Even when I have reason to complain I get no sympathy on the home front
Published 14/05/2016 | 00:00
I've been told by my children this weekend that I complain a lot.
Their father is always grumpy and I'm always complaining, apparently. Not exactly the Gold Standard in parenting are we? Then I thought, if I had told my parents they were grumpy and moany when I was a kid, I'd probably have gotten a clip round the ear. There is such a thing as teaching kids to express themselves too much. Quite often I wish mine would keep their opinions to themselves.
And to be fair I've had reason to complain recently. You see I haven't been well. I haven't been well for at least two months. And when I'm not well, I tend not to keep it to myself. I like to share the misery.
Personally, although I have no medical evidence to prove this fact, I think it all goes back to me giving up the fags. I haven't been right since. I've been told I have viral infections, flus and bugs and that it will all pass. My doctor is sick too, - sick of the sight of me because every time I turn up in her surgery I have a different self diagnosis.
I've taken antibiotics, inhalers, multi vitamins, probiotics and tonics and I'm still as rough as a badgers backside but nobody is paying me the slightest bit of attention. My dad rings me when he's away on a trip and asks me how I am.
'I'm not a bit well and if I die before you get back, you'll know I was telling the truth' I tell him.
'Right. Sure I'll talk to you tomorrow' and he hangs up.
As for Himself. Not a hope of any sympathy from him. His bedside manner consists of telling you to slap a load of Sudocrem on and you'll be grand. I go back to google and tell him I think I have Lyme Disease. I have most of the symptoms.
He looks up from the soccer match he's watching and says, 'have you been bitten by a tick?'
I can't recall but maybe what I thought was a hive the other day was actually a tick bite I tell him. I'm not even sure what a tick is, or whether they exist in Ireland but at this point I'm desperate for a definitive diagnosis so I can validate my moaning.
He turns up the volume on the telly and ignores me.
'Did you just hear what I said? I could be seriously ill and you're more interested in Leicester City winning the cup!'
'If you are do you think they might sedate you for a while? Just to give us a bit of a break?' He's laughing but I detect a sinister undertone.
If I disappear over the next few weeks, make sure to look under the patio!