57, Fatso, and a bloody Guveç pot

57 views, I got 57 views! Woo hoo! Yes I am being a tad sarcastic based on how some people do post such odd milestones to show how popular they are. I, on the other hand, celebrate my invisibility. To be honest it’s not as if I’m working hard at this blogging thing, or have even really explored much about how to make my site better, mainly because that’s not the point. Regardless of whether my random witterings, moans, and occasional celebrations of my now partial life here, are of any interest to anyone I find this weird public sort of diary thing satisfying. My memory remains that poor these days that it’s a way for me to be able to look back and see things that I have forgotten, even if I haven’t really got that far in fixing my relationship with this country.

After my last post Husband said to me “You still don’t like Mersin do you?” Aside from the fact that I hadn’t mentioned any particular like or dislike for the place then, so where exactly he’d decided that was the point of the post I don’t know, the reality is a big fat no. Mersin was a choice as an means to an end. It was not a place I would cheerfully choose or suggest anyone as a place to visit, let alone live. OK there are some good points; warm, close to the sea, please let me think of some more…..I’ll save that for later, a lot later.

I do have something much better to celebrate today though. Three years (3 whole years) after I noted that there has been a distinct smell of gas, the leak has finally been found and fixed. Yay!! Perhaps bathroom tap can be fixed too, or am I pushing it a bit there. I mean I did have to point out that I had begun to feel ill, and I don’t think I was over egging the pudding to suggest that perhaps my lethargy and headache was down to the ever increasing smell of gas. I think I may have to try this tac more in the hope of more fixing being done and being listened too rather than having to point out that uneducated deliverymen are hardly worth listening when offering advice on how the smell of gas is normal during summer. I fear it may not work though, as Husband is one of the 57. There may also be repercussions, I doubt he will be as forgiving as Janey’s other half, after being mentioned here.

am I bovvered

Yeah, not bothered.

What did bother me was Fatso finding out his blog alter ego and bursting into tears. He is prone to tears and sadness, and deep felt hurt. He’s also prone to growling, major grumps and punching Lai Lai. He’s not fat, not anymore anyway, but when people offering to pick him up declare “He’s solid isn’t he?”, it’s pretty obvious he’s hefty. Thing is he grew madly last year and stretched out to become this unrecognisable skinny thing. Weirdly Smelly is perfectly happy to be called Smelly, even though he’s not, and my terrible parenting means an in joke is to ask ‘who’s the smelliest in the room?’ with him and Lai Lai clamouring to say it’s them. But Fatso was decidedly unhappy, so now I must use his family nick name of Dosh, even though it’s highly unlikely that he will ever be one of the 57.

So where does a guveç pot fit in to all of this? I really wish it didn’t, I said we had one, we didn’t need another one, that I’m not actually that fussed about bloody guveç. I was not listened too, it became essential that we venture into the bowels of inner city Mersin to find another pot. We got one, and strangely from the same shop the boys also came away with a wooden sword each. In the mysterious cave like shop which house all manner of enormous wooden spoons and aluminium pans, there was also a variety of wooden swords and the most tuneless, tasteless music boxes with bizarre orange bears on a ferris wheel and a random selection of English words on the windmill key thing. I almost got sucked in to the vortex of weirdness after spotting a saç, the thing you can make gozleme on (yeah, right, like that’s an explanation to a non Turk). Anyway, I almost bought one. Thank goodness I didn’t, what on earth would I want to lug one of those back to only use it once a year?

It seems that the guveç pot was essential because we are visiting sister-in-law tomorrow. Yep the one who told me last year I’d got fat, thankfully no repeat this year–so I clearly haven’t lost weight since then, still just fat but not fatter. I wasn’t really sure what the particulars of this invitation were but judging by the necessity of the pot, and the fact that I won’t be going to church tomorrow either (because that would mean we would be late–not quite sure how late given the lack of particulars) it would be a lunch invite. Apparently Turkish people don’t have to give particulars when inviting, especially if it’s a family thing. Which I find most odd because in my family, obviously not Turkish, we do at least say whether the invite is lunch or dinner, or a time. Turns out it’s a breakfast invite. So now I’m even more confused about the necessity of the pot. He’s in the kitchen as I type, making the guveç which won’t be for breakfast. If I type anymore I shall feel the wrath, so refer to the above photo.

I have a new pot, Fatso is Dosh, and my popularity is soaring–or perhaps not, maybe I have peaked and I have definitely just lost one.

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About 5yearsmybrainhurtsalot

Once a stay at home mum in Ankara, now a working mum who makes regular lengthy trips to Mersin with my brood
This entry was posted in culture, Family, Food, Mersin and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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