middle aged miasma

work, work, work

2007-06-07T12:04:00.000+01:00

Foo. Don't it just get in the way of life? Not to mention sleep, fun or blogs even.

In my 'spare' time - driving from client's office to [not client's] bed, I've been ranting with e2save. Me and a chunk of the population if my google searches and protracted 'your call is important to us but unfortunately we can't bring ourselves to give a toss' on hold moments are anything to go by.

I won't bore you with the details. Honestly, I've relayed the story now to more than 12 e2save customer services personnel already and they don't find it interesting so you won't.

It's not all been in vain though. Reading through pages of forum gripes (I know how to have a good time) someone usefully reminded me about: www.saynoto0870.co.uk

It's probably old news to youse, but I'd forgotten about it and part of my rant to e2save was that I was wasting 50p per minute on their bastard line waiting for them not to help me.

www.saynoto0870.co.uk usefully lists well known companies' geographical numbers so you only pay standard call charges. Tested out e2save's customer services number today and the phone was answered immediately. None of that 'press 1 to feel slightly annoyed', 'press 2 to feel your veins constrict' business. Fab.

So there. Not very interesting if you're a Work From The Office type (Woofters for short) but hey. I've blogged at least.

And now I bet you're wishing I hadna bothered ...

hello. i'm your daughter.

2007-05-10T18:05:00.000+01:00

I received an urgent email last week advising me that my daughter had fallen at school and was now at the hospital. I wasn't to panic, as she wasn't seriously hurt, but could I please contact the school asap to confirm receipt of the message and when I'd be able to get to the hospital.

I'll admit that despite their request, I was a little spooked. I rang, naturally, asap, but I was a bit annoyed they hadn't taken the initiative to call me themselves rather than resort to email.

Never mind. The more important point to get across was that I don't have a daughter, and it was obviously a case of mistaken identity, so they might want to try contacting the girl's (real) mother by a different and perhaps more direct method.

It's amazing what an email address can get you nowadays.

I almost asked whether she was a nice, hardworking attractive child because that's what I'd hope my daughter was, but decided them finding the real mother was probably more pressing.

small steps

2007-05-01T12:30:00.000+01:00

I'm not particularly green. Some might say I'm not green at all. Depends on your outlook. Pa calls me an ecoterrorist. Ma calls me funny but that's a catch-all. Zelda says I'm part of the throwaway-selfish-couldn't-care-less society. Tallulah says I'm proper PC. Wharrever.

But I am making small changes in a bid to be a bit more aware about the environment and my personal impact on it.

So far, it's a short list:

I don't shop at Tesco's anymore. Nuh uh. Not even if they're offering free wine and chocolate by the trolleyload (although that is very tempting...). I still shop in supermarkets - just not Tesco's. I'm not happy with them wiping out the competition - especially local grocers - in threatening, intimidating fashion. Nor do I like the fact that the only reason they can sell stuff so cheap is because they're exploiting farmers, suppliers and manufacturers in worse ways than most other supermarkets. I hate Tesco's. I hate having to walk through 75 aisles of clothes and fridges and mobile phones to get to the fruit and veg. I'm not saying other supermarkets are perfect - they just aren't as bad. It's a flawed argument I know.

I'm buying more UK produce either from the local farm shops or the supermarket. Foreign fruit (urp) still gets in my shopping basket (mmm bananas) but they're at least fairtrade now. Oh yeh and taking my own bags to put them in. But purlease will someone design some decent shopping bags. I'm too young (really I am) for a trolley with wheels - although they do have their benefits - and I'm just not one for wicker baskets. Honestly.

I've stopped bandying bleach about my house with gay abandon. There's still a place for some chemicals (until I learn berrer) but I have discovered the joys of lemon juice and white vinegar and all such housewifely tips shared by those in the know. Chemically-free or ethically made applies to some - not all - other consumables.

I walk, cycle and/or go by public transport more than I ever did and instead of jumping in the car and shooting off on those mini, often unnecessary trips, I just don't go out. I call this my bit for the planet - others call it bloody unsociable.

We're all low energy - as are our lightbulbs, extra reuse/recycling friendly and less water wasting than we were (wash? why?). Sadly the neighbours won't let us install a wind turbine on their roof though. Miserable sods.

Lahouha has started a vegetable patch. Given our tiny garden, it's not much, but houses our first batch of cut-n-come-again salad leaves (thanks Carol) so that we no longer have to buy green, chlorinated snot-in-a-bag. Least that's the idea. I'm banned from harvesting until the end of May though, so meantime we're left staring and salivating.

Most revelationary though is truly giving proper thought to the 'do I need it?' argument when shopping. Ma trained me well in the 'oooh! look! bargain! buy!' mode of purchasing but I've had it. More is not good. And it just results in stuff I don't really want/need/like cluttering up the home. Living with Lahouha for five years has curbed a lot of this by default (she be an accountant) but I'm now a Believer In My Own Right. It helps I hate clutter too. The charity shops might experience a slight dip in sales but it's probably easier for me to give them £5 straight out than go through the whole waste-of (time/materials/effort) process and further line the pockets of millionaires and big corporations in the first place.

Am doing other helpful stuff too but I've bored us enough for now. It leads me in nicely to saying, have you been here? And if not, please do. Every little helps *GASP* Must work on that oh-so-annoying habit of using company's straplines in every day sentences. Just do it. But really. Sign up. Let your fingers do the walking. Because I'm worth it. Sigh. Not laughing.

As I'm babbling on about such eco stuff, reminds me how I managed to miss the entire LiveEarth ticket/ballot thing. And I so wanted to go. Failed with Live8, locked away for LiveAid, this was my chance to get LiveSomething. But no. Brain fell out during that five day period and the moment's gone. Worse still my Bro (he of 'I go to 52 concerts a year just because I can' fame, he who bores the arse off all of us by relaying which concert he's going next and how expensive tickets for said concert cost him and how long buying said tickets took him and are you sure you don't want to buy one of my £100 Police tickets that I sat online for seven hours to get blah blah blah), HE got bloody tickets to LiveEarth. Did he do his usual ringing round thing, saying I've just texted for LiveEarth tickets? Did he buffalo. Did he remind me of said concert before the deadline like he does even when I say 'BUT I DON'T LIKE GENESIS' for the fiftieth time? No.

Bastard.

AND he wants to know if he can stay at ours that weekend.

I'm not sulking. Not much.

But we might go camping that weekend. And I might forget to leave the keys out for him.

frying pan : fire

2007-04-24T09:57:00.000+01:00

I'm sick of my job. correction: i'm sick of the corporate life, the mundane projects about global desktop services and data centre management and network server upgrades. Not to mention the petty bitchin' over the intricate minutiae - like what colour the binders are - when a million pound bid is at risk of going tits up because no one is writing the damn content nor giving a toss that the customer has very specific requirements and we're cut and pasting 'yeh, yeh, we're shit hot at everything' type blurb in from another Equally Vague Proposal. Not to mention that Very Important Prick One is (not so secretly) fighting with VIP Two over who's done what because commission is at stake and VIP1 refuses to take any less than a £100k bonus when he did 3 minutes more work than him anyways. And stuff like that.

