December 19th
Discover that secret to "To Do" lists is that if you wait long enough the entire week comes round again, and so spend morning feeling smug that it is only Tuesday and yet already have things ticked off for Thursday.
In light of last posting date, spend day in frenzy of home made card making, which involves fabulous gingerbread design made from recycled cardboard, cookie cutters and white glitter. Am pleased by result but discover while writing envelopes, that I have vastly over estimated number of friends I have and feel slightly depressed. (Note to self – check out possibility of selling gingerbread card glut to company owned by bloke once kissed at 6th form party for vast sum of money – the cards not the kiss, sadly, as would have at that point quite happily have kissed people for money – but do not wish to think about what that says about my morals as a teen! Although on reflection am going to assume this was merely further evidence of budding entrepreneurial spirit fist developed in 2nd year with sale of stamps and 4th year with sale of English essays and forged notes from parents.)
December 20th
Previous embarrassment at always being in pajamas when postman knocks on door pays off when he delivers a parcel from my friend Inge in Denmark, from which she has omitted the house number. Postman says he recognized my name as I always come to the door in PJs and thus he remembers me. Do not explore what it is about the impression I make in my nightwear that has stuck in his head and willfully and without evidence chose to believe it is complimentary.
Entire country is swathed in fog which grounds planes and leads to number of human interest stories in manner of Plane, Train and Automobile about people trying to get home for holidays.
Am particularly irritated by young German woman, who complains that she hasn't been able to get a flight yet despite having followed the instructions given her by the airport (phone ahead, check in early etc) to the letter. Am unclear how any instructions the airport gives (short of get on the runway with your fellow whiners and blow really hard at the fog) could possibly be expected to clear the fog and let her fly. Think this sad reflection on the younger generation's sense of entitlement.
December 21st
Much anticipated visit from Lucy and Lily from Thailand finally arrives. (Traditional summer visit next year cancelled as Lucy will be too with child to fly.) Lily seems to have adapted to weather just fine, but Lucy looks very thin, very brown and very cold despite copious layers and 3 hats worn simultaneously. Turn heating up to tropical temperatures in attempt to remove bluish tinge from Lucy's complexion and order copious amounts of Indian food which helps. Within few hours of their being here feel start of cold and have to give serious thought to theory that I might be allergic to children. This leads to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang flight of fancy in which I build large cave under the house where all the children of Woking must live, but on reflection decide to leave them where they are and just not go out.
Final straw occurs when I am left to mind Lily for a few minutes and she settles down to play quietly on the double bed while dig out some clothes that Lucy might find useful during her pregnancy. I turn back 30 seconds later when Lily says "look at me is this dangerous?" and find she has teleported herself (I think toddlers train the marines about swift and silent movement over terrain) to the metal bedstead and has climbed up it. Do no know if it is my horrified face that distracts her or my leap from the bed, but she slips and in amazing slow motion arcs down to smack her face on the metal I catch her before she hits the floor but there is lots of blood and screaming, and both Lily and I go into shock leaving Lucy to cope. May suggest to Lucy next time that Lily would be safer left in a cave somewhere. Feel distraught that I have broken a two year old and drink bottle of champagne later to console myself.
Christmas
Christmas goes well and HTB and myself have fabulous time with both our families, although have horrid feeling that my drunken rendition of all the songs in Some Like It Hot, make stay with HTB's brother longer than he cares to think about, but I blame the champagne. Watch Queen's speech and am delighted to be able to see one of the boats from my ex workplace through the window over her shoulder and text Rachel immediately (less successful is my champagne fuelled urge to tell my parents but I will draw a veil).
Presents are well received and I am particularly delighted to find that HTB was not being obscene when he offered me a pearl necklace and has in fact bought me one and matching earrings. He in turn is amused by my witty and clever (desperate and far fetched) take on the 12 days of Christmas and seems very keen on the bottle of Grouse in a Pear Tree.
HTB's children are both very well behaved (due in part I think to my convincing C some time ago that all CTV cameras are linked into a worldwide surveillance system run by Santa, can't imagine what numerous security guards have made of small boy waving at them and mouthing Hello Santa, but have fun trying.) They like presents and we have lots of fun playing one particular board game. E has her traditional Christmas illness and HTB and I take it turns to mop up and I reflect on the difference between the amount she has eaten and the amount she expels. (Expelled = aMount Consumed squared)
All in all a good time had by all and we stagger towards New Year non too worse for wear.
Friday, 29 December 2006
Monday, 18 December 2006
We interupt normal transmissions for this word from our sponsor . . .
Fibromyalgia
Since my diagnosis I have found myself trying to explain Fybromyalgia to a number of my family and friends and not doing all that well. It seems that of all my friends only those in the US and Scandinavia have ever heard of it.
I therefore thought would take a small break from my attempts to be amusing and give an introduction to what other people say Fybromyalgia, followed by how it affects me and by extension the people that know me.
It's a bit long and for that I apologise and beg your indulgence – here comes the science:
The Fibromyalgia Network has this to say:
WHAT IS FIBROMYALGIA SYNDROME?
FMS (Fibromyalgia syndrome) is a widespread musculoskeletal pain and fatigue disorder for which the cause is still unknown. Fibromyalgia means pain in the muscles, ligaments, and tendons – the soft fibrous tissues in the body.
Most patients with FMS say that they ache all over. Their muscles may feel like they have been pulled or overworked. Sometimes the muscles twitch and at other times they burn. More women than men are afflicted with FMS, and it shows up in people of all ages.
To help your family and friends relate to your condition, have them think back to the last time they had a bad flu. Every muscle in their body shouted out in pain. In addition, they felt devoid of energy as though someone had unplugged their power supply. While the severity of symptoms fluctuate from person to person, FMS may resemble a post-viral state. This similarity is the reason experts in the field of FMS and chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS) believe that these two syndromes may be one and the same. Gulf War syndrome also overlaps with FMS/CFS.
SYMPTOMS AND ASSOCIATED SYNDROMES
Pain - The pain of FMS has no boundaries. People describe the pain as deep muscular aching, throbbing, shooting, and stabbing. Intense burning may also be present. Quite often, the pain and stiffness are worse in the morning and you may hurt more in muscle groups that are used repetitively.
Fatigue - This symptom can be mild in some patients and yet incapacitating in others. The fatigue has been described as "brain fatigue" in which patients feel totally drained of energy. Many patients depict this situation by saying that they feel as though their arms and legs are tied to concrete blocks, and they have difficulty concentrating, e.g., brain fog.
Sleep disorder - Most FMS patients have an associated sleep disorder called the alpha-EEG anomaly. This condition was uncovered in a sleep lab with the aid of a machine which recorded the brain waves of patients during sleep. Researchers found that most FMS patients could fall asleep without much trouble, but their deep level (or stage 4) sleep was constantly interrupted by bursts of awake-like brain activity. Patients appeared to spend the night with one foot in sleep and the other one out of it.
Sleep lab tests may not be necessary to determine if you have disturbed sleep. If you wake up feeling as though you've just been run over by a Mack truck – what doctors refer to as unrefreshing sleep – it is reasonable for your physician to assume that you have a sleep disorder. Many FMS patients have been found to have other sleep disorders in addition to the alpha-EEG, such as sleep apnea (as well as the newly discovered form of interrupted breathing called upper airway resistance syndrome, or UARS), bruxism (teeth grinding), periodic limb movement during sleep (jerking of arms and legs), and restless legs syndrome (difficulty sitting still in the evenings).
Irritable Bowel Syndrome - Constipation, diarrhea, frequent abdominal pain, abdominal gas, and nausea represent symptoms frequently found in roughly 40 to 70% of FMS patients. Acid reflux or gastroesophogeal reflux disease (GRED) also occurs with the same high frequency.
Chronic headaches - Recurrent migraine or tension-type headaches are seen in about 70% of FMS patients and can pose a major problem in coping for this patient group.
Temporomandibular Joint Dysfunction Syndrome - This syndrome, sometimes referred to as TMJ or TMD, causes tremendous jaw-related face and head pain in one quarter of FMS patients. However, a 1997 published report indicated that close to 75% of FMS patients have a varying degree of jaw discomfort. Typically, the problems are related to the muscles and ligaments surrounding the jaw joint and not necessarily the joint itself.
Other common symptoms - Premenstrual syndrome and painful periods, chest pain, morning stiffness, cognitive or memory impairment, numbness and tingling sensations, muscle twitching, irritable bladder, the feeling of swollen extremities, skin sensitivities, dry eyes and mouth, dizziness, and impaired coordination can occur. Patients are often sensitive to odors, loud noises, bright lights, and sometimes even the medications that they are prescribed.
Aggravating factors - Changes in weather, cold or drafty environments, infections, allergies, hormonal fluctuations (premenstrual and menopausal states), stress, depression, anxiety and over-exertion may all contribute to symptom flare-ups.
POSSIBLE CAUSES
The cause of FMS remains elusive, but there are many triggering events thought to precipitate its onset. A few examples would be an infection (viral or bacterial), an automobile accident or the development of another disorder, such as rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, or hypothyroidism. These triggering events probably don't cause FMS, but rather, they may awaken an underlying physiological abnormality that is already present.
COMMON TREATMENTS
Traditional treatments are geared toward improving the quality of sleep and reducing pain, which means that a sleep study may aid with individualizing your therapy. Deep level (stage 4) sleep is crucial for many body functions (such as tissue repair, antibody production, and the regulation of various neurotransmitters, hormones and immune system chemicals). Therefore, the sleep disorders that frequently occur in FMS patients are treated first because they may be a strong contributing factor to the symptoms of this condition. Medications that boost your body's level of serotonin and norepinephrine (neurotransmitters that modulate sleep, pain, and immune system function) are commonly prescribed in low doses, such as amitriptyline, cyclobenzaprine and Cymbalta. Ambien, Lunesta, clonazepam, and trazodone are just a few of the medications that may be used to aid sleep. Ultram may help with the pain, although stronger opioids may be needed for treating moderate to severe pain. Muscle relaxants, anti-epileptics (such as Neurontin and Lyrica) and other drug categories may be prescribed as well.
In addition to medications, most patients will need to use other treatment methods as well, such as trigger point injections with lidocaine, physical therapy, occupational therapy, acupuncture, acupressure, relaxation/biofeedback techniques, osteopathic manipulation, chiropractic care, therapeutic massage, or a gentle exercise program.
WHAT IS THE PROGNOSIS?
Long term follow-up studies on FMS have shown that it is chronic, but the symptoms may wax and wane. The impact that FMS has on daily living activities, including the ability to work a full-time job, differs among patients. Overall, studies show that FMS may be equally as disabling as rheumatoid arthritis.
WIKIPEDIA SAYS THIS:
Fibromyalgia can start as a result of some trauma (such as a traffic accident) or major surgery (usually hysterectomy), but there is currently no known strong correlation between any specific type of trigger and the subsequent initiation of Fibromyalgia. Symptoms can have a slow onset, and many patients have mild symptoms beginning in childhood, such as growing pains. Symptoms are often aggravated by unrelated illness or changes in the weather. They can become more tolerable or less tolerable throughout daily or yearly cycles; however, many people with Fibromyalgia find that, at least some of the time, the condition prevents them from performing normal activities such as driving a car or walking up stairs. The syndrome does not cause inflammation as is presented in arthritis, but anti-inflammatory treatments, such as Ibuprofen and Iontophoresis, are known to temporarily reduce pain symptoms in some people.
Living with fibromyalgia
Fibromyalgia can affect every aspect of a person's life. While neither degenerative nor fatal, the chronic pain associated with Fibromyalgia is pervasive and persistent. FMS can severely curtail social activity and recreation, and as many as 30% of those diagnosed with Fibromyalgia are unable to maintain full-time employment. Like others with disabilities, individuals with FMS often need accommodations to fully participate in their education or remain active in their careers.
In the United Kingdom, the Department for Work and Pensions recognizes Fibromyalgia as a condition for the purpose of claiming benefits and assistance.
Fibromyalgia is often referred to as an "invisible" illness or disability due to the fact that generally there are no outward indications of the illness or its resulting disabilities. The invisible nature of the illness, as well as its relative rarity and the lack of understanding about its pathology, often has psychosocial complications for those that have the syndrome. Individuals suffering from invisible illnesses in general often face disbelief or accusations of malingering or laziness from others that are unfamiliar with the syndrome.
___________________________________________________________
Well that ends the science bit thanks for hanging in if you have made it this far – here is my bit:
WHAT THIS MEANS FOR ME AND MY FRIENDS!
For me it explains a lot of stuff – the pain, the exhaustion, the falling down when I over do things and even the little stuff like my inability to tolerate whistling, the smell of some perfumes and strong sunlight even in winter (ya boo sucks to my ex boss who thought I was either posing or hung over when I came in wearing sunglasses during February!) It's also a vindication of years of feeling that maybe I was lazy or mad and an opportunity to say to those relationships in the past that have fallen foul of my tiredness, or sadness, I'm sorry but it wasn't all my fault, maybe if we'd known I was ill we'd have been kinder to each other.
I think that although I had been predisposed as a child to fainting and fatigue (I was off school for 3 months with post viral fatigue during 6th form) the constant pain and tiredness date from an ectopic pregnancy in 2000.
The pain varies form day to day and often hour to hour, during a flare up it can be almost unbearable. I find relief through pain killers and heat, but the painkillers don't always touch the pain. When thing are bad I lie down … a lot … this doesn't always mean sleeping (although sometimes it does for hours and hours), in a flare up I am lucky if I sleep before 1am and after 3am – this is stressful for someone who needs 8 hours a night to even like the rest of the human race.
Flare ups can last a few days or sometimes weeks, my worst one ever was triggered by flu a couple of years ago and I ended up unable to walk that took months to get over. Mine are usually triggered by catching anything from anyone, stress (almost instantaneously) and changes in the temperature/weather. This makes me very strange to live and work with, and paranoid about infection. I am currently in a flare up that has lasted nearly a month and have not felt well enough to work since I left my job at the end of October. This is not the first job I have had to leave because I was unwell, but is the one I feel most upset about leaving.
This also means I have to ration my outings and schedule social functions carefully. This leaves me feeling rude and pathetic when I say to people "can we do this another night? I have something already scheduled the next day and will need to rest before hand" So sometimes I don't say it, over do it and literally fall over the day after. When I am unwell I pay for any kind of activity with some amount of lying down time within the next few days. Sometimes good days can turn into bad ones quickly and again I'm left with the choice of pulling out and being rude or tiring myself out. I get cross about giving up stuff I have looked forward to, I don't just go out to not appear rude – I go out because I want to and damn the cost. Sometimes the cost is high.
By far the worse symptom for me is the "fibro fog". I have always prided myself on my smarts and having struggled as a child with dyslexia, worked hard at my spelling and vocabulary. When I am ill both desert me – I can't spell and worse can't see that I have spelt something wrong until someone laughs at me (this hurts!). Sometimes I can't finish sentences because I can't think of the words and sometimes because I can't remember the subject of the conversation, this make me feel stupid. I hate being stupid, hate it!
It is hard to be bright and well informed when you can't remember what you have read. My friends, God bless them all have all become brilliant at charades style conversations where they guess the conversation from gesturing and clues, those that couldn't be bothered have sadly fallen by the wayside, this makes me sad, but "love me tolerate my foibles" is my new motto.
