the yard and in my aviary, I wasn't fussed at all, and had to go searching for it. And then I had to search everyone's handbags in case it had got in there. Despite me saying I'd seen it disappear under the floorboards.
It came back an hour or so later and I helped catch it so it could be taken outside.
Ridiculous!

Mother has disappeared for a few days hurrah! I feel its def time from a break from her. And then next Sat I'll be away and not long after that she'll be away for Easter.
TBF she did bring home Churros and Chinese sponge cakes home yesterday.

So yeah. No pony today or Thursday as I can't be trusted to be there unsupervised. Apparently.
Never mind, could do with saving pennies.

Anyway. Got on tube and the scruffy, dreadlocked guy smiled at me and I smiled back and pulled out my book. I'm currently reading a book I picked up on the free book stand this morning at Stratford. Its Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway, I'm trying to get into him because of the Spanish and Pamplona connections.
This is about his experiences in an Italian ambulance unit in WW1.
"Huh." Dreadlocks said. "I figured you're too pretty to be reading that?"
I put my book down. "What do you mean?" Not sure if I should take that as a compliment or insult.
"Well. Figured you'd be a 50 shades of Grey girl."
Definitely an insult then!

Another day, another critisism from The Mother about how little I do to help. And fuck it, I wish it didn't have the power to hurt as much as it does still. How much I realise I just pathetically want her to like me, to like her.
I tried to write a letter to her one friend today, because I can no longer have the strength to deal with it. It turned into a rant.

Dear J.

I don’t know if I’ll have the courage to send this. I know I’m not brave enough to talk or speak about this. I feel like some pathetic 14 year old brat rather than a grown woman who will be 30 this year. But I need to speak to someone and I don’t know who else would do.

My mother needs help. Do not worry, it is not financial or physical or anything like that, but I am genuinely concerned and I no longer have the strength to deal with this myself.

It is so difficult to know where to begin, I feel like it’s been happening forever and I think it has. I have spent my whole life trying to help and please her and I haven’t.

It is very difficult to grow up when you have a brother like Brat, my mother likes to talk – I’m sure you’ve heard – of how everyone in Kidbrooke Park knew him, and I passed silently under the radar, how I would be summoned away when doctors and specialists came, how he was made to feel extra special when he went to Greenacres. And it is especially hard when you’re still of school age and you hear your mother talk about how if she had had him first she would never had, had a second. Now I am old enough to realise how she means that his problems took up so much of her time, how she had to fight for him, but then when I was a child I believed it meant she didn’t care much for me.

Always, always Brat. My grandparents. My dad’s family, they would bring him presents all the time. I remember, in the flat we lived in a long time ago, in our old house and always being told that “Oh they’ll bring you something next week” and then I don’t remember if I was told to stop asking or I learnt that it was pointless to ask.

Always, always Brat,. Always made to feel second best to him. I could list many examples from growing up and I do genuinely believe she doesn’t realise how she made me feel.

Going on to secondary school, I was bullied too. I just never made a fuss about it as Brat did. I accepted the kicks, the stealing of my possessions, the endless, relentless name calling and mental torture. I could deal with it, It was my fault for being different. I knew that, for loving animals, for not having friends, for not knowing how to interact with people. Socially awkward. But Brat was fragile. IS fragile. He needs looking after, must be defended.

The one day, not long after we moved here. The one time I ever tried to explain how miserable I was. I was helping to paint my room. My Dad was preparing to go out. It was a Saturday during the summer. The first of my a-levels. I was wearing a blue tshirt and jeans. Stupid the way it is fixed on my memory.

“Oh, stop complaining. Your life is worthless anyway.”

Do you believe my mother said anything like that? Do you think perhaps I mis-interpreted something?

I wrote it in my diary once the tears had stopped. So hard to hear something like that from my own Mum.

I have tried so hard to please her, to please my dad, and it is so confusing for me. Sometimes to try and befriend her I would go with her to your house. To Sharon’s house. To try and talk to her, to understand more about what made her tick. And I would go because I had no friends except my books.