My glasses aren't rosetinted. I'm sure in every job (as in life) there is, by law, an average of 3 arseholes in every day who will try your patience to the nth degree. I'm just bored of this collective. After 17 years in IT World (imagine PC World but with bigger egos) it's time for a change.

So after years of umming and ahhing combined with random bits of volunteer work and lots of investigating, I've applied for a part time job in Social Services. One that's even going to pay me to go back to school and get me some relevant qualifications 'n all.

Scary. Exciting.

bloggery bloggocks

2007-04-17T09:30:00.000+01:00

I first decided to write a blog to try and be funny. That idea was short lived. Trying to be funny is as appealing as trying to be clever/young/wise. It doesn't work. Y'are what y'are and all.

I then thought I'd write about stuff that had happened in my life. I abandoned that idea before I started. I'm too sceptical about who might find it, read it, recognise it, misuse it. Paranoid with a capital V, me. Besides, what good would it do? It might (just might) make for interesting reading but so what? Move on. Older and wider.

So it's become a catalogue of random ramblings. There are moments when I worry about that too. No structure. No logic. Jeez. Must-stop-overanalysing. That said, I'm grateful for my shred of forethought. I wish more of my extended family members had it.

My mum's sister has a blog. She uses it like a diary. She chose to give the URL to my mum, who passed it on to me as she isn't sure why anyone would want to write a blog let alone read one.

So I checked it out.

She, *Babs* has published her real name, her address, the names of her children AND the grandchildren.

She also labours on about how she is so poor. And so in need of a man. Maybe a man with money, she ponders. No amount of lottery tickets nor sessions of bingo are working - she's still poor. Too poor sometimes to buy food for her or the dog.

She talks of her neighbours (using their real names). Shares their problems. And faults. She slags off anyone who isn't english 'born and bred' - whatever that means. And have I mentioned how poor she is? And in need of a nice man? According to *Babs* no amount of chatting online gets her a rich, decent, honest, nice man. Weird.

The shit hit the proverbial fan last month. For reasons unbeknown to any of us* - Mum decided to check out *Bab's* blog. Printed out the whole lot (she's not so tech savvy) and read it one weekend. Around about the same time *Babs* chose to slag off my mum.

Oh dear.

You can imagine what's go on since. Heated exchanges, email wars, girly spats, detailed inventories of 'what I've done for you' and 'what you've done for me (= nothing)'. *Babs* pulled her blog at the height of the fallout and they've sulked ever since.

I notice *Babs* is back online and reverting to type. Mum thinks the blog has gone for good and I can't bring myself to tell her otherwise.

The latest entries reveal *Babs* is still mad at Mum. She's also enlisted the support of their Dad - ("incase [Mum] got to him first and twisted the story...") and so it goes on ... I dread to think how this latest stuff will make Mum feel - petty as it is.

Mum and *Babs* have been warring most of their lives. Me and my brother grew up knowing Mum's family were a bit difficult. Her parents never seemed to like their 3 children - certainly never at the same time - choosing to play them off against one other. Admirable divide and conquer tactics. Sadly, all Mum has ever wanted was to be a part of a happy family. To love and be loved.

It's a sorry state of affairs. They're both lonely and should be supporting one another. Whatever I think of *Babs* is immaterial - I don't think she meant anything by her comments. She's just careless with her tongue/typing and didn't think. They've been on good terms for some years now - but this latest debacle has decimated their fragile relationship. Given that they're as stubborn as each other they seem unable to work it out - instead opting to continue with the attack, attack, attack approach. Products-of-their-parents.

Worrawaste. It's kinda why I firmly believe that while family may be precious, we can't all expect to have the perfect family. Instead we should find a way of loving them (from a distance if necessary) if it doesn't come naturally, and otherwise invest time in good friends who really can be the family we make ourselves ...

*I told my brother all about *Babs* blog and the fall out - but in true brotherly style he quickly stuck his hands in his ears, shook his head from side-to-side, and started chanting 'No-no-no-no-no!'. I used to think he was an arse. I'm starting to think he's quite savvy.

all rise

2007-04-10T16:42:00.000+01:00

A sunny, bright, four day weekend.
How rare is that?

This one saw us pack in many a pleasurable activity. Some of which, I'm prepared to share. First there was a small run. We're only good for 3 mile efforts right now. Our aim is not the Marathon, no, but a 10K in September. We also dusted off cobwebs off our bikes and went for a short jaunt along the Thames towpath. Nice.

Not satisfied with the amount of oxygen in our lungs, and lactic acid in our muscles, we packed in two 10 mile+ walks around the South Downs too.

Now I'm the first to admit that in my advancing years I am liking nothing more - well ok, that's a rather large exaggeration - I am liking quite a lot - a lovely long walk in the countryside - in good weather - with my girlfriend. It might not be cool nor glam, extreme or exciting but I don't care. I spent most of my teenage years moaning at what a pointless, pointless thing 'walking' was in the face of any suggestion from my parents. So yes, they do point and laugh when I say we went for a walk. But then my parents point and laugh at me anyway, so that's hardly news.

Anyway, anyway, anyway, advancing years, walking ... Both our walks - because of their length - required a comfort break. The ideal comfort break is a pub offering pints of chilled refreshment, but in their regular absence midway a ramble, a nice tree behind which I can grab a quick pee has become a close second. I now comprehend fully my Nanna's advice 'never pass up an opportunity to pee'.

And this is what I did, and do on more frequent occasion. But it ain't easy, as all you laydees will know. Peeing straight? Hell I can't even see straight. *Oh dear, she's resorting to old lame jokes too. It's her age. 36 you know.*

So I was intrigued when I spotted a review on this piece of equipment today:

I have learnt that the 'Shewee' is a funnel, especially shaped to fit the female anatomy with a spout to pour the urine away or into a 'suitable container' (a half drunk coke can?). Apparently "Shewee doesn't just offer equality with men, but is a real and revolutionary device which will change women's lives." Hmm. On the upside they are only £5 a pop (or should that be pee?), although gift wrapping is an extra £1. Curiously, the flexible 15cm outlet pipe accessory is a mere £1 more. And if you want more than 15cm, you only need ask. *Thinks* What is the distance from my bed to the toilet?

Thing is, I can't imagine using one. The prospect of an upstanding pee (whilst fully-clothed) is most appealing. But where does one pop a plastic pee-ridden penis when one has finished? And yes, I would want to use it more than once, else my upstanding peeing is going to have mammoth consequences for the environment. OK, so supposing I have brought a useful plastic bag to pop it in, what about the ever present fear of it popping out at a most opportune moment? "Oh pardon me, I've just dropped my Pee Penis."

Hmm. So anyway. I think I'll continue to squat and focus for now. Maybe I'll put it on my Christmas List.