I forget things – things people have told me, places I have put thing, why I am standing in a room. This is embarrassing as I have always had a good memory, some of my friends call me their memory, to me not remembering something someone tells me implies not caring, this isn't so in my case, but I worry that they will think so. In Thailand I found myself in front to a mirror totally unable to say why I was sat there holding my hair, eventually I remembered I was going to plait it to go to the beach. This was when I realised I no longer knew how to plait hair – a skill I had mastered 30 years before. Getting ready to go out now takes longer than ever as I can guarantee it will involve a search for something I picked up to wear, put down again and cannot find. Last week I spent 15 minutes looking for a pair of stockings I had got out, only to have to get out a replacement pair, I then spent another 10 minutes looking for one of them to have my partner point out I was wearing it already. (My partner by the way deserves a medal) .I later found the original pair in a different drawer with no idea why I put them there or memory of doing so.
Right now I have no idea where my house keys are and daren't take the spare set in case I lose them too. For some reason I found light bulbs in the fridge and often have to go through bins for things I have thrown away that I meant to put away. Going to our kitchen cupboards is always an adventure.
Last but not least are the mood swings – woo hoo what fun! The fun part for me is sometimes I know I'm being unreasonable but can't stop (apologies here in particular go to HTB and Rachel- they both know when I mean) and sometimes I have genuine reason to be upset but am told I am over reacting. (This never, ever, ever calms me down by the way – it just doesn't work, but I don't think this is because I have FM, or even because I am female I think telling people what they think or feel doesn't work!) I am reminded of a cartoon in which the guy is looking at the woman and his diary and saying "you mean it wasn't PMT?" Sometime it isn't the FM, sometimes I am genuinely p*ssed off – telling the difference is what makes it fun for you!
Anyway as Forest Gump would say, "that's all I have to say about that". This is real, I do have it, I'm sorry when it affects you too and thank you for listening.
Normal transmissions will resume soon.
Since my diagnosis I have found myself trying to explain Fybromyalgia to a number of my family and friends and not doing all that well. It seems that of all my friends only those in the US and Scandinavia have ever heard of it.
I therefore thought would take a small break from my attempts to be amusing and give an introduction to what other people say Fybromyalgia, followed by how it affects me and by extension the people that know me.
It's a bit long and for that I apologise and beg your indulgence – here comes the science:
The Fibromyalgia Network has this to say:
WHAT IS FIBROMYALGIA SYNDROME?
FMS (Fibromyalgia syndrome) is a widespread musculoskeletal pain and fatigue disorder for which the cause is still unknown. Fibromyalgia means pain in the muscles, ligaments, and tendons – the soft fibrous tissues in the body.
Most patients with FMS say that they ache all over. Their muscles may feel like they have been pulled or overworked. Sometimes the muscles twitch and at other times they burn. More women than men are afflicted with FMS, and it shows up in people of all ages.
To help your family and friends relate to your condition, have them think back to the last time they had a bad flu. Every muscle in their body shouted out in pain. In addition, they felt devoid of energy as though someone had unplugged their power supply. While the severity of symptoms fluctuate from person to person, FMS may resemble a post-viral state. This similarity is the reason experts in the field of FMS and chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS) believe that these two syndromes may be one and the same. Gulf War syndrome also overlaps with FMS/CFS.
SYMPTOMS AND ASSOCIATED SYNDROMES
Pain - The pain of FMS has no boundaries. People describe the pain as deep muscular aching, throbbing, shooting, and stabbing. Intense burning may also be present. Quite often, the pain and stiffness are worse in the morning and you may hurt more in muscle groups that are used repetitively.
Fatigue - This symptom can be mild in some patients and yet incapacitating in others. The fatigue has been described as "brain fatigue" in which patients feel totally drained of energy. Many patients depict this situation by saying that they feel as though their arms and legs are tied to concrete blocks, and they have difficulty concentrating, e.g., brain fog.
Sleep disorder - Most FMS patients have an associated sleep disorder called the alpha-EEG anomaly. This condition was uncovered in a sleep lab with the aid of a machine which recorded the brain waves of patients during sleep. Researchers found that most FMS patients could fall asleep without much trouble, but their deep level (or stage 4) sleep was constantly interrupted by bursts of awake-like brain activity. Patients appeared to spend the night with one foot in sleep and the other one out of it.
Sleep lab tests may not be necessary to determine if you have disturbed sleep. If you wake up feeling as though you've just been run over by a Mack truck – what doctors refer to as unrefreshing sleep – it is reasonable for your physician to assume that you have a sleep disorder. Many FMS patients have been found to have other sleep disorders in addition to the alpha-EEG, such as sleep apnea (as well as the newly discovered form of interrupted breathing called upper airway resistance syndrome, or UARS), bruxism (teeth grinding), periodic limb movement during sleep (jerking of arms and legs), and restless legs syndrome (difficulty sitting still in the evenings).
Irritable Bowel Syndrome - Constipation, diarrhea, frequent abdominal pain, abdominal gas, and nausea represent symptoms frequently found in roughly 40 to 70% of FMS patients. Acid reflux or gastroesophogeal reflux disease (GRED) also occurs with the same high frequency.
Chronic headaches - Recurrent migraine or tension-type headaches are seen in about 70% of FMS patients and can pose a major problem in coping for this patient group.
Temporomandibular Joint Dysfunction Syndrome - This syndrome, sometimes referred to as TMJ or TMD, causes tremendous jaw-related face and head pain in one quarter of FMS patients. However, a 1997 published report indicated that close to 75% of FMS patients have a varying degree of jaw discomfort. Typically, the problems are related to the muscles and ligaments surrounding the jaw joint and not necessarily the joint itself.
Other common symptoms - Premenstrual syndrome and painful periods, chest pain, morning stiffness, cognitive or memory impairment, numbness and tingling sensations, muscle twitching, irritable bladder, the feeling of swollen extremities, skin sensitivities, dry eyes and mouth, dizziness, and impaired coordination can occur. Patients are often sensitive to odors, loud noises, bright lights, and sometimes even the medications that they are prescribed.
Aggravating factors - Changes in weather, cold or drafty environments, infections, allergies, hormonal fluctuations (premenstrual and menopausal states), stress, depression, anxiety and over-exertion may all contribute to symptom flare-ups.
POSSIBLE CAUSES
The cause of FMS remains elusive, but there are many triggering events thought to precipitate its onset. A few examples would be an infection (viral or bacterial), an automobile accident or the development of another disorder, such as rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, or hypothyroidism. These triggering events probably don't cause FMS, but rather, they may awaken an underlying physiological abnormality that is already present.
COMMON TREATMENTS
Traditional treatments are geared toward improving the quality of sleep and reducing pain, which means that a sleep study may aid with individualizing your therapy. Deep level (stage 4) sleep is crucial for many body functions (such as tissue repair, antibody production, and the regulation of various neurotransmitters, hormones and immune system chemicals). Therefore, the sleep disorders that frequently occur in FMS patients are treated first because they may be a strong contributing factor to the symptoms of this condition. Medications that boost your body's level of serotonin and norepinephrine (neurotransmitters that modulate sleep, pain, and immune system function) are commonly prescribed in low doses, such as amitriptyline, cyclobenzaprine and Cymbalta. Ambien, Lunesta, clonazepam, and trazodone are just a few of the medications that may be used to aid sleep. Ultram may help with the pain, although stronger opioids may be needed for treating moderate to severe pain. Muscle relaxants, anti-epileptics (such as Neurontin and Lyrica) and other drug categories may be prescribed as well.
In addition to medications, most patients will need to use other treatment methods as well, such as trigger point injections with lidocaine, physical therapy, occupational therapy, acupuncture, acupressure, relaxation/biofeedback techniques, osteopathic manipulation, chiropractic care, therapeutic massage, or a gentle exercise program.
WHAT IS THE PROGNOSIS?
Long term follow-up studies on FMS have shown that it is chronic, but the symptoms may wax and wane. The impact that FMS has on daily living activities, including the ability to work a full-time job, differs among patients. Overall, studies show that FMS may be equally as disabling as rheumatoid arthritis.
WIKIPEDIA SAYS THIS:
Fibromyalgia can start as a result of some trauma (such as a traffic accident) or major surgery (usually hysterectomy), but there is currently no known strong correlation between any specific type of trigger and the subsequent initiation of Fibromyalgia. Symptoms can have a slow onset, and many patients have mild symptoms beginning in childhood, such as growing pains. Symptoms are often aggravated by unrelated illness or changes in the weather. They can become more tolerable or less tolerable throughout daily or yearly cycles; however, many people with Fibromyalgia find that, at least some of the time, the condition prevents them from performing normal activities such as driving a car or walking up stairs. The syndrome does not cause inflammation as is presented in arthritis, but anti-inflammatory treatments, such as Ibuprofen and Iontophoresis, are known to temporarily reduce pain symptoms in some people.
Living with fibromyalgia
Fibromyalgia can affect every aspect of a person's life. While neither degenerative nor fatal, the chronic pain associated with Fibromyalgia is pervasive and persistent. FMS can severely curtail social activity and recreation, and as many as 30% of those diagnosed with Fibromyalgia are unable to maintain full-time employment. Like others with disabilities, individuals with FMS often need accommodations to fully participate in their education or remain active in their careers.
In the United Kingdom, the Department for Work and Pensions recognizes Fibromyalgia as a condition for the purpose of claiming benefits and assistance.
Fibromyalgia is often referred to as an "invisible" illness or disability due to the fact that generally there are no outward indications of the illness or its resulting disabilities. The invisible nature of the illness, as well as its relative rarity and the lack of understanding about its pathology, often has psychosocial complications for those that have the syndrome. Individuals suffering from invisible illnesses in general often face disbelief or accusations of malingering or laziness from others that are unfamiliar with the syndrome.
___________________________________________________________
Well that ends the science bit thanks for hanging in if you have made it this far – here is my bit:
WHAT THIS MEANS FOR ME AND MY FRIENDS!
For me it explains a lot of stuff – the pain, the exhaustion, the falling down when I over do things and even the little stuff like my inability to tolerate whistling, the smell of some perfumes and strong sunlight even in winter (ya boo sucks to my ex boss who thought I was either posing or hung over when I came in wearing sunglasses during February!) It's also a vindication of years of feeling that maybe I was lazy or mad and an opportunity to say to those relationships in the past that have fallen foul of my tiredness, or sadness, I'm sorry but it wasn't all my fault, maybe if we'd known I was ill we'd have been kinder to each other.
I think that although I had been predisposed as a child to fainting and fatigue (I was off school for 3 months with post viral fatigue during 6th form) the constant pain and tiredness date from an ectopic pregnancy in 2000.
The pain varies form day to day and often hour to hour, during a flare up it can be almost unbearable. I find relief through pain killers and heat, but the painkillers don't always touch the pain. When thing are bad I lie down … a lot … this doesn't always mean sleeping (although sometimes it does for hours and hours), in a flare up I am lucky if I sleep before 1am and after 3am – this is stressful for someone who needs 8 hours a night to even like the rest of the human race.
Flare ups can last a few days or sometimes weeks, my worst one ever was triggered by flu a couple of years ago and I ended up unable to walk that took months to get over. Mine are usually triggered by catching anything from anyone, stress (almost instantaneously) and changes in the temperature/weather. This makes me very strange to live and work with, and paranoid about infection. I am currently in a flare up that has lasted nearly a month and have not felt well enough to work since I left my job at the end of October. This is not the first job I have had to leave because I was unwell, but is the one I feel most upset about leaving.
This also means I have to ration my outings and schedule social functions carefully. This leaves me feeling rude and pathetic when I say to people "can we do this another night? I have something already scheduled the next day and will need to rest before hand" So sometimes I don't say it, over do it and literally fall over the day after. When I am unwell I pay for any kind of activity with some amount of lying down time within the next few days. Sometimes good days can turn into bad ones quickly and again I'm left with the choice of pulling out and being rude or tiring myself out. I get cross about giving up stuff I have looked forward to, I don't just go out to not appear rude – I go out because I want to and damn the cost. Sometimes the cost is high.
By far the worse symptom for me is the "fibro fog". I have always prided myself on my smarts and having struggled as a child with dyslexia, worked hard at my spelling and vocabulary. When I am ill both desert me – I can't spell and worse can't see that I have spelt something wrong until someone laughs at me (this hurts!). Sometimes I can't finish sentences because I can't think of the words and sometimes because I can't remember the subject of the conversation, this make me feel stupid. I hate being stupid, hate it!
It is hard to be bright and well informed when you can't remember what you have read. My friends, God bless them all have all become brilliant at charades style conversations where they guess the conversation from gesturing and clues, those that couldn't be bothered have sadly fallen by the wayside, this makes me sad, but "love me tolerate my foibles" is my new motto.
I forget things – things people have told me, places I have put thing, why I am standing in a room. This is embarrassing as I have always had a good memory, some of my friends call me their memory, to me not remembering something someone tells me implies not caring, this isn't so in my case, but I worry that they will think so. In Thailand I found myself in front to a mirror totally unable to say why I was sat there holding my hair, eventually I remembered I was going to plait it to go to the beach. This was when I realised I no longer knew how to plait hair – a skill I had mastered 30 years before. Getting ready to go out now takes longer than ever as I can guarantee it will involve a search for something I picked up to wear, put down again and cannot find. Last week I spent 15 minutes looking for a pair of stockings I had got out, only to have to get out a replacement pair, I then spent another 10 minutes looking for one of them to have my partner point out I was wearing it already. (My partner by the way deserves a medal) .I later found the original pair in a different drawer with no idea why I put them there or memory of doing so.
Right now I have no idea where my house keys are and daren't take the spare set in case I lose them too. For some reason I found light bulbs in the fridge and often have to go through bins for things I have thrown away that I meant to put away. Going to our kitchen cupboards is always an adventure.
Last but not least are the mood swings – woo hoo what fun! The fun part for me is sometimes I know I'm being unreasonable but can't stop (apologies here in particular go to HTB and Rachel- they both know when I mean) and sometimes I have genuine reason to be upset but am told I am over reacting. (This never, ever, ever calms me down by the way – it just doesn't work, but I don't think this is because I have FM, or even because I am female I think telling people what they think or feel doesn't work!) I am reminded of a cartoon in which the guy is looking at the woman and his diary and saying "you mean it wasn't PMT?" Sometime it isn't the FM, sometimes I am genuinely p*ssed off – telling the difference is what makes it fun for you!
Anyway as Forest Gump would say, "that's all I have to say about that". This is real, I do have it, I'm sorry when it affects you too and thank you for listening.
Normal transmissions will resume soon.
The Princess and the Peeve
Monday 11th December
Am paying for excitement and activities of last week with down turn in health. Make huge "to do" list and then ignore it completely as unable to stir myself from sofa. Think with longing to far off days of last week when lounging was a problem as opposite now quite true.
Get into staring competition with unfeasibly large squirrel in front garden who sits on a branch just level with the sitting room window. To add insult to injury the squirrel wins and I am subjected to the humiliation of watching him and his pal doing a little rodent victory dance on the front lawn. Dance comes to abrupt end when I release the cats, being all out of winged monkeys.
Cats deeply unimpressed about being woken to police squirrel festivities and sulk for rest of day.
Tuesday 12th
Am greatly amused when HTB tells me that a member of his team who doesn't usually read my blog is very peeved that I have called her the team princess. On the basis that the blog is anonymous am unclear how she knows I am writing about her unless she recognizes herself. Even better can only think that some else must also have thought they recognized her to have drawn the blog to her attention in the first place.