I know they are proud that I went to uni. At least I think they are. I remember sitting in our car outside my Grandparent’s house and my mother trying to talk me out of going to university.

I was desperate to go. I was so miserable. I don’t think anyone knows how miserable I was, how difficult I found it to get up in the mornings, how I dreaded going to school but yet I dreaded weekends. How I couldn’t sleep, how I couldn’t concentrate. How the teachers in my 6^th form mocked me openly, to get cheap giggles from the rest of the class, to appear “cool”. The classes I skipped when I simply couldn’t bear it any more.

And then at home. I was doing the washing and cleaning for everyone, I hoovered, I cleaned the bath, I folded socks and cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen. And it hurts as I do this all today, for her. And he does nothing. He leaves his plates lying about and I am told it is my responsibility to tidy after him.

I am expected to clean and cook for him when she is not there and if I do not do as he says, how he will lash out at me, hitting, punching, kicking and screaming.

All this when I was 16/17. All this going back years. Always, looking after Brat, because it is not fair that he is not like normal people. That he needs help.

Irrelevant.

Dad was getting sick as we know. I would face all this and then walk home. Slowly. Always slowly and I would wonder what I would do if he was not up when I got home. Who I would call first. Mother? An ambulance? You? His parents?

Sometimes I would creep into his room and watch to see if he was still breathing.

Perhaps it’s not unsurprising that I failed my a-levels. I could, should have worked harder, but I am weak. I crumbled under it all, I tried to look after him, I tried to look after her, I tried to look after Brat, I had his paper round to do while he was at school and wanted to save for a Playstation and I let my own studies suffer.

 So she tried to talk me out of going, perhaps reasonably after my a-level results. But I was determined to go! To make a life for myself, to be able to go out without someone asking where I was going, who I was going with. To be normal and make friends.

And I went, and I was so happy. I made friends! I went out! And yet I was not free, called every morning, afternoon and evening. The panic when I accidently unplugged my phone, the way the housekeeper came to find me laughing with it all, saying they were coming to Derby. To look in hospitals after 24 hrs with no contact, how they had called the police. 18 years old, living 100+ miles away and yet still as if I was at home and had gone out without telling them.

So confusing. On one hand she smothers me, even now. Needing to know what I am doing at al hours. Who I am with. When I will be going home. On the other hand sarky comments about how useless I am. If I was failing my classes. And the comments that still hurt nowadays.

Counting down the days until I could go back to Derby and be me again.

I was offered a job you know, when I went back that last time. After we found out about Dad. And I knew I could not take it.

So I went home and I helped look after Dad, I helped look after Brat, I helped look after the house  and I helped look after Mum. Or at least I thought I was. Instead there was more guilt. Guilt that I wasn’t doing enough, guilt that she lashed out at me because she was angry and frightened and I have always been there when she needs someone to be cross with. I would fold the clothes wrong, I would forget to hoover or wipe the sides down. I would go out occasionally and she could not go out. And she would shout and tell me how useless I was and I would silently agree.

How many times I cried? How many times in that year did I silently promise to be a better daughter, to help more. I left my friends, the boy I was seeing, the chance – the only real chance I’ve had of doing a job I’d love, to help out, to be there for everyone and instead I was hindering, messing that up as well.

I did the things Brat should have done, but Brat needed looking after too. He couldn’t/wouldn’t sit with Dad, wouldn’t take him out in the wheelchair. I wasn’t physically strong enough! The times I nearly knocked him out off it! I would ask and he would grunt and go out.

His rage grew, to the moody and sullen person he is today. He is someone else who needs help.

I fretted in those nights about what would happen when he died, how on Earth I could look after everyone, the way Dad asked me too.

And when it did, it was me who sat with Mother and Dad’s body. It was me who helped organise the funeral, it was me who did the calling when Mother felt unable.

And at the funeral. I always find it strange looking back, how surreal it was, The boy in tears, Mother needed me but I didn’t know what to say, so I linked arms with her.

I looked after her. She says we both did, but he never. He never discussed anything with her, never sat with her. It was me, me and my stupid need to be liked by her.