Meantime, have you seen the Geograph British Isles project? It's an archive of pictures for every grid square in Britain. It's free to contribute and mildly compelling to browse around areas you know. I'm off to photograph my front door. And my granny. She's pretty stagnant in one grid square these days... god rest her soul.

kwalitee

2007-04-02T18:04:00.000+01:00

I posted an ad last week on behalf of a client looking for freelance writers. It was the usual thing ... talented copywriter needed - must have experience of writing for the web - please supply full details together with relevant samples and an indication of rates.

This is my favourite response to date. I provide it here below in full:

"we are proffestinall on this we give u ur project on be time"

Should I hang on and wait for more replies or choose this stunner to be part of our team?

state of mind, state of mind

2007-04-02T09:51:00.000+01:00

I've always believed age is just a number and you shouldn't stress about it.

I am 36 years and 1 day old. Less than 2 hours into the first working day of the week I've had to complete a form asking for my age group and it appears I've crossed into the next box.

I am now officially in the 36-40 age bracket.
Eww.

Still, state of mind.

Yesterday, in response to Lahouha's excited 'you're 36, you're 36' exclamations (as I was still eeking out vital beauty-countering-ageing sleep) I explained how that still left me in my mid thirties using the logic: 30-33 = early thirties, 34-36 = mid thirties and 37-39 = late thirties.

Then a (former) friend sent me a 'Happy 40th' text from the safety of the next county. This was a helpful reminder as to why I don't have many younger friends.

Still, state of mind, state of mind.

The rest of the day passed in a touching amount of gleeful calls and texts from other mates - all quick to wish me happy birthday. I thought these were warm gestures of friendship but Lahouha suggested this was because they were pleased to see me pile on another year.

You'd think I was some kind of phenomenonemon. Don't they realise I'm never gonna catch them up?

I've also got Lahouha's daily 'you're the same age as me' glee to contend with for another 49 days until I can finally pummell her head bright and early screaming 'you're 37, you're 37' ...

My state of mind is exhausted.

It must be old age.

(And yes, that does mean I was one hell of an april fool's gag for my mother 36 years ago.)

and another thing ...

2007-03-30T10:34:00.000+01:00

this is what my other clients are like right now.

is it me or is it warm in here?

manners spanners

2007-03-30T09:18:00.000+01:00

Dear "Jimbo",

I replied to your advert for help on an "urgent project".

You told me to call you for a chat and I did.

You said I should send samples of my work, so I did that too. Sharpish like.

You then asked if I'd do a "test project" and complete a piece of work for you. A tad cheeky that you sent me the first task on the project brief, I thought. Trying to get something for nothing, I pondered. Don't be a cynical old bag, I muttered.

So I spent two days on the work and sent it off to you. Promptly. Before your deadline even.

Did you acknowledge receipt? No.
Did you tell me I'd been unsuccessful? No.
If you didn't like the work - fair enough.
If you went with someone else - fine.

I reckon even with one eye shut and one finger typing, at worst it would use up 1 minute of your day to email a 'thanks but no thanks' and even less for a simple 'no'.

Given that I spent 2 days on you, don't you think that either of those would've been preferable to the long, dark silence that ensued?

Thank god I'm not (too) fixated with discovering whether you used my piece of work anyways.

You're a Twat.

Yours
Miss Moody

More fool me for thinking that being polite or possessing manners are obligatory when communicating with people. It seems to be about whether the other person perceives you to be lower than them, and if they do, you can only expect rudeness. What the fuck is that about?

I can't wait til I'm old and can feign dementure and swear at anyone and everyone that annoys me. I'm going to use Catherine Tate's Nan as my role model.

Poke it. Why wait til then?

can you tell who they looky likey like?

2007-03-23T14:25:00.000Z

i just discovered this site and had to share it. can you tell who they looky likey like?

and it got me thinking who i could looky likey like, if I looky likey liked anyone. but i guess that's not the point. the problem is i don't looky likey like anyone which kind of makes it all a bit of a pointless exercise.

obviously in fantasy world i'd have to say i looky likey liked Jamie Lee Curtis. but that's not looky likely. perhaps after 2 bottles of gin, 3 magic mushrooms and a mcdonalds big mac, you'd agree with me. but in reality i reckon i'm best advertising my looky likeying like Minnie the Minx.

howboutchu? who do you looky likey like and who do you looky likey like in your fantasies?

meantime, answers to looky likey (ie, not proper) competition below.

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1. Jennifer Aniston
2. Mel B
3. Charlie Dimmock - OK, so her nipples were a dead giveaway
4. Nodeal Edmonds
5. Victoria Wood

genius for a second

2007-03-21T18:58:00.001Z

There was a very short moment when I thought I could prove my ingenuity thanks to the latest batch of research.

'Parrently, playing music can make you smart according to a neuroscientist at Northwestern University.

Yippee. I thought. Wait 'til I tell the missus. She who is brainy and doesn't get the whole 'playing-your-music-so-loud-it-gets-your-heart-pounding-in-time' ting.

And then I read past the first few lines. They mean playing an instrument.

Sigh.

So, erm, do spoons count as two instruments?

dependencies

2007-03-20T15:47:00.000Z

Woke @ 4am this morning to Lahouha's sighing and the sound of a throbbing engine. Seemed a fire engine was hanging outside our window and had been for some time.

We also had a power cut. In a half sleepy stupour tried to establish what was going on but having (a) checked the house wasn't on fire and (b) nipped to the loo for that highly-annoying-middle-of-the-night-pee, we couldn't be bothered and went back to bed, Lah setting her watch alarm given that neither the usual alarm would come on late if the power cut persisted.

7am and still no power. Went to manually switch the central heating on, but this seems to need a squidge of electric to start the gas. Huh? Elected to go for a run - albeit a little one - as there would probably be enough hot water left for us to have a quick dip when we got back.

Only having got back from the run did we get the reminder we have a 'power' shower, which was neither powerful nor showerful without that vital spark.

Breakfast? Tracker bar as frozen bread ain't attractive. Skipped the boiling water on the stove thing as Lah declared she was off to work for a shower instead.

Ran a bath with the remaining hot water, washed hair and then cussed that I forgot the hairdryer wouldn't be working.

Cussed again when I realised I couldn't log on and check emails.

Rolled eyes when I picked up the remote and remembered that TVs are no longer powered by candle.

Tutted at the time it took for the water to heat in a pan.

Consoled by mobile when house phones refused to work without electric. Oh who chose THEM?

Buggery bolloxed for the xth time when I noticed my mobile battery was at <10%.

Decided to tackle that pile of editing I've been delaying working on. Crawled back into bed to do it (for heat - not laziness you understand) And do you know what? With no distractions, no ability to just go make a coffee/put washing on/hoover (as if!)/peruse spam/send spam, I actually got loads done.

And so celebrated with a late morning nap. For all of 15 minutes until Lah rang to say 'is it on yet?' Prrrpfffph. Obviously the web cam was back up.

Couldn't be annoyed as I felt a bit guilty snoozing anyways and she was ringing to tell me how she forgot her towel and so had to dry herself off with her jumper instead. Aw bless. Didn't tell her everything was fine here and what's more I got my work done extraquick.

