The Fat Envelope Arrives

February 15th, 2009

It came in today’s post with a satisfying thunk through the door. It contained a letter saying that my application was successful and that I’ve been offered a berth on the race. It also had a long contract outlining just how much it’s going to cost me, my commitments and many other scary things. So I promptly signed it, enclosed a cheque for £500 and posted it before I could change my mind.

The deed is done. GULP. There is no going back now.

I now wait to hear back from the training officer to tell me dates when I can go freeze my bits off in the seas surrounding the UK and the marketing team to give me guidelines about sponsorship and raising funds. This is why my new race dedicated blog is not yet created - I don’t want make something only to find out I’ve violated ten different rules.

But there you go. It has taken just 20 days for me to see an ad in the paper to being a fully signed up crew member. I feel just a leeetle bit ill when I think about all the ramifications, workload, emotional turmoil this is going to cause. But you know what, 2009 just got very interesting.

And this afternoon was a case in point about why working my butt off on a boat for five weeks can sound appealing. I had to go into town to:
a) deposit cheques
b) see a bank manager
c) buy envelopes
d) put two letters into the envelopes and post them
e) return library books and get new ones

How hard could this be? Apparently, very. Both boys left school hating the world and me in particular. Going to town was boring, boring, boring. They didn’t want to go, despite me promising hot chocolate at Costa Coffee. (To be honest, I didn’t want them to go either but I didn’t have too much choice in the matter.) They whinged all the way there. Then they wailed and shouted and stropped and stamped their way to the bank, so much so that people either stopped and stared at us or gave us a very wide berth.

Once in the bank, they proceeded to let everyone know just how much they hated stupid banks and quite how boring they are. They wailed their way across the street to WH Smiths, until they saw the sweets and crisps inside. They then switched to full volume nag culminating in son1 standing with his hands on his hips yelling: “UNLESS YOU GET ME THESE CRISPS I’M NOT LEAVING THE SHOP”.

You could see everyone looking to see what I was going to do. Was I going to give in to this tantrum and prove just how spoilt these little beasts were OR was I going to do what the WH Smith staff certainly wanted which was to buy the crisps and get our noisy selves the hell out of their shop. I opted for the latter just to buy me mileage to get to the post office. We finally got to Costa Coffee and the boys got their hot chocolate. They sat their happily crunching their quavers until they noticed that there were no marshmallows with their hot chocolate. Cue the next outburst. Son1 then said that he really was still hungry - which is normally true as school apparently burns a billion calories a day.

So I went and bought a bag of mini muffins in my bid to encourage healthy eating. Son 1 ate three in quick succession. Son 2 finally tried one, spat it out and yelled: “This is disgusting! I WANT SOMETHING ELSE!” I said no. Our difference of opinion ended with me trying to carry a small beast dripping hot chocolate, kicking and screaming all the way out.

We finally got to the library and every book I chose was “stupid”. I gave up the fight, let them choose an assortment of crappy books and left. Supper has been ignored despite wails that they were so starving they might die within minutes. And I am having to type this to the background strains of Wall.E, another demand in the libary that I was too tired to fight (tantrums in WH Smith are one thing, in a library with everyone saying Sssh is quite another stress level). I can’t possibly go to my study as the film is too scary, but they won’t let me turn it off.

So this is why facing gales and high seas seems a breeze in comparison to my normal life.

Tags: application

Entry Filed under: Race