Try to recall who actually said the only defense against libel is the truth, but feel sure that number of friends including Square Jawed Ed will let me know, no doubt correcting my quote along the way, if number of emails I got after blogging about Friday 13th is anything to go by.
Old friend calls me to tell me that his affair is over, his mistress has left him for other married man she is dating and he is heart broken having realized she is the one he really wants to be with. However he can't really talk as he is at work and can he call me later. I am still drawing breath to reply when he goes and I spend afternoon worrying about him.
He on the other hand spends entire afternoon texting back and forth with the mistress in a very not-over-at-all manner and doesn't see link between this activity and his greatly cheered spirits when I call him in the evening. Also sees nothing odd in texting mistress while emailing wife and talking to me all at the same time, so set him straight.
Has now decided not necessary to do anything rash and I retort rather acidly that this is possibly because being dumped hasn't actually altered his relationship with his mistress one jot.
Wednesday 13th December
Receive cheque in post from fond parents and decide to celebrate with champagne at ballet in the evening. Swan Lake marvelous but very modern interpretation with all male cygnets and gay love interest, but as HTB says you can't fault the music. I am somewhat disappointed that at no point is the performance interrupted by the appearance of two men dressed in roman costumes in manner of Morcambe and Wise, but put this down to being over influenced by films as a child.
Spot David Dimbleby in bar and can't help but notice we have vastly superior seats.
Thursday 14th December
Spend day in bed and notice that squirrels, now named Bert and Ernie on the basis that I have no idea how to sex a squirrel on sight at 20 paces, have taken to sitting on a higher branch when I am upstairs. Wonder how many calls local police get reporting squirrel stalkers but decide not to put it to the test as I don't want to be just another crime statistic.
HTB takes team for Christmas do where he is every excited to stand next to Sarah Beaney off Channel 4 (who happens to be in restaurant and is in no way part of team) and says she is tiny (although hopefully not to her.)
He goes on to attend section drinks and as a consequence is slightly the worse for wear when he sets off home at 8pm. He calls me from Waterloo to say he is on the next train to Woking and I say whatever you do don't fall asleep on the train ha ha! An hour later he calls from Basingstoke<>to tell me he has just woken up there and is waiting for a train back. Suggest that what ever he does he should not buy me a diamond necklace, but sadly there are no jewelers on the platform (his excuse) and I turn down his offer of a pearl necklace as I assume he is being obscene. Finally makes it home after about 2 hours and I feed him, stuff him full of Bender Mender and put him to bed.
Friday 15th December
Feel slightly better and able to potter around. Finally get some of the things on my To Do list crossed off.
Turns into nostalgia week and I hear from an ex-husband, my ex-fiance from America who wants to tell me he's married and an ex don't know what you'd call him on the basis that he never stopped living with his girlfriend long enough for me to date him and has spent that last 15 years regretting it, who wants to tell me he is going to Australia and will always love me.
Bah humbug says I.
Old friend calls to say that his affair is finally over as his mistress came round, they spent the night together and he has told her it can never be. I ask if on basis that he has reconciled with her so he can dump her in return he feels better about whole thing and he looks startled by this interpretation (MEN!) but agrees he is happier.
Saturday 16th
HTB spends day with his children and I catch up with my friend Inge who tells me she is having a week of nostalgia for people she used to know in other countries and I say it's funny you should mention that … also discuss mutual friend's affair and topic of women's liberation I put forward theory that women have been duped by idea of liberation and there is now an entire generation of women who are burned out from trying to "have it all" just like men, while ignoring that men didn't have it all, they had careers and they had women, who did the rest for them. We end the conversation with a few tips for Inge on how to track people down and I suggest 192.com and freindsreunited.co.uk as being a good place to start a career in international stalking.
December 18th
My appointment with the specialist finally arrives and after 7 years of pain and fatigue I have a name for what is wrong with me – medically speaking at least. The specialist confirms my Doctor's theory that I have Fibromyalgia Syndrome. Imagine that in specialist's line of work he is used to patients reacting to diagnoses with delight and he takes my offer of my first born in his stride. He also tells me he is going to be able to suggest some drugs for the insomnia and acupuncture for the pain and says that while there isn't a cure most people come to an accommodation through lifestyle changes but warns me about mood swings and suggests possible psychiatric consult in future. I walk out in a daze trying to decide how much difference a name makes and HTB smugly points out entire diagnosis took 20 minutes.
Am further cheered when rather nice young man taking my blood for further tests double checks my year of birth as being a typo and then keeps repeating in dazed manner "you really, really don't look it" am just on point of considering elopement when test tube fills and I return to sanity and HTB.
Decide on basis of post diagnosis euphoria to brave Christmas crowds at Tescos and I come to clearer understanding of specialist's warning about mood swings when the blues descend suddenly and I am seized by the urge to kick over a pile of frozen turkeys while screaming f*ck Christmas at the top of my voice. I resist, but the fantasy cheers me sufficiently to enable me to stagger through rest of shopping and pick out bottle of something Grousish for HTB.
Have religious conversion and realize Christmas truly time for miracles when woman at till asks me if I am old enough to buy alcohol. She on other hand deeply disturbed by my public declaration of love for her and possibly also by the photo I have on my driver's licence which have to admit could possibly scar her for life.
Head home for celebratory drink and long conversations with friends and family.
Am paying for excitement and activities of last week with down turn in health. Make huge "to do" list and then ignore it completely as unable to stir myself from sofa. Think with longing to far off days of last week when lounging was a problem as opposite now quite true.
Get into staring competition with unfeasibly large squirrel in front garden who sits on a branch just level with the sitting room window. To add insult to injury the squirrel wins and I am subjected to the humiliation of watching him and his pal doing a little rodent victory dance on the front lawn. Dance comes to abrupt end when I release the cats, being all out of winged monkeys.
Cats deeply unimpressed about being woken to police squirrel festivities and sulk for rest of day.
Tuesday 12th
Am greatly amused when HTB tells me that a member of his team who doesn't usually read my blog is very peeved that I have called her the team princess. On the basis that the blog is anonymous am unclear how she knows I am writing about her unless she recognizes herself. Even better can only think that some else must also have thought they recognized her to have drawn the blog to her attention in the first place.
Try to recall who actually said the only defense against libel is the truth, but feel sure that number of friends including Square Jawed Ed will let me know, no doubt correcting my quote along the way, if number of emails I got after blogging about Friday 13th is anything to go by.
Old friend calls me to tell me that his affair is over, his mistress has left him for other married man she is dating and he is heart broken having realized she is the one he really wants to be with. However he can't really talk as he is at work and can he call me later. I am still drawing breath to reply when he goes and I spend afternoon worrying about him.
He on the other hand spends entire afternoon texting back and forth with the mistress in a very not-over-at-all manner and doesn't see link between this activity and his greatly cheered spirits when I call him in the evening. Also sees nothing odd in texting mistress while emailing wife and talking to me all at the same time, so set him straight.
Has now decided not necessary to do anything rash and I retort rather acidly that this is possibly because being dumped hasn't actually altered his relationship with his mistress one jot.
Wednesday 13th December
Receive cheque in post from fond parents and decide to celebrate with champagne at ballet in the evening. Swan Lake marvelous but very modern interpretation with all male cygnets and gay love interest, but as HTB says you can't fault the music. I am somewhat disappointed that at no point is the performance interrupted by the appearance of two men dressed in roman costumes in manner of Morcambe and Wise, but put this down to being over influenced by films as a child.
Spot David Dimbleby in bar and can't help but notice we have vastly superior seats.
Thursday 14th December
Spend day in bed and notice that squirrels, now named Bert and Ernie on the basis that I have no idea how to sex a squirrel on sight at 20 paces, have taken to sitting on a higher branch when I am upstairs. Wonder how many calls local police get reporting squirrel stalkers but decide not to put it to the test as I don't want to be just another crime statistic.
HTB takes team for Christmas do where he is every excited to stand next to Sarah Beaney off Channel 4 (who happens to be in restaurant and is in no way part of team) and says she is tiny (although hopefully not to her.)
He goes on to attend section drinks and as a consequence is slightly the worse for wear when he sets off home at 8pm. He calls me from Waterloo to say he is on the next train to Woking and I say whatever you do don't fall asleep on the train ha ha! An hour later he calls from Basingstoke<>to tell me he has just woken up there and is waiting for a train back. Suggest that what ever he does he should not buy me a diamond necklace, but sadly there are no jewelers on the platform (his excuse) and I turn down his offer of a pearl necklace as I assume he is being obscene. Finally makes it home after about 2 hours and I feed him, stuff him full of Bender Mender and put him to bed.
Friday 15th December
Feel slightly better and able to potter around. Finally get some of the things on my To Do list crossed off.
Turns into nostalgia week and I hear from an ex-husband, my ex-fiance from America who wants to tell me he's married and an ex don't know what you'd call him on the basis that he never stopped living with his girlfriend long enough for me to date him and has spent that last 15 years regretting it, who wants to tell me he is going to Australia and will always love me.
Bah humbug says I.
Old friend calls to say that his affair is finally over as his mistress came round, they spent the night together and he has told her it can never be. I ask if on basis that he has reconciled with her so he can dump her in return he feels better about whole thing and he looks startled by this interpretation (MEN!) but agrees he is happier.
Saturday 16th
HTB spends day with his children and I catch up with my friend Inge who tells me she is having a week of nostalgia for people she used to know in other countries and I say it's funny you should mention that … also discuss mutual friend's affair and topic of women's liberation I put forward theory that women have been duped by idea of liberation and there is now an entire generation of women who are burned out from trying to "have it all" just like men, while ignoring that men didn't have it all, they had careers and they had women, who did the rest for them. We end the conversation with a few tips for Inge on how to track people down and I suggest 192.com and freindsreunited.co.uk as being a good place to start a career in international stalking.
December 18th
My appointment with the specialist finally arrives and after 7 years of pain and fatigue I have a name for what is wrong with me – medically speaking at least. The specialist confirms my Doctor's theory that I have Fibromyalgia Syndrome. Imagine that in specialist's line of work he is used to patients reacting to diagnoses with delight and he takes my offer of my first born in his stride. He also tells me he is going to be able to suggest some drugs for the insomnia and acupuncture for the pain and says that while there isn't a cure most people come to an accommodation through lifestyle changes but warns me about mood swings and suggests possible psychiatric consult in future. I walk out in a daze trying to decide how much difference a name makes and HTB smugly points out entire diagnosis took 20 minutes.
Am further cheered when rather nice young man taking my blood for further tests double checks my year of birth as being a typo and then keeps repeating in dazed manner "you really, really don't look it" am just on point of considering elopement when test tube fills and I return to sanity and HTB.
Decide on basis of post diagnosis euphoria to brave Christmas crowds at Tescos and I come to clearer understanding of specialist's warning about mood swings when the blues descend suddenly and I am seized by the urge to kick over a pile of frozen turkeys while screaming f*ck Christmas at the top of my voice. I resist, but the fantasy cheers me sufficiently to enable me to stagger through rest of shopping and pick out bottle of something Grousish for HTB.
Have religious conversion and realize Christmas truly time for miracles when woman at till asks me if I am old enough to buy alcohol. She on other hand deeply disturbed by my public declaration of love for her and possibly also by the photo I have on my driver's licence which have to admit could possibly scar her for life.
Head home for celebratory drink and long conversations with friends and family.
Monday, 11 December 2006
Hey Ho the Witch is Dead
5th December
Venture into town for the first time in a long while to meet two of my 3 sisters for lunch and a show.
Tube completely different during day time and I encounter "tube angel" in form of young man who stops to let me go ahead of him on escalator. I thank him profusely but also point out it will take him an awfully long time to get across London if he continues to be nice to people. He replies that it is alright he has plenty of time and smiles at me in such a way that I am left looking round for light to shine from the heavens and trumpets sound. Come round by the ticket machines muttering "there's no place like HTB, there's no place like HTB" and tube angel is gone.
Lively discussion over lunch on topic of specialists (my appointment is forth coming and younger sister has recently had bizarre experience with Russian back specialist, Dr I'mabackspecialistovitch, who whips along row of patients at such high speed that my sister who is attempting to take notes has only just written down his name when he is gone, dictating at high speed into tape recorder that patient has indicated pain in bottom, which is not entirely true).
We also talk about 3rd sister's decision to donate to charity instead of buying gifts for Christmas this year, which we all applaud in principle but I in particular express insecurity about having my worth measured in goats for fear I don't equate to a whole one. I am fairly sure of my worth in camels, my friend Inge having once been offered 12 camels for me in a bar in Denmark, but goats quite a different thing. (3rd year biology not entirely wasted then says HTB when I relate this conversation to him.) Other sisters express curiosity as to how statement "we're not materialistic so we have given your presents to charity" fits in with "but you can still buy us presents if you want".
Subject of possible date for matrimonials next year discussed and I remark that HTB and will have to put "third time lucky" on the invites to which my sister replies that she thought I had already been married 3 times. I am horrified by this and remind her that actually I have been proposed to nine times, engaged 6 (Not counting the phantom engagement my psychotic flat mate invented when he invited me to a surprise engagement party with his entire family, some of who had flown in from Spain specially, and the surprise turned out to be it was mine and his, on the basis that I once wore a novelty ring he gave me on my left hand.) but only married twice. Sister replies that she can't imagine why was she was confused (detect slight hint of sarcasm here) and puts forward theory that other engagements add up to a marriage equivalent in manner of CSE grade 1 equating to o-level pass.
On subject of weirdos younger sister mentions that two of her students have moved on: "pen clicky guy" who puts his hand up for questions and then clicks his pen on and off getting louder and faster until called on to answer is on a different course this year and "twig guy" who walks round campus with a rucksack of twigs because "they are pretty and he likes to look at them" appears to have left altogether and the current theory is that he has been taken away by his parents for treatment.
Tear ourselves away from topic to go on to theatre where which watch "The 39 steps" done by a cast of four and all agree it is possibly the funniest thing we have ever seen. Not entirely sure small theatre was ready for all 3 of us clutching our stomachs and laughing like drains, but hope actors appreciate homage to their art.
Take reluctant leave of each other outside theatre and I meet HTB at Waterloo to head home together.
Wednesday 6th December
Card arrives from 3rd sister's charity of choice – I am worth entire goat – great relief all round.
Thursday 7th December
Business emergency on part of dear friend Charlotte takes me to Sheffield to sort out her books and help with Inland Revenue. Gratitude is expressed in the form of a miracle facial which uses diamond dust to blast away wrinkles and have to say results are startling and very pleasing and I feel much younger.
Friday 8th December
In my absence HTB attends court for final settlement with Hag Bag ex-wife in attempt to thwart her plans for world domination. Court decides in our favour and rather than giving her the house, they drop it on her and award HTB the ruby slippers. Spend morning dancing round house singing hey ho the witch is dead much to the surprise of Charlotte and delight of her daughter and generally behaving in mature and restrained manner appropriate to gravity of situation. Switch to more up tempo mode and add "I ain't saying she's a gold digga" to my repertoire at which point Charlotte opens victory champagne to shut me up.