Put phone down. Turned over. Slept some more. Outta pure sympathy natch.

missing it already

2007-03-15T11:06:00.000Z

a thing of beauty ...

2007-03-14T11:14:00.001Z

I can't even begin to admit how many supermarkets in how many towns I've gone into to find this. But it was worth it. Two of my favourite foodstuffs in one jar. The taste is well, marmite-ish - can't really spot much deviation from the original, but the packaging. Oh the packaging. Kwalitee.

Twas lovely to go away and all that but nice to get home and find yourself once more surrounded by yer tat, y'know?

That said, I had the pleasure of my mum AND dad AND brother AND step mum calling or dropping in on me yesterday. Chaos. Given that we manage to avoid each other from one month to the next it was a bit much. Anyone would think I'd been missed. Poor Lahouha looked ready to turn on her heels and head back up north to avoid any further interruptions from the CM family.

I reckon she'll be missing "Sheila" as much as me soon.

Quote of the day from (I hang my head and confess) 'Escape to the Country' (I know, but I was unpacking so not really watching): "There's a dyke on the other side of this hedge here, so you're going to have to do a lot of work to fill it in."

9 for 8

2007-03-11T16:55:00.000Z

Sounds like an England cricket score but it's the 'citing deal at the-pub-next-door. Sup 8 pints of Theakstons, get 1 free.

It's certainly motivated us in the pint supping stakes. Given that Lahouha practically passes out by the 3rd pint, I don't suppose we've put the pub under any financial strain.

Add to that our lack of loyalty and they're probably laughing all the way to their 'Customers are Muppets' staff party. Our (*Sheila's*) thirst for walks has meant we've (gasp) gone to other pubs even though they don't accept *Sheatwheaf* beer tokens (weird). All the same, we've felt obliged to down a pint once home 'to make the most of the deal'. Suckers. I wonder if *Sheila's* owners are in on the scam/profits?

BGB's that we are, we've only guzzled 16 pints in the *Sheatwheaf* but intend enjoying our two freebies tomorrow on our last full day oop North. Am sure it will add to the nostalgia when we recount this past fortnight from the comfort of our own bed.

My only gripe from this whole holiday? A bed shaped like a bath that creaks everytime you move. Gordon Bennett. How do people cope with a nanky bed? It should be made illegal.

it's not orange, it's red

2007-03-07T12:02:00.000Z

Lots of walks, tonnes of miles, some amazing views, weather, pints and grub. Cobwebs well and truly gone. It's been a brilliant holiday - far from home and work and family.

This is "Sheila" btw. She's agreed to being pictured so long as I don't use her real name.

All this fun has meant I've not wanted to waste time blogging proper. When I get home I might recollect some of the finer moments although my photos probably do a better job so it might be a comic strip - without the erm, comedic value or erm, ladies declothing.

But I digress. I have finally managed to get Lahouha to understand my irritation with the ginger label. I don't know why I hate the ginger thing so much. Probably because it is typically used in a derogatory fashion. And I take exception to that. And then, I know I've spent all my life decrying the fact my hair is ginger. It's not ginger, it's red. Fortunately most of my friends and family concur. And the older I get the darker it gets, so that helps too.

And yet I don't want to hear myself protesting "it's not ginger, it's red" because then it sounds like I'm turning my back on ginger. And I'm not. So I don't. It's just - choose another fucking label will ya? Or better still, lose the goddamn labels altogether. All of them.

Except Armani and Arteryx maybe.

Anyway, anyway, anyway...

Lahouha has a nice waterproof jacket. It's two colours - grey and red. I happened to call it an 'orange coat' on one occasion and was taken aback by Lahouha's protests. It's not orange! It's red! she said. Whatever, I said. No, it's red, she said again.

So this week the opportunity arose:

— You want me to pass your ginger coat?

— What?!

— Your ginger coat. Do you want it?

— It's not ginger! It's red!

— Ahh.

— Ahh.

Little, insignificant thing.

We've welcomed the ginger coat into the family now, proper. Me, Lahouha, "Sheila" (honorary family member) and the ginger coat. Lahouha reckons a ginger coat is a thing of beauty. Striking. Different. Special.

Amen.

blown away

2007-03-01T17:13:00.000Z

... mostly by the wind we is having here in the north west (i mean that meterologically speaking).

Obviously was slightly sad to find a leg on the beach but then I always had a penchant for pulling my dollies to bits - so I could empathise. I think I spent too long pondering whether she had pretty hair or not too ...

So erm, yeh. Took "Sheila" (still not her real name) to the coast today - partly to avoid the stiles/mud debacle of tuesday - and partly because you c-a-n-n-o-t beat a walk along the seafront.

But it was very, very windy. Our walk felt like it was 2 miles one way and 7 on the way back given the gust factor. Thankfully, the sun was shining though and "Sheila" was unperturbed by it all. Might have had something to do with our games of chase and fetch. One wind whoosh did see the tennis ball almost run onto the road early on, and I had a heart-stopping flash forward of having to return a "Squashed-Sheila" (patent pending) to her owners but I'm glad to say her ball retrieval skills were far better than my lobbing. For a 15 year old dog, she ain't half spritely. I hope I'm as fit when I'm 105.

I'm settling into my dog-caring duties quite well. Lahouha won't be too overjoyed to hear that since she'll (rightly) suspect it's reinforced my dog-wanting aspirations too. Lah arrives here tomorrow night on the train from the Big Smoke (assuming it doesn't fall off the track) and she'll just have to accept that there's three of us in this here relationship for the next 10 days. I hope we can all cope.

I've not told Lah I've been having this old woman come into my room at night neither ... admittedly, she doesn't get in my bed - choosing to huff and sigh at the bottom of the bed instead. Bless. Reminds me of my ex...

Am also enjoying watch the wildlife in these here parts too.

day 2 : walk 3

2007-02-27T14:45:00.000Z

Me and the dog were getting on grand.

Sun shone yesterday so headed out not once, but twice, keen as mustard with my dog walking duties. Lovely views, bright skies, smiles and nods from all that passed our way. Obedient, happy dog. "Sheila" (not her real name) even sat patiently outside the shops while I collected some essentials (bread, chocolate, alcohol). Champion it were. Champion.

Today. Not quite so romantic.

It was raining. Well, actually it wasn't raining when we set out but had been all night and this morning so the clues were there. I'd picked up a circular walk from the Tourist Board yesterday and decided we'd tackle this new ground together.

Doh.

The first part was peasy. No rain, simple route, along the towpath. We then had to cross a bridge and enter farmland. Problem was the bridge was busy with a sheep crossing (not sure that's its technical name). Fortunately, "Sheila" was close at hand and I managed to get her back on the lead. I'd been assured she was a well behaved dog, but didn't like other dogs and had tendencies to herd farm animals with a snarl and a grimace - even at her tender age of 15.

Chatted with the farmer for a bit, while "Sheila" grimaced at the sheep. He was a very friendly, cheerful farmer although he was keen to tell me how his dog had dropped dead aged 15 years. Erm, yeh, cheers, thanks alot.