And then she went into hospital and it was me who re-arranged shifts to see her, me who struggled down to Sainsbury’s on the bus and back again to do the shopping (the one time he took me in the car, he threw a strop and left me to pay for 50 pounds worth of shopping alone and take it home).

I have always put her first, I have turned down nights out for her, Welshy – bless him, realises that I need to make her happy, before I make him happy, that I had to hide him from her for a year, how when I told her about him, she refused to have anything to do with him. To meet him. All the snide comments and awful things, about how I’d rather have sex than go out to Lakeside with her, how I’d rather spend time with him than her, how she feels unwanted now I have him, but I need him. He makes me feel normal, he does not put judgement or make me feel guilt like she does.

 I have done things that I really do not want to do for her. I still cook, and clean and tidy for her. And he does nothing. And this is what really hurts J. Because I hear her. I hear her talking to you, to Debbie, to B and B about how wonderful Brat is, how much he is looking after her. Or alternatively how we do nothing to help. And I wish it didn’t hurt but it does. I still run around taking her to places, inviting her out, spending my money on things that she’d like, that I have no interest in, going on holiday with her, because she makes/made me feel guilt that she has no one to take out.

And I still cry, because I cannot make her happy. She comments on Facebook about how she is having meals for one because I have gone out, she tells me that if I moved out she cannot afford to live here, that she’d have to sell Dad’s house, that she’d need to take a second job, get a lodger in.

So much guilt for wanting to be normal. I am the only one of my friends who is still living at home at the age of 29. I have guilt because I want to go away and never, ever speak to her again. Guilt because I cannot do that. Because she has no one else. Because she needs me to be cross about, to scream and shout at. To tell me I’m useless, to throw my clothes into the garden because I’ve failed to fold up her clothes as she particularly wants them.

And The Boy. The boy does not pay as much rent as I do, as he has a car to run, despite earning more than I do. I gave her money for the leccy bill and he never as he had to buy a new bike for some reason.

But yet, he is the one she talks about on Facebook, how he gave her some money to get a new boiler, I gave her over a thousand pounds for that and the only reason I couldn’t give more, was because it was locked in an ISA. And why should I have to justify it?

It is always Brat she talks about, how he looked after her. How he still looks after her. He can barely sit in the same room as her, he does not eat with his knife and fork, if he lowers himself to eat with us. He has the manners of a pig, but it is acceptable and it is because he is Brat and this should not turn into a rant against him. I want to portray things at home fairly. It is not his fault, he is not like normal people and he needs to be looked after, it is not his fault that he is always angry because he cannot get a job he would like, and because he too, is still not recovered from Dad. I need, must, remember this and be tolerant. But it is OH, oh so hard when he hurts me, and when he rather childishly covered all the plates, and bowls and kitchen surfaces in tomato ketchup last summer because I did not clean up his dinner plate from the night before. That was my fault and I will try to be a better sister and not anger him.

I realised a long time ago that my Mother is ill. She needs help, she needs counselling in some way, I am oh so tired of trying to make her happy, and so tired of the guilt when I fail (as recently as New Year’s Day when I chose to go to football instead of sit at home, in silence with her).

And I wish it didn’t hurt so much when she tells people how useless I am, how in her moments of judgement she deems me as bad as Brat, how I do nothing to help about the house. I could, I should do more and perhaps you will read this and agree with her, and this is why I may never send this, because I am too afraid you will say it is the ramblings of a spoilt brat – as she often accuses me – that I need to be more tolerant and patient with her, that she has been through a lot.

But surely I am right to be angry when she goes through the possessions in my room, how she helps herself to my clothes, how she’ll even sleep in my room during the day. Again she does not realise that I am 30 and surely entitled to a little bit of space? I get cross how she talks to me as if I was one of her children at nursery, I – as awful as it is – couldn’t care less about who has been awful to her, what kid did what. But I smile and feign interest and then watch some godawful TV with her, just so she is not alone. Because she has been through a lot and needs looking after.

I have been through a lot too J.

I feel better for having written this, perhaps I needed to get it out of my system and realise it is me and that I need to be a better human, to be more tolerant but I genuinely think she is ill and she needs help of some sort.