Sunday 10th December
As part of Christmas ritual is is my usual habit to wrap presents each year while watching "It's a Wonderful Life" and drinking champagne. This leads in previous years to interesting situation where HTB returns home to find me up to ears in wrapping presents for his children and family with barely time to sip champagne before starting next pile. HTB watches for some time, swigging my champagne before remarking that he can't believe how long it is taking me as he only has two presents to wrap and he's done. At this point I give up and decide to drink champagne only to find it gone. This leads to interesting and somewhat warm discussion where my voice reaches pitch commonly only audible to dogs and tale is subsequently retold to numerous girlfriends over years.
This year all is redeemed when HTB takes me to the Electric Cinema in Notting Hill where we watch "It's a Wonderful Life" on the big screen while seated on enormous leather chairs and drinking champagne. No presents to wrap and HTB is generous in ensuring I get the lion share of the fizz so I have a blissful afternoon and HTB gets a billion brownie points and a promise that I will tell this story as often as the last.
Venture into town for the first time in a long while to meet two of my 3 sisters for lunch and a show.
Tube completely different during day time and I encounter "tube angel" in form of young man who stops to let me go ahead of him on escalator. I thank him profusely but also point out it will take him an awfully long time to get across London if he continues to be nice to people. He replies that it is alright he has plenty of time and smiles at me in such a way that I am left looking round for light to shine from the heavens and trumpets sound. Come round by the ticket machines muttering "there's no place like HTB, there's no place like HTB" and tube angel is gone.
Lively discussion over lunch on topic of specialists (my appointment is forth coming and younger sister has recently had bizarre experience with Russian back specialist, Dr I'mabackspecialistovitch, who whips along row of patients at such high speed that my sister who is attempting to take notes has only just written down his name when he is gone, dictating at high speed into tape recorder that patient has indicated pain in bottom, which is not entirely true).
We also talk about 3rd sister's decision to donate to charity instead of buying gifts for Christmas this year, which we all applaud in principle but I in particular express insecurity about having my worth measured in goats for fear I don't equate to a whole one. I am fairly sure of my worth in camels, my friend Inge having once been offered 12 camels for me in a bar in Denmark, but goats quite a different thing. (3rd year biology not entirely wasted then says HTB when I relate this conversation to him.) Other sisters express curiosity as to how statement "we're not materialistic so we have given your presents to charity" fits in with "but you can still buy us presents if you want".
Subject of possible date for matrimonials next year discussed and I remark that HTB and will have to put "third time lucky" on the invites to which my sister replies that she thought I had already been married 3 times. I am horrified by this and remind her that actually I have been proposed to nine times, engaged 6 (Not counting the phantom engagement my psychotic flat mate invented when he invited me to a surprise engagement party with his entire family, some of who had flown in from Spain specially, and the surprise turned out to be it was mine and his, on the basis that I once wore a novelty ring he gave me on my left hand.) but only married twice. Sister replies that she can't imagine why was she was confused (detect slight hint of sarcasm here) and puts forward theory that other engagements add up to a marriage equivalent in manner of CSE grade 1 equating to o-level pass.
On subject of weirdos younger sister mentions that two of her students have moved on: "pen clicky guy" who puts his hand up for questions and then clicks his pen on and off getting louder and faster until called on to answer is on a different course this year and "twig guy" who walks round campus with a rucksack of twigs because "they are pretty and he likes to look at them" appears to have left altogether and the current theory is that he has been taken away by his parents for treatment.
Tear ourselves away from topic to go on to theatre where which watch "The 39 steps" done by a cast of four and all agree it is possibly the funniest thing we have ever seen. Not entirely sure small theatre was ready for all 3 of us clutching our stomachs and laughing like drains, but hope actors appreciate homage to their art.
Take reluctant leave of each other outside theatre and I meet HTB at Waterloo to head home together.
Wednesday 6th December
Card arrives from 3rd sister's charity of choice – I am worth entire goat – great relief all round.
Thursday 7th December
Business emergency on part of dear friend Charlotte takes me to Sheffield to sort out her books and help with Inland Revenue. Gratitude is expressed in the form of a miracle facial which uses diamond dust to blast away wrinkles and have to say results are startling and very pleasing and I feel much younger.
Friday 8th December
In my absence HTB attends court for final settlement with Hag Bag ex-wife in attempt to thwart her plans for world domination. Court decides in our favour and rather than giving her the house, they drop it on her and award HTB the ruby slippers. Spend morning dancing round house singing hey ho the witch is dead much to the surprise of Charlotte and delight of her daughter and generally behaving in mature and restrained manner appropriate to gravity of situation. Switch to more up tempo mode and add "I ain't saying she's a gold digga" to my repertoire at which point Charlotte opens victory champagne to shut me up.
Sunday 10th December
As part of Christmas ritual is is my usual habit to wrap presents each year while watching "It's a Wonderful Life" and drinking champagne. This leads in previous years to interesting situation where HTB returns home to find me up to ears in wrapping presents for his children and family with barely time to sip champagne before starting next pile. HTB watches for some time, swigging my champagne before remarking that he can't believe how long it is taking me as he only has two presents to wrap and he's done. At this point I give up and decide to drink champagne only to find it gone. This leads to interesting and somewhat warm discussion where my voice reaches pitch commonly only audible to dogs and tale is subsequently retold to numerous girlfriends over years.
This year all is redeemed when HTB takes me to the Electric Cinema in Notting Hill where we watch "It's a Wonderful Life" on the big screen while seated on enormous leather chairs and drinking champagne. No presents to wrap and HTB is generous in ensuring I get the lion share of the fizz so I have a blissful afternoon and HTB gets a billion brownie points and a promise that I will tell this story as often as the last.
Friday, 1 December 2006
Be Careful What You Wish For
November 20th
Today is the first time I have really felt unemployed and have problems settling to life of cushion lounging and debauchery. Imagine debauchery quite tricky to manage on ones own and cats not providing much help as too busy cushion lounging on their own without any input required from me. Can only assume this makes cats far superior loungers.
Alarming tendency to watch QVC channel escalates into purchase which I am for some reason deeply embarrassed by despite it being something I have been researching on net and for which this is the best price I have seen.
Good news arrives in the form of an email from Lucy announcing she is with child and bad news in the form of phone call from HTB to say he is being made redundant. Ignore small voice in back of head which screeches "see we should never have gone on holiday" as unlikely to be real cause of redundancy and instead make supportive and cheering remarks to HTB. Have to laugh when he tells me the response of his team "princess" to the announcement is "how does this affect me?"
Train of thought returns to wishes made in Thailand, two of which have apparently come true (well second one half true as old job has to go for new to arrive) and rush to computer to see if I have miracle email offering me publishing contract. I am very excited by my space email starting "I am a writer" but turns out to be bloke who apparently has already published his book asking to be my friend. Have moment of weakness and accept his friendship request and that of unknown band just to make myself feel more popular.
As no publishing deal in offing, immediately resolve to lift burden on HTB by undertaking cost cutting exercise on domestic front and switch heating off and put on several jumpers. Unearth slow cooker from back of cupboard and cook cheap but nourishing casserole from contents of tins in cupboards (mostly kinds of lentil) using nothing but the power of a light bulb.
Call Mother to pass on news and she tells me about chap from similar school period to HTB who I once kissed at a school disco who now runs multi-million card company and was written up in the Observer and is still single.
I am unclear as to whether this information is to spur me to dump the soon to be unemployed HTB and reintroduce myself to this person who I have spent the last 23 years trying to pretend I never, ever kissed or whether it is a return to her favourite theme of setting up a business to supply a Gap In The Market.
Thankfully it turns out to be the latter as she finishes by saying she can see why he is still single as she has never liked a man with slicked down hair. Start to say that I am sure Daddy will be please to hear she won't be leaving him for a toy boy when am struck by clear and distinct image of my father's hair in their wedding photos. Remind Mother of this at which she laughs and says that's different and I am relieved that 50 years of marriage and 4 daughters not based on lie after all.
Realise after hanging up, that calls at this time of day not included in package and have probably erased effects of extra jumper wearing.
Nourishing casserole not huge success as turns out quite watery, not enormously hot, despite being cooked over light bulb for 8 hours and strangely beige. HTB apparently has trouble identifying contents of bowl but bravely consumes all before talking brightly about how many more wage packets he has before he finishes work, which I take to be his tactful way of letting me know we can afford to eat things he can name and which come in food colours.
November 30th
Consider looking for job as limit to numbers of times can record sighting of large squirrel and averted disaster of coloured sock in white load in amusing manner and this seems to be central theme of past few days.
Very much missing stimulation of company of Rachel and Alice, but not missing having to get out of bed at crack of dawn everyday. Receive charming and amusing emails from both of them which greatly cheer me and reveal that much disliked member of staff has finally been fired at work and Alice has been on two successful dates. Alice also forwards freelance writing job she has seen and get very excited as feel sure this is the job I wished for.
Gym arrives from QVC and there is slight delay while HTB and I both go out and achieve PhDs in rocket science and Taiwanese so we can put it together.
Bump into old friend in village known by mutual friends as "old faithful" and whose real name I will not reveal for reasons that will soon become obvious. Irony of nickname soon becomes apparent as he reveals over lattes that he is having an affair with girl half his age, while his wife is abroad on business.
Am completely thrown by this as it just doesn't seem like him and further thrown by his apparent lack of grand passion for mistress as his reason for affair seems not so much to be "we couldn't help ourselves" as "she was there."
All very disconcerting and I ask if wife likely to throw him out on inevitable discovery of affair. He says thinks she would be upset but he thinks he could grovel sufficiently to keep her and I say if his intention is to keep wife rather than leave her for much younger woman wouldn't this be best achieved by faithfulness?
Can see friend understands logic of this in brain, but doubt brain will be the decision making organ when he next sees mistress.
Today is the first time I have really felt unemployed and have problems settling to life of cushion lounging and debauchery. Imagine debauchery quite tricky to manage on ones own and cats not providing much help as too busy cushion lounging on their own without any input required from me. Can only assume this makes cats far superior loungers.
Alarming tendency to watch QVC channel escalates into purchase which I am for some reason deeply embarrassed by despite it being something I have been researching on net and for which this is the best price I have seen.
Good news arrives in the form of an email from Lucy announcing she is with child and bad news in the form of phone call from HTB to say he is being made redundant. Ignore small voice in back of head which screeches "see we should never have gone on holiday" as unlikely to be real cause of redundancy and instead make supportive and cheering remarks to HTB. Have to laugh when he tells me the response of his team "princess" to the announcement is "how does this affect me?"
Train of thought returns to wishes made in Thailand, two of which have apparently come true (well second one half true as old job has to go for new to arrive) and rush to computer to see if I have miracle email offering me publishing contract. I am very excited by my space email starting "I am a writer" but turns out to be bloke who apparently has already published his book asking to be my friend. Have moment of weakness and accept his friendship request and that of unknown band just to make myself feel more popular.
As no publishing deal in offing, immediately resolve to lift burden on HTB by undertaking cost cutting exercise on domestic front and switch heating off and put on several jumpers. Unearth slow cooker from back of cupboard and cook cheap but nourishing casserole from contents of tins in cupboards (mostly kinds of lentil) using nothing but the power of a light bulb.
Call Mother to pass on news and she tells me about chap from similar school period to HTB who I once kissed at a school disco who now runs multi-million card company and was written up in the Observer and is still single.
I am unclear as to whether this information is to spur me to dump the soon to be unemployed HTB and reintroduce myself to this person who I have spent the last 23 years trying to pretend I never, ever kissed or whether it is a return to her favourite theme of setting up a business to supply a Gap In The Market.
Thankfully it turns out to be the latter as she finishes by saying she can see why he is still single as she has never liked a man with slicked down hair. Start to say that I am sure Daddy will be please to hear she won't be leaving him for a toy boy when am struck by clear and distinct image of my father's hair in their wedding photos. Remind Mother of this at which she laughs and says that's different and I am relieved that 50 years of marriage and 4 daughters not based on lie after all.
Realise after hanging up, that calls at this time of day not included in package and have probably erased effects of extra jumper wearing.
Nourishing casserole not huge success as turns out quite watery, not enormously hot, despite being cooked over light bulb for 8 hours and strangely beige. HTB apparently has trouble identifying contents of bowl but bravely consumes all before talking brightly about how many more wage packets he has before he finishes work, which I take to be his tactful way of letting me know we can afford to eat things he can name and which come in food colours.
November 30th
Consider looking for job as limit to numbers of times can record sighting of large squirrel and averted disaster of coloured sock in white load in amusing manner and this seems to be central theme of past few days.
Very much missing stimulation of company of Rachel and Alice, but not missing having to get out of bed at crack of dawn everyday. Receive charming and amusing emails from both of them which greatly cheer me and reveal that much disliked member of staff has finally been fired at work and Alice has been on two successful dates. Alice also forwards freelance writing job she has seen and get very excited as feel sure this is the job I wished for.
Gym arrives from QVC and there is slight delay while HTB and I both go out and achieve PhDs in rocket science and Taiwanese so we can put it together.
Bump into old friend in village known by mutual friends as "old faithful" and whose real name I will not reveal for reasons that will soon become obvious. Irony of nickname soon becomes apparent as he reveals over lattes that he is having an affair with girl half his age, while his wife is abroad on business.
Am completely thrown by this as it just doesn't seem like him and further thrown by his apparent lack of grand passion for mistress as his reason for affair seems not so much to be "we couldn't help ourselves" as "she was there."
All very disconcerting and I ask if wife likely to throw him out on inevitable discovery of affair. He says thinks she would be upset but he thinks he could grovel sufficiently to keep her and I say if his intention is to keep wife rather than leave her for much younger woman wouldn't this be best achieved by faithfulness?
Can see friend understands logic of this in brain, but doubt brain will be the decision making organ when he next sees mistress.
Friday, 17 November 2006
Gulliver in the Land of Lilliput
November 2nd
Have joyous reunion with Mad Lucy and her darling husband who loathes his Scottish name so much I will merely refer to him as H for Hubbie. The nickname "mad" was given to Lucy many years ago in our wilder youth to distinguish her from other Lucys of my friends' acquaintance (them: which Lucy? Me: oh you know the one I went to that all nighter with and then we …. Them: ohhhhh Maaaaad Lucy) and on the basis that she is now married headmistress of school and raising gorgeous child think time has come to acknowledge that she has life totally together and drop "mad". Consider new nickname "sensible Lucy" but fear she will kill me for making her old before her time and settle on, surprisingly obviously, Lucy.
Have forgotten strange Thai tendency to put sugar in everything western (coffee served with condensed milk for example) except orange juice to which they add sugar and salt. Not huge problem as both HTB and I love Thai food, but makes breakfast tricky as orange juice, coffee and jam served by villas all sugar laden in extreme.
Have also forgotten how tiny everyone is and have problems shaking mental image of Thais fleeing up beach before me as I rise from water like Godzilla.
Island of Koh Samet as beautiful as remembered and we settle into rhythm of swimming, lounging on the beach, snorkeling and drinking Singha beer.
November 4th
Our first weekend there is the Thai Festival of Loy Krathong. Which literally means to float Krathong which are baskets made from palm leaves nailed in patterns to a little platform and filled with flowers, incense and candles and a little money and floated on the water as thanks to the water gods. Having attended the ceremony at Lucy's school she teaches me how to make one on the island and am quite proud of my first lopsided efforts.
Before floating them we light big paper lanterns that float into the sky on the heat from the light inside like luminous hot air balloons, and make wishes. HTB and I wish for the baby that Lucy and H have been trying for to arrive soon, a new job for HTB and a writing job for me.