So wennyway, we bid our goodbyes and turned to cross the stile and wooden bridge. Only problem was that said stile was a massive blighter with no 'dog gate' beside it. Being in her twilight years and despite being fitter than me for the best part, "Sheila's" back-end isn't so great and she finds jumping over large objects (?) quite hard. So there was nowt for it but to pick up "Sheila" and clamber over. Yay. But this was marginally less embarrassing than saying 'oh dear, can't get over that, best turn back'.

The farmer naturally stood and watched southern-accented towngirl bending down to hoik up old dog. I would've too. And it would've been fine except "Sheila" has her pride and doesn't need reminding she's an old bitch in front of strangers. Add to this a wet and slippy stile and am sure you can guess what's coming next...

Managed to get one leg over the monster stile when "Sheila" started wriggling like a good 'un. And she's no small dog. This made me all off balance when I hupped the other leg over, and I wobbled like a weeble before slipping, using the stile step to 'catch' my arse on the way down. Oof. (Am still holding the wriggling dog at this stage though - impressive huh?) Me fine. "Sheila" freaked into rigidity. Respective prides dented. Farmer - give him his due - not laughing his head off but showing reasonable concern.

Laughed it all off and turned to leg it. Instructions said cross the field and head up past the farmhouse. Fine. OK, so field wasn't field but squidgy bog but hey, that's the countryside for yer. Ploughed on (ha ha), squelching like a good 'un. Reached stile by farmhouse. Guess what? Uh huh. No way "Sheila" could hike over that one either and barbed fence all around ruled out any other way. She was now caked to her thighs in mud and not overly impressed to see me heading her way to pick her up again. She growled weakly in disgust and began her wriggling trick. Still - we got over safely and onto a lovely tarmac drive (see pic) just in time for me to spot angry sign ahead 'PRIVATE LAND - NO ACCESS'. No amount of studying the instructions that pointed me this very way was going to change the fact we weren't welcome. Add to that I could hear dogs barking in the distance...

There was nothing for it but to go back over the stile (sweet jesus!) and round the field's perimeter to another exit point. And yes, that was when it started to tip it down. Chundering to myself, we tramped on through even wetter and muddier bits of field as the water schlepped over the tops of my boots.

As much as it would make for far better reading to learn it was another massive stile, it wasn't and we were both saved the humiliation of clambering over it together. Instead, I had to make up the rest of the route, given that my 25p instruction map was useless - not to mention paper mache now - and we tramped onwards in the pouring rain.

Managed to get home in record time all things considered and "Sheila" patiently waited as I dried her off in the front porch with her personal (warmed-on-the-radiator) towel. She wasn't as helpful helping me out of my soggy clothing and into a warm shower choosing instead to flop with a sigh and a dirty look in my direction.

And that's where I've left her. Prrrrrffph. I reckon a pint at the pub next door now beckons ...

cockatoo or three

2007-02-26T11:02:00.000Z

I've been called a cock three times in the last 24 hours and my only response has been to grin broadly.

Why?

I'm oop in Lancashire int it?

They tell me 'cock' is a term of endearment. One born every minute, huh?

I'm house and dog sitting (makes your trews filthy) for two weeks for a friend of t'family. Being from Yorkshire stock originally despite being a scabby southerner for 25 years this being in Lancashire thing feels a bit odd. A bit disloyal. And yet it's always good to venture to places I've never been. Unless it's Dudley, obviously.

Two weeks away from the big smoke (or to be more exact the small smoke surburbanly attached to the big smoke), two weeks away from the 4WD mentalists that call themselves 'at home' mothers (muvvas morelike), two weeks of walking up fells and down dales, two weeks of decent ale, two weeks away from the PC.

Erm, ok, I'm gonna check in occasionally.

(1) Work requires it (2) I'm PC-dependent.

Lahouha joins me in five days so this first week I'm tasked with finding the best walks, pubs and food in the area. Don't suppose there are any gay venues in the immediate vicinity (town population 5,000) so think a trip to Manchester beckons next week...

It's gonna be hard, hard work but hey, I'll do me best.

conversations with my mother #427

2007-02-22T12:23:00.000Z

[context : my mother is overweight (5'5", 13st) & constantly unhappy with her size. She blames her inability to lose weight on ill fortune, having kids (36 and 42 years ago) rather than her refusal to ever eat healthily or do any exercise.]

— I've decided to stop worrying about my weight.

— oh?

— well look at jayne torville - she manages doesn't she?

— huh?

— well she's not exactly thin and she still gets around the ice OK.

speculation over

2007-02-21T17:34:00.000Z

ach. How many column inches and toner cartridges were expended in the media frenzy that Brit's head-shaving antics created?

How many psych-peoples professional opinions were requested in the hope that we could understand exactly what had pushed Britney over the edge?

(Because shaving your head is - like - sooo deranged. Erm. No. It is [sometimes] very, very sexy.)

Was it ...

Mental breakdown?
Public meltdown?
Rebellion?
Self flaggelation?
Sensationalism?
Lesbianism?
Cancer awareness promotion (as if)
Desperation?

One "expert's" opinion:

"I think we really should be concerned because this is an extreme, impulsive action that she took," psychotherapist Robin Ludwig told host Meredith Vieira during an interview Monday. "She's basically saying to the world, 'I want everybody to see how I really feel. I don't want to cover it up and identify myself with this Hollywood, glitzy side. This is how I'm feeling on the inside — damaged and sick.' "

Erm, no.

She got nits.

Do you reckon hairdressers up and down the land are now having to stop advertising the 'Britney' and relabel it the 'Nitney'?

No-so-catchy now.

Which reminds me, I've got a haircut planned for tomorrow.

Darn woman's stolen all my thunder.

revelations and education

2007-02-18T16:14:00.000Z

You'd think after 8 years you'd finally know all about someone huh?

Nope.

This weekend has been a bit of an eyeopener for me. Lahouha made an off-the-cuff statement that left me reeling. 'I don't think I've seen half of the Friends series.'

Huh?

OK, admittedly, Friends isn't all it was cracked up to be, but it filled a void, the odd half-hour, a quiet night in with a bottle of something. And the early series were a lot better than the latter fillers. What else was there to talk about over the corporate lunch table in the 90s? How many dyke bars I'd been frequenting? Nah, I was too scared.

I knew Lahouha's TV watching habits left a lot to be desired. Correction. I knew Lahouha had not wasted quite as many hours in front of the TV as me and for this reason alone should be applauded not scolded. But you gotta at least be able to say, 'yeh, saw that - rubbish' to any enquiries about past classics.

But she doesn't.

Bullseye? ("you can't beat a bit of bully" "Keep out of the black and in the red, nothing in this game for 2 in a bed" "Let's have a look at what you could have won...")

Nope.

Krypton Factor? ("the ultimate mental and physical tests to find out who was the UK Superperson") - I was going to take part but they stopped it before I grewed up.

Nope.