We float our krathongs under the full moon and Lucy's floats to the horizon before disappearing and I sadly learn the necessity for an even number of decorations on either side as mine floats for a few minutes but tips over at the first wave.
November 10th
Decide while in Thailand to have tiger tattoo which I have been out of love with for some years covered with traditional Thai style lion, as lion was my first choice all those years ago, but couldn't find one I liked. Troop down to see Chen who both Lucy and H recommend, who draws something for me and I try it in henna for a few days before committing to it permanently. Real one takes two hours of which most painful part is the Thai karaoke tape being played on a loop in the back ground and based on which I can only say from the videos Thais are very unlucky in love.
Tattoo great success from my point of view, but am slightly irritated by Thai tendency to walk up, point at it and say "ah Singha" while smiling their " you stupid farang" smile, as although similar style of lion, is quite clearly NOT the singha lion. This stops when tattoo scabs over as grey of shading and yellow from edging blur in scab into greeny puss colour and instead people just point and wince which sadly for me is an improvement.< SPAN>
November 11th
Island life very conducive to fantasies of riches, further helped by low cost of everything and HTB and I indulge ourselves with footballer and WAG lifestyle by having massage every day at cost of £3. I go wild on final day and have everything thus having massage, facial, hair condition, manicure, pedicure and foot condition for sum of £12 while lying on beach. Slight fly in ointment when Thai woman tuts at my carefully shaped nails and files them into points, which I personally quite like, but know beautician friend Charlotte to whom I am due to pay visit on my return will disapprove of. However on basis that 'squoval' is barely a word in English language and well beyond my grasp of Thai I resign myself to future disapproval and return to currant enjoyment. Bliss!
Win surprise approval (so far as I could tell – they might have been hiding irritation that I was eating their lunch and I'd never know) of some of Lucy's Thai friends by trying and liking fish that has been stored in a barrel for a thousand years, (or similar title) which tastes like strong anchovies. Am also lucky enough to try a traditional laap, served raw which is delicious but I find the texture of raw mince strange.
November 12th
On last night with Lucy and H we go to local restaurant for meal and encounter elephant on way there walking up street. We are allowed to feed her and take photos and I find experience incredibly moving. Note of amusement added when notice red bike light attached to tail thus making her road legal. I take life in hands at restaurant and order local specialty of raw prawns which are delicious (again once you adjust to the texture) and thankfully do not hurtle through me at rate of knots predicted by HTB.
November 13th
Spend last morning visiting Lucy's swimming class where HTB, H and I have all agreed to help out. Arrive early and lounge in pool awaiting arrival of school. Happen to look down and notice HTBs white swimming shorts have turned completely see through in manner inappropriate to the company of small children and send him to safe distance on other side of pool with instructions not to come to any area where the water is less than waist deep. Lucy and class arrive in company of parents, at which H drops to crouch as feels tattoos and nipple piercing inappropriate attire in front of parents for husband of head teacher and goes to join HTB in shallows where Lucy remarks to children we all look like crocodiles waiting for lunch. This proves to be injudicious remark in front of small children who then all flee from my attempts to help them as a giant cannibal farang. Final straw comes when small child asks Lucy if I am her Mother (who I have met and is 60 and has grey hair) to enormous amusement of all but myself.
Take budget journey back to Bangkok and out of choice between 3 hr wooden bench train with no aircon but costing 30p and 3 hr aircon coach costing £1.20 but smelling of pee we choose the latter. Coach almost entirely full of young Thais in army gear and I have horrified moment of thinking we have somehow got on wrong bus and are being recruited to Thai army where I will have Thai style Private Benjamin experience that will not end well, or worse that am forced to join male army as I am so large Thais can't believe I am female, when woman on bus asks for our tickets and smiles and confirms we are traveling to Bangkok. Aircon so strong that it hurts my sinuses but smell of pee so strong that it makes HTB's eyes water if we don't have air con on. Eventually I switch mine off and notice number of Thais doing same. Can't help but wonder if bus is like car where as you shut off one vent it comes out more strongly for remainder and pass happy journey waiting to see who gets last aircon vent and whether it will blast them from seat.
November 14th
Last day in Bangkok spent with new best friend tuk tuk driver who adopts us and insists on taking us to all the places he thinks we should go rather than the places we have asked him to go, none of which apparently open until much later, thus giving us time to see traditional gem store, silk store, carving store etc, all of which we walk through at high speed before returning to tuk tuk and saying things like "too expensive" "no more gem shops" etc, which he pretends not to understand. We finally make his day by asking him about tailors, so he takes us to the one he gets the best kickback from and on the basis that it seems to be the same price as the store we were considering anyway, we go in and are measured up for some items. Eventually he drops us at market we have been requesting, which appears to have been open for hours, but on basis of tailor purchases, charges us nothing for morning of driving round Bangkok, so we all end up happy.
Return to hotel where tailor has arranged a fitting for HTB's shirts which duly happens. Shirt looks fabulous and whole experience very decadent and James Bond for cost of M&S shirt.
Leave for airport at 9 and catch uneventful flight home at midnight which we thankfully sleep though, arriving at 6am before coaching home and sleeping rest of day.
November 16th
HTB returns to work and I find myself cleaning house at 3am and developing alarming tendency to slump in front of QVC channel, which I can only put down to jet lag and obviously nothing to do with not having job.
Have joyous reunion with Mad Lucy and her darling husband who loathes his Scottish name so much I will merely refer to him as H for Hubbie. The nickname "mad" was given to Lucy many years ago in our wilder youth to distinguish her from other Lucys of my friends' acquaintance (them: which Lucy? Me: oh you know the one I went to that all nighter with and then we …. Them: ohhhhh Maaaaad Lucy) and on the basis that she is now married headmistress of school and raising gorgeous child think time has come to acknowledge that she has life totally together and drop "mad". Consider new nickname "sensible Lucy" but fear she will kill me for making her old before her time and settle on, surprisingly obviously, Lucy.
Have forgotten strange Thai tendency to put sugar in everything western (coffee served with condensed milk for example) except orange juice to which they add sugar and salt. Not huge problem as both HTB and I love Thai food, but makes breakfast tricky as orange juice, coffee and jam served by villas all sugar laden in extreme.
Have also forgotten how tiny everyone is and have problems shaking mental image of Thais fleeing up beach before me as I rise from water like Godzilla.
Island of Koh Samet as beautiful as remembered and we settle into rhythm of swimming, lounging on the beach, snorkeling and drinking Singha beer.
November 4th
Our first weekend there is the Thai Festival of Loy Krathong. Which literally means to float Krathong which are baskets made from palm leaves nailed in patterns to a little platform and filled with flowers, incense and candles and a little money and floated on the water as thanks to the water gods. Having attended the ceremony at Lucy's school she teaches me how to make one on the island and am quite proud of my first lopsided efforts.
Before floating them we light big paper lanterns that float into the sky on the heat from the light inside like luminous hot air balloons, and make wishes. HTB and I wish for the baby that Lucy and H have been trying for to arrive soon, a new job for HTB and a writing job for me.
We float our krathongs under the full moon and Lucy's floats to the horizon before disappearing and I sadly learn the necessity for an even number of decorations on either side as mine floats for a few minutes but tips over at the first wave.
November 10th
Decide while in Thailand to have tiger tattoo which I have been out of love with for some years covered with traditional Thai style lion, as lion was my first choice all those years ago, but couldn't find one I liked. Troop down to see Chen who both Lucy and H recommend, who draws something for me and I try it in henna for a few days before committing to it permanently. Real one takes two hours of which most painful part is the Thai karaoke tape being played on a loop in the back ground and based on which I can only say from the videos Thais are very unlucky in love.
Tattoo great success from my point of view, but am slightly irritated by Thai tendency to walk up, point at it and say "ah Singha" while smiling their " you stupid farang" smile, as although similar style of lion, is quite clearly NOT the singha lion. This stops when tattoo scabs over as grey of shading and yellow from edging blur in scab into greeny puss colour and instead people just point and wince which sadly for me is an improvement.< SPAN>
November 11th
Island life very conducive to fantasies of riches, further helped by low cost of everything and HTB and I indulge ourselves with footballer and WAG lifestyle by having massage every day at cost of £3. I go wild on final day and have everything thus having massage, facial, hair condition, manicure, pedicure and foot condition for sum of £12 while lying on beach. Slight fly in ointment when Thai woman tuts at my carefully shaped nails and files them into points, which I personally quite like, but know beautician friend Charlotte to whom I am due to pay visit on my return will disapprove of. However on basis that 'squoval' is barely a word in English language and well beyond my grasp of Thai I resign myself to future disapproval and return to currant enjoyment. Bliss!
Win surprise approval (so far as I could tell – they might have been hiding irritation that I was eating their lunch and I'd never know) of some of Lucy's Thai friends by trying and liking fish that has been stored in a barrel for a thousand years, (or similar title) which tastes like strong anchovies. Am also lucky enough to try a traditional laap, served raw which is delicious but I find the texture of raw mince strange.
November 12th
On last night with Lucy and H we go to local restaurant for meal and encounter elephant on way there walking up street. We are allowed to feed her and take photos and I find experience incredibly moving. Note of amusement added when notice red bike light attached to tail thus making her road legal. I take life in hands at restaurant and order local specialty of raw prawns which are delicious (again once you adjust to the texture) and thankfully do not hurtle through me at rate of knots predicted by HTB.
November 13th
Spend last morning visiting Lucy's swimming class where HTB, H and I have all agreed to help out. Arrive early and lounge in pool awaiting arrival of school. Happen to look down and notice HTBs white swimming shorts have turned completely see through in manner inappropriate to the company of small children and send him to safe distance on other side of pool with instructions not to come to any area where the water is less than waist deep. Lucy and class arrive in company of parents, at which H drops to crouch as feels tattoos and nipple piercing inappropriate attire in front of parents for husband of head teacher and goes to join HTB in shallows where Lucy remarks to children we all look like crocodiles waiting for lunch. This proves to be injudicious remark in front of small children who then all flee from my attempts to help them as a giant cannibal farang. Final straw comes when small child asks Lucy if I am her Mother (who I have met and is 60 and has grey hair) to enormous amusement of all but myself.
Take budget journey back to Bangkok and out of choice between 3 hr wooden bench train with no aircon but costing 30p and 3 hr aircon coach costing £1.20 but smelling of pee we choose the latter. Coach almost entirely full of young Thais in army gear and I have horrified moment of thinking we have somehow got on wrong bus and are being recruited to Thai army where I will have Thai style Private Benjamin experience that will not end well, or worse that am forced to join male army as I am so large Thais can't believe I am female, when woman on bus asks for our tickets and smiles and confirms we are traveling to Bangkok. Aircon so strong that it hurts my sinuses but smell of pee so strong that it makes HTB's eyes water if we don't have air con on. Eventually I switch mine off and notice number of Thais doing same. Can't help but wonder if bus is like car where as you shut off one vent it comes out more strongly for remainder and pass happy journey waiting to see who gets last aircon vent and whether it will blast them from seat.
November 14th
Last day in Bangkok spent with new best friend tuk tuk driver who adopts us and insists on taking us to all the places he thinks we should go rather than the places we have asked him to go, none of which apparently open until much later, thus giving us time to see traditional gem store, silk store, carving store etc, all of which we walk through at high speed before returning to tuk tuk and saying things like "too expensive" "no more gem shops" etc, which he pretends not to understand. We finally make his day by asking him about tailors, so he takes us to the one he gets the best kickback from and on the basis that it seems to be the same price as the store we were considering anyway, we go in and are measured up for some items. Eventually he drops us at market we have been requesting, which appears to have been open for hours, but on basis of tailor purchases, charges us nothing for morning of driving round Bangkok, so we all end up happy.
Return to hotel where tailor has arranged a fitting for HTB's shirts which duly happens. Shirt looks fabulous and whole experience very decadent and James Bond for cost of M&S shirt.
Leave for airport at 9 and catch uneventful flight home at midnight which we thankfully sleep though, arriving at 6am before coaching home and sleeping rest of day.
November 16th
HTB returns to work and I find myself cleaning house at 3am and developing alarming tendency to slump in front of QVC channel, which I can only put down to jet lag and obviously nothing to do with not having job.
Friday, 3 November 2006
Come Fly With Me
October 31st
Discover on last day of commute that other end of Woking platform gives access to train with abundance of empty seats. Decide as it is my last day to embrace Londonerish behavior and push back everyone who shoves me. Find this tremendously liberating and really rather fun and have to consider theory that City of Londoners maybe not the complete tossers I have always considered certain of them to be but merely freer spirits than myself who long ago discovered the joys of shoving people on the tube. Man on tube demonstrates my amateur status at shoving by invading my space so thoroughly that he manages to stand on the hem of my trousers. I retaliate by coughing without putting my hand over my mouth (this is after all war) and take comfort from the thought of all my germs attaching themselves invisibly to the back of his head. Buy poppy from vendor at London Bridge partly as is charity I am strong supporter of and partly from anticipated joys of having access to a pin on my return tube journey.
Photographers out in force on London Bridge doing the kind of fashion spread that involves stopping passers by and asking what they are wearing. Wait to be stopped as feel I am looking very Audrey Hepburn in my black cashmere polo neck, wide legged trousers and ballet flats, but alas it is not to be. On reflection – both internal and in the window of a bus I realize that to the outside world I probably look like the woman who ate Audrey Hepburn and stole her shoes. A Holly Goheavily if you will. I have heard on interesting and educational documentary that many women afflicted with inability to judge own size, adding up to 3 dress sizes to their silhouette when scientifically tested. Sadly this is not a problem for me and cannot help but think dieting would be much easier for me if I didn't actually think I looked 3 sizes smaller than I am all the time.
HTB phones from Doctors with disturbing news that he has been diagnosed with diabetes. Disturbing on two levels – one that this is chronic and potentially dangerous disease with serious consequences including blindness and loss of limbs if not addressed, other that it brings me out in a form of 'diagnosis envy' and I reflect grumpily on unfairness of a world where it has taken Drs 4 years to decide I might have something something syndrome and in which HTB is only in Drs for 20 minutes and comes out with diabetes. Once again am directed to conclusion that I am strange and shallow person and should probably not mention 'diagnosis envy' to anyone and definitely not to HTB.
Rest of afternoon goes all too quickly and I take an emotional leave from Rachel and Alice before heading home to pack for Thailand in between handing out chocolate to large numbers of strangely dressed children, most of whom appear to live in the house opposite.
November 1st
Airport provides unparalleled opportunity for favorite pastime of people watching. Fellow passengers fall into 4 distinct categories:
Unwashed twenty-somethings of indeterminate gender with identical combat trousers, facial hair and piercings; Single middle aged men of such size or ugliness that I can only imagine this is their annual trip abroad for a paid sex, and then shy away from the image that conjures up; Young bored looking Thai women in tight jeans and 4 inch heels (swelling is apparently a farang problem) traveling with middle aged men in blazers; and thirty-something norms in a range of smart yet comfortable trousers and sensible shoes.
HTB and myself fall firmly into this latter category
Am momentarily distracted by sight of chap on crutches to whom I was just about to offer my seat, fling his crutches away in manner of Tiny Tim and sink to floor in lotus position displaying a limberness most of us would kill for. Italian female companion with him is wearing Victoria's Secret thong, a fact I am privy to as she has somehow managed to tuck her t-shirt into her thong, pulling it and the label above her trousers in the process. Speculate as to whether unusual fashion faux pas due to head injury received on Jubilee line some weeks earlier and if so what a coincidence.
Along with most of the people around me I spend much of pre-boarding fervently praying that the hyperactive toddler introducing itself to a number of passengers, while its parents sit with besotted "isn't he adorable and so precocious" smiles, is seated at the other end of the plane. I also hope to avoid the really, really fat bloke and the machine engineer who introduces himself to us and then proceeds to discuss the number of times he has accidentally got a knife through the security checks. Renew prayers and add him to growing list of people I do not wish to sit next to for 11 hours.
Am working on a number of plans as to how I can open a vein in the absence of sharp implements on the plane (although presumably I could just ask my new friend for his knife) should he be seated next to us, when we are called and he isn't – huge relief.
We don't entirely escape as we end up next to a retired ex-pat who treats all Thais as servants and merely shouts the command "red wine" over and over to the staff until they cut him off and he subsequently passes out. At this point all the Thai staff he has abused come over and do impressions of him sleeping, to the great amusement of HTB and myself.
Sleep through the first "made for tv" film, but wake up in time for "Pirates of the Caribbean 2" which is very good and take us through nicely to breakfast and landing.
Are met at the airport by car sent by Lucy and identified by the sign "Peakaboobangs and HTB", which is really rather nice.
Discover on last day of commute that other end of Woking platform gives access to train with abundance of empty seats. Decide as it is my last day to embrace Londonerish behavior and push back everyone who shoves me. Find this tremendously liberating and really rather fun and have to consider theory that City of Londoners maybe not the complete tossers I have always considered certain of them to be but merely freer spirits than myself who long ago discovered the joys of shoving people on the tube. Man on tube demonstrates my amateur status at shoving by invading my space so thoroughly that he manages to stand on the hem of my trousers. I retaliate by coughing without putting my hand over my mouth (this is after all war) and take comfort from the thought of all my germs attaching themselves invisibly to the back of his head. Buy poppy from vendor at London Bridge partly as is charity I am strong supporter of and partly from anticipated joys of having access to a pin on my return tube journey.
Photographers out in force on London Bridge doing the kind of fashion spread that involves stopping passers by and asking what they are wearing. Wait to be stopped as feel I am looking very Audrey Hepburn in my black cashmere polo neck, wide legged trousers and ballet flats, but alas it is not to be. On reflection – both internal and in the window of a bus I realize that to the outside world I probably look like the woman who ate Audrey Hepburn and stole her shoes. A Holly Goheavily if you will. I have heard on interesting and educational documentary that many women afflicted with inability to judge own size, adding up to 3 dress sizes to their silhouette when scientifically tested. Sadly this is not a problem for me and cannot help but think dieting would be much easier for me if I didn't actually think I looked 3 sizes smaller than I am all the time.
HTB phones from Doctors with disturbing news that he has been diagnosed with diabetes. Disturbing on two levels – one that this is chronic and potentially dangerous disease with serious consequences including blindness and loss of limbs if not addressed, other that it brings me out in a form of 'diagnosis envy' and I reflect grumpily on unfairness of a world where it has taken Drs 4 years to decide I might have something something syndrome and in which HTB is only in Drs for 20 minutes and comes out with diabetes. Once again am directed to conclusion that I am strange and shallow person and should probably not mention 'diagnosis envy' to anyone and definitely not to HTB.
Rest of afternoon goes all too quickly and I take an emotional leave from Rachel and Alice before heading home to pack for Thailand in between handing out chocolate to large numbers of strangely dressed children, most of whom appear to live in the house opposite.
November 1st
Airport provides unparalleled opportunity for favorite pastime of people watching. Fellow passengers fall into 4 distinct categories:
Unwashed twenty-somethings of indeterminate gender with identical combat trousers, facial hair and piercings; Single middle aged men of such size or ugliness that I can only imagine this is their annual trip abroad for a paid sex, and then shy away from the image that conjures up; Young bored looking Thai women in tight jeans and 4 inch heels (swelling is apparently a farang problem) traveling with middle aged men in blazers; and thirty-something norms in a range of smart yet comfortable trousers and sensible shoes.
HTB and myself fall firmly into this latter category
Am momentarily distracted by sight of chap on crutches to whom I was just about to offer my seat, fling his crutches away in manner of Tiny Tim and sink to floor in lotus position displaying a limberness most of us would kill for. Italian female companion with him is wearing Victoria's Secret thong, a fact I am privy to as she has somehow managed to tuck her t-shirt into her thong, pulling it and the label above her trousers in the process. Speculate as to whether unusual fashion faux pas due to head injury received on Jubilee line some weeks earlier and if so what a coincidence.
Along with most of the people around me I spend much of pre-boarding fervently praying that the hyperactive toddler introducing itself to a number of passengers, while its parents sit with besotted "isn't he adorable and so precocious" smiles, is seated at the other end of the plane. I also hope to avoid the really, really fat bloke and the machine engineer who introduces himself to us and then proceeds to discuss the number of times he has accidentally got a knife through the security checks. Renew prayers and add him to growing list of people I do not wish to sit next to for 11 hours.
Am working on a number of plans as to how I can open a vein in the absence of sharp implements on the plane (although presumably I could just ask my new friend for his knife) should he be seated next to us, when we are called and he isn't – huge relief.
We don't entirely escape as we end up next to a retired ex-pat who treats all Thais as servants and merely shouts the command "red wine" over and over to the staff until they cut him off and he subsequently passes out. At this point all the Thai staff he has abused come over and do impressions of him sleeping, to the great amusement of HTB and myself.
Sleep through the first "made for tv" film, but wake up in time for "Pirates of the Caribbean 2" which is very good and take us through nicely to breakfast and landing.
Are met at the airport by car sent by Lucy and identified by the sign "Peakaboobangs and HTB", which is really rather nice.
Sunday, 29 October 2006
Other People's Children
27th October
Ballet turns out to be most extraordinary and does not compare well to breathtaking performance of Romeo & Juliet by same company. Fear I am too much of philistine to truly appreciate modern ballet and as additionally too cheap to buy program am somewhat confused by modern ballet that goes thus: Scene 1 Woman washes hair at top of stair case and leaves with stomach ache (Have sneaking suspicion this is symbolic of birth). Scene 2: 3 women (muses I think) unwrap half naked man from vast amounts of toilet paper. Scene 3 Semi naked man returns with what appears to be pair of woman's knickers wrapped round top half and proceeds to dance what I can only describe as "if Freddie Mercury did Thumper in Bambi on Ice … with lute" before leading entire troupe in apparent suicide bid up original staircase. Can't help but think that by now most of audience would be happy to join them. Serious old gentlemen next to me is in paroxysms of laughter that make me feel better about my confusion and several members of audience gamely clap at every pause in music apparently in hopes that this is finale, but sadly this only seems to stir orchestra to yet greater efforts. Later discover that this was the birth of Apollo. Am much cheered by subsequent performance of Firebird which has plot I can (mostly) follow (right up to the bit where the old king is vanquished by dropping a giant egg apparently containing his soul) although I am somewhat distracted by the principal lead who appears to be suffering from what I must describe as box creepage!
Weekend heralds monthly visit of HTB's 2 children, this is subject of some anxiety as is daughter E's first visit. C who has been here before shows older sister around with all seriousness of Mrs. Danvers showing around the new Mrs. DeWinter while HTB and self stand around in hall in manner of old family retainers awaiting approval.
Within minutes of arrival, or so it seems, feel first tickle of new cold.
Saturday 28th
Awake with full blown head cold to raucous tones of children trying to be quiet. Firmly shut my ears on basis that sheer volume of "shushing" enough to tell me that neither child has succeeded in killing other and prod HTB in back to let him know his children are awake.
Get up sometime later to mostly quiet house. A quick peek in the children's room reveals a floor entirely covered in items that weren't there the night before and some of which, disturbingly, I can't even identify as belonging to us. Follow trail of clothing downstairs in search of coffee, which HTB sensibly thrusts at me in manner of well trained theatre nurse anticipating needs of surgeon, before announcing he is taking the children in search of pumpkins.
Spend afternoon removing "yucky stuff" from 4 enormous pumpkins.
HTB takes children swimming, which actually means he sits in the Jacuzzi while they attempt to drown each other on the slides.
Planned family evening at local bonfire disrupted when C announces he doesn't like fireworks as they get in his eyes and he wants to watch Nemo as he hasn't seen it in forever. Both statements patently untrue but completely unassailable and console myself that Finding Nemo at least positive story about father and son and new step mother as opposed to E's current obsession with Cinderella which quite frankly I think is terrible slur on step mothers.
Pumpkin soup for tea. C who liked last year doesn't any more, E who didn't does. Have enough left to feed small African nation.
Evening goes well. HTB and E return to find C and myself in PJs lying on our backs, waving our legs in the air and reading Cat in the Hat loudly. C later heard to say this was best part of weekend and I am absurdly flattered.
Sunday 29th
Carve pumpkins, I as usual am carried away and do elaborate scene of witch with cauldron , which I regret when I am still carving when everyone else has finished. Go on to make home made mincemeat for Christmas. E says can she have hers without currants as she doesn't like them. Start to say she can pick them out if can tell difference between them and raisins as I can't, but too reminiscent of test set by step-mother in childhood version of Cinderella regarding peas, beans and rice, so stop.
Rest of day taken up with Sunday lunch, more swimming, riding lessons for E, collecting chicken coop and picking up clothes from every room in house and returning them to suitcase.
On parting C states his intention of running away to circus. Remind him of his aversion to eating fire, but he says he is older now (1 month!) and thinks he can manage it. Resist temptation to point out that since he requires most food to be served at what can best be described as botulism tepid this highly unlikely and instead kiss him and say if this is what he wants we will of course come and visit.
Make half hearted attempt to tidy house and then resolutely do nothing for rest of evening until bed time. On basis that children leave house alive and gin supply is not entirely depleted, count weekend success.
Ballet turns out to be most extraordinary and does not compare well to breathtaking performance of Romeo & Juliet by same company. Fear I am too much of philistine to truly appreciate modern ballet and as additionally too cheap to buy program am somewhat confused by modern ballet that goes thus: Scene 1 Woman washes hair at top of stair case and leaves with stomach ache (Have sneaking suspicion this is symbolic of birth). Scene 2: 3 women (muses I think) unwrap half naked man from vast amounts of toilet paper. Scene 3 Semi naked man returns with what appears to be pair of woman's knickers wrapped round top half and proceeds to dance what I can only describe as "if Freddie Mercury did Thumper in Bambi on Ice … with lute" before leading entire troupe in apparent suicide bid up original staircase. Can't help but think that by now most of audience would be happy to join them. Serious old gentlemen next to me is in paroxysms of laughter that make me feel better about my confusion and several members of audience gamely clap at every pause in music apparently in hopes that this is finale, but sadly this only seems to stir orchestra to yet greater efforts. Later discover that this was the birth of Apollo. Am much cheered by subsequent performance of Firebird which has plot I can (mostly) follow (right up to the bit where the old king is vanquished by dropping a giant egg apparently containing his soul) although I am somewhat distracted by the principal lead who appears to be suffering from what I must describe as box creepage!
Weekend heralds monthly visit of HTB's 2 children, this is subject of some anxiety as is daughter E's first visit. C who has been here before shows older sister around with all seriousness of Mrs. Danvers showing around the new Mrs. DeWinter while HTB and self stand around in hall in manner of old family retainers awaiting approval.
Within minutes of arrival, or so it seems, feel first tickle of new cold.
Saturday 28th
Awake with full blown head cold to raucous tones of children trying to be quiet. Firmly shut my ears on basis that sheer volume of "shushing" enough to tell me that neither child has succeeded in killing other and prod HTB in back to let him know his children are awake.
Get up sometime later to mostly quiet house. A quick peek in the children's room reveals a floor entirely covered in items that weren't there the night before and some of which, disturbingly, I can't even identify as belonging to us. Follow trail of clothing downstairs in search of coffee, which HTB sensibly thrusts at me in manner of well trained theatre nurse anticipating needs of surgeon, before announcing he is taking the children in search of pumpkins.
Spend afternoon removing "yucky stuff" from 4 enormous pumpkins.
HTB takes children swimming, which actually means he sits in the Jacuzzi while they attempt to drown each other on the slides.
Planned family evening at local bonfire disrupted when C announces he doesn't like fireworks as they get in his eyes and he wants to watch Nemo as he hasn't seen it in forever. Both statements patently untrue but completely unassailable and console myself that Finding Nemo at least positive story about father and son and new step mother as opposed to E's current obsession with Cinderella which quite frankly I think is terrible slur on step mothers.
Pumpkin soup for tea. C who liked last year doesn't any more, E who didn't does. Have enough left to feed small African nation.
Evening goes well. HTB and E return to find C and myself in PJs lying on our backs, waving our legs in the air and reading Cat in the Hat loudly. C later heard to say this was best part of weekend and I am absurdly flattered.
Sunday 29th
Carve pumpkins, I as usual am carried away and do elaborate scene of witch with cauldron , which I regret when I am still carving when everyone else has finished. Go on to make home made mincemeat for Christmas. E says can she have hers without currants as she doesn't like them. Start to say she can pick them out if can tell difference between them and raisins as I can't, but too reminiscent of test set by step-mother in childhood version of Cinderella regarding peas, beans and rice, so stop.
Rest of day taken up with Sunday lunch, more swimming, riding lessons for E, collecting chicken coop and picking up clothes from every room in house and returning them to suitcase.
On parting C states his intention of running away to circus. Remind him of his aversion to eating fire, but he says he is older now (1 month!) and thinks he can manage it. Resist temptation to point out that since he requires most food to be served at what can best be described as botulism tepid this highly unlikely and instead kiss him and say if this is what he wants we will of course come and visit.
Make half hearted attempt to tidy house and then resolutely do nothing for rest of evening until bed time. On basis that children leave house alive and gin supply is not entirely depleted, count weekend success.
Thursday, 26 October 2006
Dating Bingo and Other Ways to Pass the Time
October 26th
With less than week to go I am spending increasing amount of time daydreaming about Thailand and in particular snorkeling. Am pulled from particularity beautiful underwater scene, complete with waving fronds of seaweed by HTB banging on bathroom door and asking if I plan to ever leave the bath and go to work. Am horrified to discover that I can still see waving fronds of seaweed with eyes open and come to conclusion that swift trip to beauty salon for leg wax is in order before holiday.
Get on train and am confused by availability of seats, immediately come to conclusion that I am on wrong train (possibly slow hole in hedge service) but as we are facing towards London and I am leaving work in a week anyway I decide to enjoy novelty of seat and see where it takes me. Several other commuters get on train, look round in puzzled manner and ask if this is the fast train before sitting down uncertainly. Mystery of empty train remains unsolved, even more mysterious is number of commuters who choose to stand despite empty seats as if seats are somehow imaginary or trap for unwary commuter who will then be required to sell soul to remain seated.
Tube also quiet, am now convinced that I was the only person who didn't hear the nuclear warning.
Discussion in office as to ways in which Alice can liven up date for evening. My suggestion is Date Bingo, a variation of buzzword bingo where the datee is required to bring a number of sentences into the conversation without cracking up and giving the game away. Points are awarded for each sentence and the other half of the date not leaving.
My contributions are
"Prize winning giant marrows"
"What I want more than anything is word peace"
Rachel contributes
"My rash" and the instruction that at some point any sentence be accompanied by a stabbing motion a la Psycho and HTB sends his contribution "I really love dry cleaning" by text.