Tales of the Unexpected? (the dodgy, slightly creepy music, the dancing ladies [ho yes], the kitsch 70s clothing/acting/scenery...)

Nope.

Finally a (vague) justification for those obscure freeview channels. I have been slowly educating Lahouha on all the things she was blessed with not seeing in the first place.

And that's just it. Revisiting them has served the wrong purpose. Instead of Lahouha feeling enlightened and knowledgeable I have had the dawning realisation that half of my life has passed by in a blurry slur of shite viewing. When I could have just-switched-off-my-television-set-and-gone-out-and-done-something-less-boring-instead...

She's always thought I had an unending knowledge about trash and trivia.
I was always a bit proud of this.
I feel a bit dented and dirty now.
And I'm sure revisiting Friends would be another mistake.

toilet humour

2007-02-15T19:54:00.000Z

i would. would you?

does that make it better?

[http://www.snopes.com/photos/arts/toilet.asp]

timeless

2007-02-15T17:36:00.000Z

I am a long time fan of Jessica Lange. While she is most famous for her Oscar winning role in Tootsie, I was blown away with her performances in Frances (a disturbing biopic on the actress Frances Farmer) and The Postman Always Rings Twice. Quality films with a capital KW.

She's another woman with a trolley load of je ne sais quois and sex appeal by the bucketload. Sadly, she's also another woman who is fast looking old. Not her age necessarily, just old. And that's no surprise given that I fell for her c.1983, when I was a flighty 12 year old and she was 34. This now means she's pushing 60. How depressing. I never noticed I was oggling women of my mother's age back then (Jill Gascoigne, Francesca Annis, ...). It seems more obvious now and I end up feeling o-l-d when I catch sight of them. It hurts to admit it but they're pensioners. And yet I'm still oggling. Hmmm.

Younger women just don't do it for me. I can't lust after some lass in her 20s. It doesn't feel right. Am sure it's not just vanity. I probably wouldn't like being the old one in the outfit but I'd hate to think that's all. And does this mean that if I'm not careful, I'll grow lonely as I get older as all my old mates and eye candy will have faded long since.

Ach, it's OK. I've subliminally been addressing the problem for years now. Lahouha is only a year older than me whereas my ex was 7 years my senior.

And I do 'fess a little appreciation society for Leisha Hailey. Watching the delightful Jessica in interviews this week made me realise there were some uncanny similarities...give or take 25 years.

bad taste runs in the family

2007-02-14T12:06:00.000Z

is it bad bloggiquette to post jokes?

even if you have nothing better to say?

Ma sent me this joke over with 'thought this'd appeal to you...'

A man walks into a restaurant with an ostrich behind him. The waitress asks for their orders. The man says, "A hamburger,fries and a coke," and turns to the ostrich, "What's yours?" "I'll have the same," says the ostrich.

A short time later the waitress returns with the order. "That will be £9.40 please," she says and the man reaches into his pocket and pulls out the exact amount for payment. The next day, the man and the ostrich come again and the man says, "A hamburger, fries and a coke." The ostrich says, "Yeh, me too."

Again the man reaches into his pocket and pays with exact amount. This routine carries on for days until the two enter again the next week. "The usual?" asks the waitress. "No, this time it's a treat, so I'll have a steak, baked potato,and salad," says the man. "Yep! Same," says
the ostrich. The waitress brings the order and says, "That will be £32.64." Once again the man pulls the exact amount out of his pocket and places it on the table.

The waitress can't hold back her curiosity any longer. "Excuse me,sir.How do you manage to always come up with the exact money from your pocket every time?" "Well," says the man, "several years ago I was clearing the attic and found an old lamp. When I rubbed it a Genie appeared and offered me two wishes. My first wish was that if I ever had to pay for anything, I would just put my hand in my pocket and the right amount of money would always be there."

"That's brilliant!" says the waitress. "Most people would wish for a million pounds or something, but you'll always be as rich as you want for as long as you live!"

"That's right. Whether it's a pint of milk or a Rolls Royce, the exact money is always there," says the man.

The waitress asks, "But, sir, what's with the ostrich?"

The man sighs, pauses, and replies, "My second wish was for a tall bird with a big arse and long legs who agrees with everything I say."

.
.
So what is Ma inferring? That I carry change in my pockets, have a penchant for long legs and subordinance and/or love a good bit o' beef?

down to earth

2007-02-13T16:45:00.000Z

Yesterday's ITV lunchtime and today's BBC Breakfast news reported an accident where a skydiver fell to earth without his parachute opening. And lived.

The footage was incredible and took me back instantly to my tandem freefall skydive last year. Except mine had a happy landing. While I was watching the news coverage though I did think 'that jumpsuit's familiar' and then 'that view's familiar!' Turns out it all happened at Taupo Tandem Skydiving in NZ - the very same place I did my jump.

Yesterday is also a year to the day that Lahouha and me set off to NZ on our trip-of-a-lifetime. Five weeks of unadulterated pleasure, new experiences, not to mention cracking food and wine. I almost feel teary at the thought it was all a long year ago ne'mind that we are unlikely ever to do anything that cool again.

Pah.

a workaround ...

2007-02-09T15:56:00.000Z

Know what this is?

Yup. A cake.

It was made by Michelle Wibowo as one of the entries in the Sculpture Cake Competition 2006 at the NEC at Birmingham.

Amazing piece of art and solves a problem for me. I sometimes think I want a baby. But then I get distracted - or hungry - and forget all about it.

Champion!

Want to see the cake being made?

faamily ...

2007-02-09T15:08:00.000Z

I've been reticent to write about my family for fear that some day they'd discover this blog and I'd be held accountable for all the bad things I've said about them. Ah, shucks, what the hell?

A long lost cousin of mine found my aunt via the wonders of www and dropped her an email. It was a great email - much like you'd expect of someone getting in touch for the first time in their life. Polite, succinct, informative but not too revealing, blah blah.

My aunt's response?

"Hello [xxx],

You are certainly as beautiful as your mother, and yes, she always was a lovely woman. Not to mention complete SAINT to put up with your dad all this time. I would've thought she dump him by now.

You are going to visit your Granddad? Beware. He is a real grumpy old man. He married after mum died (the last time your DAD bothered to get in touch) I dont like her but she keeps the old man well fed.

I am 69 now (last July). I had to have all my teeth out last year as the roots were crumbling, but went into hospital for that, and got new teeth 3 weeks later - wonderful things -Everything else I have is real. I have to go to the hospital tomorrow - but, the snow has fallen and is thick, so I might not even be able to go to bingo.

I have 2 grown up children, [xxx] who is now 39 I think. My daughter lives in the same house as my first husband...she doesn't talk to me anymore.

It is really lovely to hear from you, and I have already told my sister and dad that you have been in touch, but beware of grandad, he can be really grumpy and HE is always right! His wife is very jealous I think, and has caused trouble between all of us, but he never thinks she can be wrong either, so be careful.