Sadly (for our amusement levels) Alice decides that any date that needs livening up that badly is not worth going on and LoverDan (shabba) is dropped unceremoniously into the "friends zone", but the game remains an option for the future although possibly not on speed-dating evening next week. Speed-dating would require entire rewrite of sentences, possibly to include, "You have beautiful eyes, are they a genetic trait?" and "what do you think of Jocasta for a girl?"
My own plans for evening include ballet at Sadler's Wells in honour of which I am wearing cunning Roland Mouret style dress, also from Tescos and also purchased by HTB, who foolishly mentioned he was getting a Top Gear and did I want anything without specifying that he meant a magazine. A mistake he is unlikely to repeat soon, more's the pity.
With less than week to go I am spending increasing amount of time daydreaming about Thailand and in particular snorkeling. Am pulled from particularity beautiful underwater scene, complete with waving fronds of seaweed by HTB banging on bathroom door and asking if I plan to ever leave the bath and go to work. Am horrified to discover that I can still see waving fronds of seaweed with eyes open and come to conclusion that swift trip to beauty salon for leg wax is in order before holiday.
Get on train and am confused by availability of seats, immediately come to conclusion that I am on wrong train (possibly slow hole in hedge service) but as we are facing towards London and I am leaving work in a week anyway I decide to enjoy novelty of seat and see where it takes me. Several other commuters get on train, look round in puzzled manner and ask if this is the fast train before sitting down uncertainly. Mystery of empty train remains unsolved, even more mysterious is number of commuters who choose to stand despite empty seats as if seats are somehow imaginary or trap for unwary commuter who will then be required to sell soul to remain seated.
Tube also quiet, am now convinced that I was the only person who didn't hear the nuclear warning.
Discussion in office as to ways in which Alice can liven up date for evening. My suggestion is Date Bingo, a variation of buzzword bingo where the datee is required to bring a number of sentences into the conversation without cracking up and giving the game away. Points are awarded for each sentence and the other half of the date not leaving.
My contributions are
"Prize winning giant marrows"
"What I want more than anything is word peace"
Rachel contributes
"My rash" and the instruction that at some point any sentence be accompanied by a stabbing motion a la Psycho and HTB sends his contribution "I really love dry cleaning" by text.
Sadly (for our amusement levels) Alice decides that any date that needs livening up that badly is not worth going on and LoverDan (shabba) is dropped unceremoniously into the "friends zone", but the game remains an option for the future although possibly not on speed-dating evening next week. Speed-dating would require entire rewrite of sentences, possibly to include, "You have beautiful eyes, are they a genetic trait?" and "what do you think of Jocasta for a girl?"
My own plans for evening include ballet at Sadler's Wells in honour of which I am wearing cunning Roland Mouret style dress, also from Tescos and also purchased by HTB, who foolishly mentioned he was getting a Top Gear and did I want anything without specifying that he meant a magazine. A mistake he is unlikely to repeat soon, more's the pity.
Wednesday, 25 October 2006
Coughing and Sneezing and Drugs Oh My ...
Sunday 22nd October
Weekend does not run exactly to plan, (although so far as know Laura does not look under bed) but good time had by all and musical Wicked is just that. Witness bizarre conversation on train home between Girl In Carriage and Over-protective Sister On Platform who spend time yelling into phones from either side of carriage window. Entire discussion of GIC's safety held at top volume with apparent disregard for the fact that we can hear them discussing whether she will be safe with us, the other occupants of the carriage. GIC in desperation asks entire carriage to promise she will be safe, at which we all smile and nod through window before assuming mock stabbing and throttling poses behind GIC's back and waving to the sister as the train pulls out.
Spend Sunday morning planting bulbs in rain and catch HTB's cold. Can understand why bulb packet advises starting in August as planting bulbs very, very time consuming and not very rewarding and I give up early and go to bed.
Monday 23rd October
Take day off work, which leads to key fiasco and great deal of trouble for Dear Friend Rachel and HTB. Forgiveness of both says more for their generosity of spirit, than my worthiness and guilt contributes to generally rotten day. Take lots of drugs and stay in bed.
Tuesday 24th
More drugs, sleeeep, drugs.
Wednesday 25th
Return to work very bleary. Day starts as it apparently intends to go on when I ask the Station Master for a return ticket and he very patiently prompts me with Where To? I apologise and specify London. He does not appear reassured when I brightly remark that it must be all the drugs I have taken, but kindly tells me I am not the first person to do it. Can tell that he is secretly composing blog on the stupidity of customers on the inside.
Train very slow due to derailment and tube hideously crowded. Number of platforms available at Waterloo decreases throughout day until only Eurostar appears left. Optimistically suggest to HTB that this is sign that we should spend weekend in Paris and he reminds me of impending visit of children. HTB not amused by my confession that it was with this in mind I suggested Paris. Reflect that honesty in a step parent not always advisable trait.
Weekend does not run exactly to plan, (although so far as know Laura does not look under bed) but good time had by all and musical Wicked is just that. Witness bizarre conversation on train home between Girl In Carriage and Over-protective Sister On Platform who spend time yelling into phones from either side of carriage window. Entire discussion of GIC's safety held at top volume with apparent disregard for the fact that we can hear them discussing whether she will be safe with us, the other occupants of the carriage. GIC in desperation asks entire carriage to promise she will be safe, at which we all smile and nod through window before assuming mock stabbing and throttling poses behind GIC's back and waving to the sister as the train pulls out.
Spend Sunday morning planting bulbs in rain and catch HTB's cold. Can understand why bulb packet advises starting in August as planting bulbs very, very time consuming and not very rewarding and I give up early and go to bed.
Monday 23rd October
Take day off work, which leads to key fiasco and great deal of trouble for Dear Friend Rachel and HTB. Forgiveness of both says more for their generosity of spirit, than my worthiness and guilt contributes to generally rotten day. Take lots of drugs and stay in bed.
Tuesday 24th
More drugs, sleeeep, drugs.
Wednesday 25th
Return to work very bleary. Day starts as it apparently intends to go on when I ask the Station Master for a return ticket and he very patiently prompts me with Where To? I apologise and specify London. He does not appear reassured when I brightly remark that it must be all the drugs I have taken, but kindly tells me I am not the first person to do it. Can tell that he is secretly composing blog on the stupidity of customers on the inside.
Train very slow due to derailment and tube hideously crowded. Number of platforms available at Waterloo decreases throughout day until only Eurostar appears left. Optimistically suggest to HTB that this is sign that we should spend weekend in Paris and he reminds me of impending visit of children. HTB not amused by my confession that it was with this in mind I suggested Paris. Reflect that honesty in a step parent not always advisable trait.
Saturday, 21 October 2006
I'm a Celebrity Look-Alike, Get Me Out of Here
October 20th
Leave house in state of sartorial elegance due to impulse purchase of cashmere sweater from Florence & Fred at Tescos while waiting for shopping last night. HTB on hearing that I expect him to make purchase on my behalf because this is a Very Good Price For Cashmere, asks me with typical male practicality Why Is It This Price? Feel moved to explain that most cashmere combed from the belly of sacred goats on high mountaintops by acolyte trained from birth for purpose. Tesco cashmere probably taken from bellies of goats in Luton by man called Bob, retrained from redundancy by DSS, but cashmere is cashmere. HTB mutters about child labour but I cling to Theory of Bob and sweater is duly purchased. Illusion of sartorial elegance comes to screeching halt on train when I notice that zip on trousers is broken and much time is spent trying to unobtrusively wedge it half-way up like Grand Old Duke of York's men.
Theme of day turns out to be seeing old friends, when dear friend Christine from Good Old Days in Milton Keynes come to the office after a meeting in London, bringing wine and chocolates, which we waste no time in opening. Much time spent comparing the comparative stupidities of the customers we work with – Christine and I have a long history of serving the public, and with great serendipity a client rings up to ask me to calculate for her what a 4 hour charter at £400 would be. Client goes on to demand a Friday in December, December the 1st when offered is too soon and December the 8th too late and I regretfully inform her that all the Fridays in between these dates are unavailable so she settles on Wednesday 20th. Client then asks me for my telephone number but thankfully remembers before I have to remind her that she called me on it. Asks for my name and with great presence of mind I tell her it is Alice – note to self to remember to warn real Alice on Tuesday and possibly apologise. Can't help but reflect on the amount of money this woman is probably getting paid to organise this event in comparison to the amount I am getting paid to help her and find thought depressing.
Am completely cheered when Rachel produces hair straighteners and proceeds to straighten my hair. Idea is put forward of also doing my make-up. As neither Christine or myself are really make-up people we ask simultaneously if moisturiser counts, as not a substance naturally found on our faces and some effort required to put it there. Train of thought that by this definition both chocolate and sperm could also be classed as make-up is dropped with alacrity.
Rachel finishes hair and says I now remind her of someone but can't think who – fantasy of hitherto unnoticed resemblance to famous actress or model shattered when she pins it down to Dougal from the Magic Roundabout.
Notice new tendency in self to admire straight hair in every reflective surface I pass. At last secret of women with sheets of hair down back solved, but not sure time, effort and £90 required to purchase straighteners will suit my lifestyle. Smile at complete stranger on tube in Look I Have Long Hair, Admire My Hair manner. Realise too late, as he edges away, that he is probably wondering if care-in-the-community Dougal look-alike knows her zip is undone and the answer would be she has, sadly for her, forgotten.
We have now decided that 'Claire' is a better name for all of the idiots to speak to, as it doesn't involve me in any way.
Alas, another prime example of customer stupidity from a call I happened to pick up this morning:
"I was looking at your website and was wondering if you sold rowing boats?"
I say no more...
Posted by Al on Thursday, October 26, 2006 - 2:26 PM
Leave house in state of sartorial elegance due to impulse purchase of cashmere sweater from Florence & Fred at Tescos while waiting for shopping last night. HTB on hearing that I expect him to make purchase on my behalf because this is a Very Good Price For Cashmere, asks me with typical male practicality Why Is It This Price? Feel moved to explain that most cashmere combed from the belly of sacred goats on high mountaintops by acolyte trained from birth for purpose. Tesco cashmere probably taken from bellies of goats in Luton by man called Bob, retrained from redundancy by DSS, but cashmere is cashmere. HTB mutters about child labour but I cling to Theory of Bob and sweater is duly purchased. Illusion of sartorial elegance comes to screeching halt on train when I notice that zip on trousers is broken and much time is spent trying to unobtrusively wedge it half-way up like Grand Old Duke of York's men.
Theme of day turns out to be seeing old friends, when dear friend Christine from Good Old Days in Milton Keynes come to the office after a meeting in London, bringing wine and chocolates, which we waste no time in opening. Much time spent comparing the comparative stupidities of the customers we work with – Christine and I have a long history of serving the public, and with great serendipity a client rings up to ask me to calculate for her what a 4 hour charter at £400 would be. Client goes on to demand a Friday in December, December the 1st when offered is too soon and December the 8th too late and I regretfully inform her that all the Fridays in between these dates are unavailable so she settles on Wednesday 20th. Client then asks me for my telephone number but thankfully remembers before I have to remind her that she called me on it. Asks for my name and with great presence of mind I tell her it is Alice – note to self to remember to warn real Alice on Tuesday and possibly apologise. Can't help but reflect on the amount of money this woman is probably getting paid to organise this event in comparison to the amount I am getting paid to help her and find thought depressing.
Am completely cheered when Rachel produces hair straighteners and proceeds to straighten my hair. Idea is put forward of also doing my make-up. As neither Christine or myself are really make-up people we ask simultaneously if moisturiser counts, as not a substance naturally found on our faces and some effort required to put it there. Train of thought that by this definition both chocolate and sperm could also be classed as make-up is dropped with alacrity.
Rachel finishes hair and says I now remind her of someone but can't think who – fantasy of hitherto unnoticed resemblance to famous actress or model shattered when she pins it down to Dougal from the Magic Roundabout.
Notice new tendency in self to admire straight hair in every reflective surface I pass. At last secret of women with sheets of hair down back solved, but not sure time, effort and £90 required to purchase straighteners will suit my lifestyle. Smile at complete stranger on tube in Look I Have Long Hair, Admire My Hair manner. Realise too late, as he edges away, that he is probably wondering if care-in-the-community Dougal look-alike knows her zip is undone and the answer would be she has, sadly for her, forgotten.
We have now decided that 'Claire' is a better name for all of the idiots to speak to, as it doesn't involve me in any way.
Alas, another prime example of customer stupidity from a call I happened to pick up this morning:
"I was looking at your website and was wondering if you sold rowing boats?"
I say no more...
Posted by Al on Thursday, October 26, 2006 - 2:26 PM
Friday, 20 October 2006
If You Want a Job Done in a Half Assed Matter ...
Great excitement Chez Bangs as we are to receive our first grownup visitor at the weekend. Slightly nerve wracking as the guest is one of my oldest friends Laura, highly successful, post grad computer wiz, whose own home looks like something from Homes & Gardens with acres of cream carpeting and enough granite to restock a small quarry.
Too late I realise that the house may not be quite ready - entire house could fit into Laura's extension and desperate attempt follows to distract from absence of carpeting in spare room, by painting floor boards white in shabby chic manner. Completely unable to move furniture and therefore am forced to paint round it and in the case of bed, slightly under it. Can only hope that Laura won't feel need to look under the bed for any reason.
Half an hour after starting I come to understand more clearly the term "painting yourself into a corner" or on this case into the alcove that does for a wardrobe. Extricate myself from wardrobe by swinging on bunk bed in exact fashion that have always told HTB's children they must never do and stand back to admire results. Can at least say that I have achieved the shabby part of the look.
Decide that all that is needed is few clever touches to complete transformation and splash out on some rather posh scarlet flowers and put together little basket of toiletries and hangover cures. Resemblance to 5* hotel slightly spoiled by necessity of turning sideways to get between bed and book case and tendency of door to bang into bed if opened more than 3/4s of the way (easiest (!!) method of getting into room involves opening door 3rd of way, edging into wardrobe, closing door and stepping out of wardrobe somewhat like an old fashioned kissing gate) but am generally pleased with effect.
Start to clear up and discover that lid of paint is on bookshelf in bedroom, can confirm there is nothing more boring than watching paint dry. Retrieve lid and remove skin from paint before reuniting paint and lid.
Complete disaster in groceries department as Tesco call to say the van has broken down and can they deliver tomorrow. I say this not possible as traditional in our house for food for dinner party to arrive before dinner party takes place. Arrange to collect from Tesco store, which involves waiting for return of HTB and trip at 10pm to Customer Services, which is just closing and has never heard of our shopping or us.
Further delay caused by discovery that 3 bottles of champagne have been substituted for 3 bottles of French brandy (why for the love of god? They were both French and in bottles? Thank god Tesco doesn't sell garlic juice!) Personally go and select alternative champagne at exact same price and point out that perhaps this would have been more logical substitution. Feel I have not endeared myself to manager, but am beyond caring.
Tesco not what it was - vans never on time, items missing or bizarrely substituted and late night deliveries now made by transvestite.
Arrive home at 11pm, dine royally on chocolate buttons and gin as all I can be bothered to find and go to bed.
Too late I realise that the house may not be quite ready - entire house could fit into Laura's extension and desperate attempt follows to distract from absence of carpeting in spare room, by painting floor boards white in shabby chic manner. Completely unable to move furniture and therefore am forced to paint round it and in the case of bed, slightly under it. Can only hope that Laura won't feel need to look under the bed for any reason.