I live on my own after two marriages, but am chatting a nice man on the net, so the future looks a bit rosy-I have lived with a couple of people over the last 12 yrs since my last divorce-to a greedy, rude mannered, thief who stole from everyone and told me he was a bankrupt. Then he left me with all the bills because of his bankruptcy,

please do write again, I am still the soppiest of the 3 of us. Love, Aunty xxxxx"

Welcome-to-the-family. Thank god she didn't start to describe the rest of us. The boggles at how she'd have pitched it ... ;o)

Do you think my cousin will reply?!

the magic of malapropisms

2007-02-08T14:53:00.000Z

i do like a good malaprop and i've heard so many recently - not that i can ever remember them. i'll recount a few of my favourites here since it seems better than moaning about too much / not enough / wrong type of snow. As i work from home none of these are a good enough reasons to scivve off today. sigh.

Lahouha's grandma on her best behaviour at the Christmas dinner table:
"Would someone pass the condoms please?" (erm, condiments?)

My grandpa to other members of the family, on learning I'd been out for a meal with some friends for my birthday:
"Yes, she had a lovely time - she went to a Lesbian Restaurant." (Lebanese actually. Funny thing was he didn't know about my queer tendencies ... and my aunt was worried I'd think she'd outed me ...)

Overheard on news programme, some PC (not hardware) expert:
"It's got to the point where the backslash against working mothers is going to happen again" (too much www?)

And forgive me if you can't bear to hear the name, but I did love Jade (almost) aptly describing herself as "an escaped goat". Do you think she really said that Shilpa was a "wolf in cheap clothing" too?

From the doctor's surgery:
"I have a high anus hernia." (sounds painful)
Pregnant patient: "I’m afraid of having contraptions." (I would be too)

And after a night at the pub, my mate declared:
"I have slurred vision." (and blurred speech mebbe?)

And even my spam is getting in on the oxymoron act: "Genuine replica watches"

Bless.

"Say 'no' to negativity!"

gaping void

2007-02-02T16:24:00.000Z

Stumbled over this blog today and stayed far too long.

Cracking article(s) - "How to be Creative". As someone who regularly dabbles with creative types (sadly I have no leanings myself except when it comes to creative excuses as to why I've not done my work), I love his ideas, his ethos and most importantly his 'toons.

background bytes

2007-02-01T12:29:00.000Z

I kinda fell into blogging because my work commitments aren't so pressing of late. Yay! Actually, that's not good. How the hell is a girl to pay a mortgage if she isn't gainfully employed 24/7? Oh no, that's right, I don't do that any more. Just 12/5. And it's dipped to 4/5 lately. This is good in many ways but not financially, which regrettably, is the driving force to why I work at all. But I love being less stressed and out from under the evil glare of corporate politics bollocks. It's also grand to fix (ok supervise) those jobs that never got done, catch up with people I've not seen in ages and basically just-do-stuff.

Anyway, I didn't set the scene when I started blogging. I just blogged. Or should that be bleeeurghed. It ran off the tongue. And it's been flushed down the proverbial toilet since. So I'm starting from scratch. But I never did fill in any blanks. Who am I? Over time, you'll see but for now, here's a few snippets:

I'm a (non card carrying) member of the Club De Lesbian (but you knew that already).
I am very lucky and have a gorgeous girlfriend who is my soul mate (cliched but true).
I'm a (card carrying) redhead (coppernob, duracell, gingernut, carrot top, tango, IC7, blah blah).
I'm the wrong side of 35 (by about 9 months).
I like saying stuff (and then adding stuff in brackets) (really).
Lahouha (g'f) is a year older than me (she says 10 months, 10 days achoolee).
We've been together more than 8 years now.
My parents are still alive and both live on their own (I also have 3 step parents though only see 1).
I have 3 half brothers and 1 half sister (yet only see 1 bro).
I have 3 nephews and 2 nieces - that I know of (only see 1).
I'm the only person in my family in a relationship.
I've been self employed for 10 years.
I was born in the North East but live in the South East.
I'm pining to move back oop north before I'm 40 (ish).
I can't stand bad manners and (undeserved) rudeness but love sarcasm and grumpy people.
I sometimes get broody before remembering why I don't have or want children.
I adored Dave Gahan and James Dean all my teenage years. What a smokescreen...
I stopped hanging out with people who I used to like a lot but now don't understand (whether it's their attitude/ beliefs/ opinions/ treatment of others - the length of a friendship just ain't enough anymore).
I rate apathy and empathy higher than sympathy.
I've lived in more than 20 different houses or flats.
I went to an all girls' school and had endless crushes on older girls.
For that very reason, I loved school.
I love controversy but hate confrontation.
3 of my friends died before they were 25.
The first single I ever bought was 'Dance Yourself Dizzy' by Liquid Gold. (D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-dizzy!)
The last track I downloaded was 'Drops of Jupiter' by Train (a bit late, admittedly).
I've thrown myself out of a plane at 15,000ft but could never bungee.
3 people I know suffer with mental health issues. I should be grateful since statistics say 1 in 4 people suffer from mental health problems and if no one around me was having a time of it, it'd be me.
That said, I do know more than 12 people ...
I never use a hairbrush (except to sing with).
My first sexual encounter was with a girl at 14.
It led to a 2-year, secret, heady relationship that left me brokenhearted for years.
I no longer smoke, get stoned or caned but can't give up the drink (and why should I?)
I can't remember huge chunks of my early 20s - one big empty void.
This is very sad. And pathetic.
I'm learning to play golf.
I write with my right hand but for all physical activities (urp) I use my left.
I'm an aspirational vegetarian - I'll probably only ever give up meat if I have to kill it myself.
Meantime, I'm just not eating so much.
I'm more emotional than I'd like to admit.
I can't stand people who begin every sentence with I (gulp).
My fantasy woman has the mind of Jennifer Saunders, the body of Jamie Lee Curtis and the je ne sais quoi of Francesca Annis.
Lahouha has a kwalitee selection of these traits plus plenty of her own wow factors to make her my ideal woman.
I hate people waxing lyrical about how great their partner is. It's just plain dull for everyone else.
Oops.
Enough already ...

Is it not February yet?

2007-01-31T09:34:00.000Z

If you did read my first (remaining) blog of the year, you'll have seen my tirade about how many workmen it takes for our house to function. Answer: too many. Not only too many, but nothing was getting resolved fast anyways. Here is the update (and I'll try to keep it brief):

Water meter: not a leak. No amount of my twaddling with the loo cisterns was going fix our problem. We are supplying next door with water too. Ach, the joys of outsourcing. Water board blames meter people. I blame them all.

Ah well, we are now charging next door £5 per bath and 50p a flush. Am sure it'll sort itself out eventually. Actually, I reckon we're headed straight back to unmetered since no one can find the main supply pipe into the house and the water board's helpful suggestion is we separate ourselves off from our neighbours at the street connection for the princely sum of £1k+. Ha bloody ha.

Fence: still busted, wobbling and/or missing. We are promised a new fence on Friday. Having been mistaken for dead twice already, I've stopped holding my breath.

But good news! We do have all our lighting troubles fixed. We finally got an electrician round and less than 2 hours and more than £240 later - it was all done. What a mare. Not only did I watch him closely and realise that if I just had an ounce of sense and a bit of training I could have tackled these jobs myself (where is that college booklet?) BUT he was revolting. He arrived late. Looked me up and down, stopping briefly at my chest (chest? what chest?) before saying 'so is the kettle on?' and then proceeded to talk AT me all the time he was doing the lights. What he didn't know/where he hadn't been/who he hadn't met was nobody's business. And despite all this rich life experience he talked about queers as evil freaks and slagged off anyone who wasn't English. Ohhh man. And there I was captive, compelled to listen.

OK, so I wasn't compelled to listen. And there's the rub. But I wanted my electrics fixed (it's been almost a year since some of the lights stopped working) and I couldn't leave him on his own in my house having grown to hate and mistrust him in < 2 minutes. Ironically, he did a good job but it just wasn't enough, y'know?

This is where I fess up. To assuage my guilt (at failing to say 'listen you twat, I am queer and proud and it's English people like you that make me hate my very Englishness - get out of my f*cking house and don't darken our doorstep again' - or some such civilised retort) I spat in his coffee.

Not very PC huh? Does one lot of shite poured from one's mouth not deserve another though?

We don't take bags here ...

2007-01-25T11:11:00.000Z

I was in the post office. In a queue. Waiting. Waaaiting.

An old lady wheels her trolley up to the counter and dives in. After some time she resurfaces with a bag of coins before plunging back in. Another bag of coins are liberated from the plaid perambulator (sp). At this point the woman behind the counter says 'We don't take coins here'. Another bag of coins appear before the lady returns to the depths. 'WE DON'T TAKE COINS HERE' the cashier repeats.

'Hmm?' says old lady.

The remainder of the queue tut and sigh in an exasperated fashion, while I chuckle away, settling into this inevitable piece of customer/cashier banter.

'What did you say dear?' says old lady.

'WE DON'T TAKE COINS IN BAGS HERE' cashier enunciates.

'What's that dear? You don't take coins in bags?

'NO. W-E___D-O-N-T___T-A-K-E___C-O-I-N-S___I-N___B-A-G-S___H-E-R-E.' cashier snipes.

Woo, thought I. No need to be so grumpy. Poor love probably hasn't been out for days ... But it was OK, the old lady had it covered.

She slowly, but surely, stood up tall and began to pick up each bag of coins and empty them in to the tray.

'WHAT ARE YOU DOING??' the cashier screams

'I'm taking the coins out of the bag dear ...' the old lady naturally replies.

Ha ha ha. Loved it. Sad thing was, the old lady wasn't being antagonistic. She just thought they wanted a whole pile of loose coins...

Suffice to say, it took a long time to post my parcel this morning. But it was kinda worth it. I'm still chuckling now.

Internal repairs

2007-01-24T11:16:00.000Z

Not content with household anxieties, I've been to the dentist for a personal patch up. For me to go to the dentist voluntarily, is, like, weird. I had so many teeth out and fillings in before the age of ten that I have grown a tad reluctant. The story goes that the only way our babysitter could keep me quiet/amused was to drip feed me Jelly Tots. Uncannily, it still works now. So my teeth aren't in the greatest condition.

For a few months I've been ignoring the can't-chew-on-my-back-right-teeth feeling, but yesterday I checked in to get it checked out. 10 sweaty palm minutes in the chair later and the (dominatrix-like and thus mildly appealing) dentist announces she can't find anything wrong. Aaaaagh. Suggestion is I come back tomorrow, she'll remove the filling, replace with a temporary one and see if that fixes it. If it does, I can then come back (AGAIN) to have a proper one put in. If not ... she'll have to do some more digging around (baad choice of words). I'll admit I went home, tested my back teeth again and decided maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

Lahouha sneered at my feeble attempts to 'resolve' problem quickly and cheaply and insisted I went back. So I did. And it really wasn't that bad. Head clamped to my dentist's bosom (her move not mine) I wedged my eyes shut and filled my head with lah-laahed versions of every Depeche Mode song I could think of and it was over pretty quickly. And here I am now feeling quite numb, a bit dribbly, but (so far) pain free. Let's hope this fixes the little munkeh because me and sweets/chocolate can't be separated too long.

To distract myself, I've calculated this 'adventure' is going to set me back almost £200. Yay. Kinda wish I'd just legged it when she uttered the 'well, I can't see anything wrong' line. This is shaping up like the water meter saga, which still continues, yes. Latest investigations have implied we may be supplying our neighbours with water too. Nothing if not generous, us.

And yet, waking up to snow this morning has made it all that bit berrer. Seeing as work is quiet today, I'm going to pull all my fag breaks into one and go for a walk. Nothing better than kicking up slush, writing woooed words on people's cars and just chillin' for a while. Things could be worse ...

Defence is over-rated ... and in nextdoor's garden

2007-01-18T15:18:00.000Z

Having deleted (almost by accident) the few blogs from last year, thought I might start afresh - new year and all that. Thing is, it's old, uninspiring ground - namely my reliance on men (sigh) and my total ineptitude for anything vaguely DIY.

Here's my week so far:

Monday - men come to fix busted fence (from storm last week). In the scheme of things a busted fence isn't so bad. Post in, fence secured, but they'll have to come back to cut a piece out of the paving slab before it's relaid. At least that's an end to the anxiety that flapping fence might take out random pedestrians and parked cars (take out our neighbours, pleeease).

Attempt a third 'ring round' of electricians to see if someone will fit a new light in the bedroom and repair the five transformers that have either blown or are threatening to. Great disco effect in kitchen though not entirely useful when holding sharp knife. Left message for three. One said 'call next week and I'll see if I'm free'. Huh?

Tuesday - men come to check new water meter as we seem to be leaking water. New water meter dug up, tested. Not leaking. You'll have to call the water board back luv.

Wednesday - men come to cut piece out of paving slab. Done. There's enough space in the slab to also fit a small child standing on one foot (should you ever need to) - but don't suppose there's much to be done about that now.

Discover (while cleaning) that the cistern is drip dripping. Aha. Leaking water. My diagnostics skills are not to be scoffed at. Pity I didn't spot it before they dug up the road. Again. Fiddle for 1/2 hour + and improve the leak or rather stem the flow - but not entirely. Sigh. Plumber still needed.

Thursday - god is it only Thursday? Call mate who alludes to plumbing expertise. Says he'll pop over Saturday. Phew! Success! He did add it'd be the morning after the huge bender before, so mentally make note not to expect him before Sunday night.

Meantime 3 (previously stable) fence panels upsticks and race each other down the road. Yay! Fortunately no one was hurt though I did manage to look a right twat battling with a 6ft x 6ft fence panel in 50mph gusts. Imagine MJ's Thriller dance moves but with face in fence panel. Yup, that was me.

I almost miss working in an office. Being the WFHer of the outfit, I get to handle the domestic crises. Tcha. Scrap that. I don't miss working in an office. I miss renting.