Half an hour after starting I come to understand more clearly the term "painting yourself into a corner" or on this case into the alcove that does for a wardrobe. Extricate myself from wardrobe by swinging on bunk bed in exact fashion that have always told HTB's children they must never do and stand back to admire results. Can at least say that I have achieved the shabby part of the look.
Decide that all that is needed is few clever touches to complete transformation and splash out on some rather posh scarlet flowers and put together little basket of toiletries and hangover cures. Resemblance to 5* hotel slightly spoiled by necessity of turning sideways to get between bed and book case and tendency of door to bang into bed if opened more than 3/4s of the way (easiest (!!) method of getting into room involves opening door 3rd of way, edging into wardrobe, closing door and stepping out of wardrobe somewhat like an old fashioned kissing gate) but am generally pleased with effect.
Start to clear up and discover that lid of paint is on bookshelf in bedroom, can confirm there is nothing more boring than watching paint dry. Retrieve lid and remove skin from paint before reuniting paint and lid.
Complete disaster in groceries department as Tesco call to say the van has broken down and can they deliver tomorrow. I say this not possible as traditional in our house for food for dinner party to arrive before dinner party takes place. Arrange to collect from Tesco store, which involves waiting for return of HTB and trip at 10pm to Customer Services, which is just closing and has never heard of our shopping or us.
Further delay caused by discovery that 3 bottles of champagne have been substituted for 3 bottles of French brandy (why for the love of god? They were both French and in bottles? Thank god Tesco doesn't sell garlic juice!) Personally go and select alternative champagne at exact same price and point out that perhaps this would have been more logical substitution. Feel I have not endeared myself to manager, but am beyond caring.
Tesco not what it was - vans never on time, items missing or bizarrely substituted and late night deliveries now made by transvestite.
Arrive home at 11pm, dine royally on chocolate buttons and gin as all I can be bothered to find and go to bed.
Tuesday, 17 October 2006
An Apple A Day
Apropos of nothing HTB remarks to me this morning that I must lead a very rich inner life. Take it as complement and thank him, but on reflection imagine he means that I spend a disproportionate amount of time fantasising about complete rubbish. Would like to dispute this, but after mentally conducting fellow commuters in all singing all dancing rendition of "Oh what a beautiful morning" complete with choreographed leaps over benches and swings round sign posts on Waterloo platform this morning, have to agree he has a point.
Little to report on tube, walk past American women on London Bridge dressed in white trousers and pink polo shirt, looking confused. (As well she might as she is dressed for Florida in June and has found herself in London in October).
Work quiet. Lose will to live somewhere around 3pm.
17th October
Spend morning at Doctors who reveals dizziness to be caused by inner ear infection and not natural state (ha!) and prescribes pills. Cautions me not to climb ladders or operate heavy machinery and I assure her I will do neither. Interrupted by small boy, previously unnoticed colouring in corner who announces Uh Oh He has tipped the water over. Doctor looks harassed and introduces small boy as son Jack, off school with unnamed illness. Jack then proceeds to bounce around the room pointing at things while yelling wooo is this an x-ray machine? and generally displaying levels of energy and health that are the envy of all in the room. After some confusion, Jack is herded to corner of the room and supplied with fresh paper and discussion returns to my health and the subject of the other thing. According to my blood tests The Other Thing is apparently possibly something-something syndrome and the Dr is referring me to a specialist and it will take a long time. Feel vaguely disconcerted that I may have a syndrome as it sounds a) neurotic and b) made up. Can't help but think this is very shallow and snobbish of me and does not reflect well on my character so do not share thoughts with Doctor, instead professing gratitude for referral and thought that we may at last be putting a name to It. Admire totally hideous drawing done by Jack in hi-lighter pen, rescue prescription from pile of paper he is about to start drawing on and depart.
Another quiet day in the office allows us free reign in putting the world to rights. Deal swiftly with immigration, adoption of babies by pop-stars and Peter Andre's latest duet with his wife. http://www.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/story/0,22049,20590041-5006002,00.html
Play latter loudly and laugh until we weep.
Discussion in office turns naturally to would it be better if we were all lesbians? Decide that it would be as long as we didn't actually have to sleep with women and conclude therefore that we are really expressing a desire to be understood better by our men folk. This desire far easier to express to girlfriends in office and leads to far better discussion than sharing it with men folk, so subject remains un-raised with HTB. Can't imagine any conversation starting with Why can't you be more like a lesbian? ending at all well and have secret belief based on some experience that lesbians don't understand each other all that well anyway.
Member of boat crew comes in to borrow heater to dry his socks, this proves to be the excitement of the afternoon.
Alice is still single and is considering speed dating with her sister (obviously in the company of her sister, not With Her, although on reflection this might help her pick up men)
Afternoon enlivened by client who rings to express hope that I can make all her dreams come true by hiring our smallest boat to her at a discount price and asks about our hire rates. When I ask her if her party is taking place Monday to Thursday or Friday to Sunday she says that she only wants the boat for one day. The conversation goes down hill from here and I have to put her on hold twice so I can stop laughing. Leave client to sleep on decision after offering magnificent discount.
Head home with intention of wild night painting bathroom prior to arrival of guest at weekend and date with CSI Miami.
Cimments: brilliant! ever so funny!! laughed like a drain :-D still can't quite believe the Peter Andre and Jordan thing - its so awful that Chris Moyles will probably make it number one or something...any takers on a small wager?.......
Posted by Ruud on Tuesday, October 17, 2006 - 5:29 PM
Little to report on tube, walk past American women on London Bridge dressed in white trousers and pink polo shirt, looking confused. (As well she might as she is dressed for Florida in June and has found herself in London in October).
Work quiet. Lose will to live somewhere around 3pm.
17th October
Spend morning at Doctors who reveals dizziness to be caused by inner ear infection and not natural state (ha!) and prescribes pills. Cautions me not to climb ladders or operate heavy machinery and I assure her I will do neither. Interrupted by small boy, previously unnoticed colouring in corner who announces Uh Oh He has tipped the water over. Doctor looks harassed and introduces small boy as son Jack, off school with unnamed illness. Jack then proceeds to bounce around the room pointing at things while yelling wooo is this an x-ray machine? and generally displaying levels of energy and health that are the envy of all in the room. After some confusion, Jack is herded to corner of the room and supplied with fresh paper and discussion returns to my health and the subject of the other thing. According to my blood tests The Other Thing is apparently possibly something-something syndrome and the Dr is referring me to a specialist and it will take a long time. Feel vaguely disconcerted that I may have a syndrome as it sounds a) neurotic and b) made up. Can't help but think this is very shallow and snobbish of me and does not reflect well on my character so do not share thoughts with Doctor, instead professing gratitude for referral and thought that we may at last be putting a name to It. Admire totally hideous drawing done by Jack in hi-lighter pen, rescue prescription from pile of paper he is about to start drawing on and depart.
Another quiet day in the office allows us free reign in putting the world to rights. Deal swiftly with immigration, adoption of babies by pop-stars and Peter Andre's latest duet with his wife. http://www.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/story/0,22049,20590041-5006002,00.html
Play latter loudly and laugh until we weep.
Discussion in office turns naturally to would it be better if we were all lesbians? Decide that it would be as long as we didn't actually have to sleep with women and conclude therefore that we are really expressing a desire to be understood better by our men folk. This desire far easier to express to girlfriends in office and leads to far better discussion than sharing it with men folk, so subject remains un-raised with HTB. Can't imagine any conversation starting with Why can't you be more like a lesbian? ending at all well and have secret belief based on some experience that lesbians don't understand each other all that well anyway.
Member of boat crew comes in to borrow heater to dry his socks, this proves to be the excitement of the afternoon.
Alice is still single and is considering speed dating with her sister (obviously in the company of her sister, not With Her, although on reflection this might help her pick up men)
Afternoon enlivened by client who rings to express hope that I can make all her dreams come true by hiring our smallest boat to her at a discount price and asks about our hire rates. When I ask her if her party is taking place Monday to Thursday or Friday to Sunday she says that she only wants the boat for one day. The conversation goes down hill from here and I have to put her on hold twice so I can stop laughing. Leave client to sleep on decision after offering magnificent discount.
Head home with intention of wild night painting bathroom prior to arrival of guest at weekend and date with CSI Miami.
Cimments: brilliant! ever so funny!! laughed like a drain :-D still can't quite believe the Peter Andre and Jordan thing - its so awful that Chris Moyles will probably make it number one or something...any takers on a small wager?.......
Posted by Ruud on Tuesday, October 17, 2006 - 5:29 PM
Sunday, 15 October 2006
So Much Time So Little to Blog
Work is suddenly so quiet that we occasionally pick up the phone to check for a dial tone. This gives me time to reflect on the ironies of having enough time to blog, but little blog fodder.
Small diversion on home front caused by my horrified discovery that favourite PJs are now tight. HTB kindly suggests that since I have been drinking fizz (minor celebration regarding triumph over HTB's former wife which will remain for ever unblogged for fear of what it reveals about my personality) perhaps I am bloated. I respond that this, although very sweet, would have more basis in reality if it were not the thighs that were tight (instant guilt ridden flash back to hot chocolate and bagel earlier in the week) Perhaps, says HTB I Have Secret Gas Chambers in My Thighs? Can't help but think that this sounds terribly Nazi of me and wonder if my kneecaps will deny knowing they were there at some unspecified point in the future. Further speculation thankfully curtailed by sleep.
Friday 13th
Have never really understood the preoccupation with Friday 13th as unlucky. I know that some people say it's because there were 13 people at the last supper (just how this was unlucky for Jesus escapes me as patently not the reason he was crucified, which was predestined anyway, and Christianity would be in a right pickle if only 11 people has turned up for supper and the Romans changed their minds as a consequence, in Life of Brian manner.) Have also heard that it relates to the number of witches in a coven, which amazes me, as I don't know 12 other women who I could put in a room together, let alone 12 witches, but again don't see that it's unlucky (Unless you are in a room with 12 witches who don't get on with you I imagine that could be unlucky).
Decide to take a risk and wear my unluckiest shoes to work. I adore these shoes as they are very passable copies of Louis Vuitton Boudoir shoes (yes very last season I know but for some of us boudoir is a lifestyle choice not a season!) but as they have heels that spin off in different directions on a whim (ok so they are cheap copies I know!) they are not always the safest footwear for a boat. They immediately prove my point my jamming in the pedals of my bike, which is fine until I have to stop at the pedestrian crossing, at which point I topple slowly sideway into a hedge before leaping back out in a gymnastic manner whilst trying hard to give the impression that this is my usual way of dismounting my bicycle. (From looks on faces of fellow commuters I deduce I have not succeeded.) Successfully achieve station where I recognise fellow commuter from pedestrian crossing and fiddle with bike lock in airy, devil-may-care manner until train leaves, to avoid travelling with him to Waterloo.
Tube is busy and I end up jammed between two traders, hanging onto the central pole like an inadequate stripper.
Further proof of unluckiness of shoes occurs as I leave London Bridge when man who is standing handing out papers manages to tread on my heel, removing shoe in process (How? How does he do this he was STANDING STILL?).
Have just mentally resolved to throw shoes in Thames when River Police appear from nowhere. Immediately give into paranoia on subject of thought police, which is made worse when the Police boat slows down and creeps along the river parallel to me until I get to work. Think pure thoughts until they have gone, just in case.
Day takes turn for better with call from Gorgeous George, current favourite client with lovely voice who we know to be wearing uniform whenever he calls. (Gorgeous is honorary title based on joint imaginings of girls in office, as obviously we have never seen him.) He admits today he is in his blues and is joined by number of colleagues wearing their greens who proceed to audibly serenade me in the background to the tune of "Oh Mandy" inserting my name at the appropriate point.
Day peaks too soon and have mid-afternoon crisis, which is resolved by medical application of G&T and sage advice of Dear Friend Rachel. Have cause to review sage-ness of advice when DFR announces she wishes she had a willy. Further investigation as to internal musings that prompted such a statement reveal long and involved train of thought relating to ease of relieving granny-like bladder in public place with addition of such appendage. Level of shock to Adored Husband Andy not discussed. Further strains to granny like bladder proposed by boss and we retire to the bar.
Find myself in snit with HTB for no other reason than his staying at work until normal time when I had envisioned early return, house cleaned, supper in oven and lift from station. Entire fantasy based on something he said two weeks ago and hasn't mention recently and I should know better.
Take life in hands once again and choose to keep unlucky shoes to walk home in.
Snit and gin cause me to march across London Bridge swinging my arms with such vigour that I whack perfect stranger across groin with free paper. Apology charmingly accepted, leading me to cynical conclusion that strangers are perfect because they remain strangers. Am momentarily diverted by train of thought in which chance whacking leads to conversation, drinks, unsuitable marriage and exile to S America before necessity of negotiating escalator in unlucky shoes brings me back to present and perfect stranger disappears onto Jubilee Line unaware of his narrow escape.
Would like to discuss cleverness of conclusions reached regarding perfection of strangers with HTB, but since we have not been strangers for at least 25 years, I cannot think of any way of doing this that he would not find insulting.
Seated on train between woman who is spitting image of Judy off Richard and Judy but who I assume is not, and married man who smells strongly of cat pee. Some strangers NOT perfect - think fondly of charming Argentinean looking man with whom things could have been so different if we had not been going in different direction on tube.
HTB meets me at station with takeaway and rapprochement achieved that I will draw veil over. Friday 13th aparently lucky for some.
Small diversion on home front caused by my horrified discovery that favourite PJs are now tight. HTB kindly suggests that since I have been drinking fizz (minor celebration regarding triumph over HTB's former wife which will remain for ever unblogged for fear of what it reveals about my personality) perhaps I am bloated. I respond that this, although very sweet, would have more basis in reality if it were not the thighs that were tight (instant guilt ridden flash back to hot chocolate and bagel earlier in the week) Perhaps, says HTB I Have Secret Gas Chambers in My Thighs? Can't help but think that this sounds terribly Nazi of me and wonder if my kneecaps will deny knowing they were there at some unspecified point in the future. Further speculation thankfully curtailed by sleep.
Friday 13th
Have never really understood the preoccupation with Friday 13th as unlucky. I know that some people say it's because there were 13 people at the last supper (just how this was unlucky for Jesus escapes me as patently not the reason he was crucified, which was predestined anyway, and Christianity would be in a right pickle if only 11 people has turned up for supper and the Romans changed their minds as a consequence, in Life of Brian manner.) Have also heard that it relates to the number of witches in a coven, which amazes me, as I don't know 12 other women who I could put in a room together, let alone 12 witches, but again don't see that it's unlucky (Unless you are in a room with 12 witches who don't get on with you I imagine that could be unlucky).
Decide to take a risk and wear my unluckiest shoes to work. I adore these shoes as they are very passable copies of Louis Vuitton Boudoir shoes (yes very last season I know but for some of us boudoir is a lifestyle choice not a season!) but as they have heels that spin off in different directions on a whim (ok so they are cheap copies I know!) they are not always the safest footwear for a boat. They immediately prove my point my jamming in the pedals of my bike, which is fine until I have to stop at the pedestrian crossing, at which point I topple slowly sideway into a hedge before leaping back out in a gymnastic manner whilst trying hard to give the impression that this is my usual way of dismounting my bicycle. (From looks on faces of fellow commuters I deduce I have not succeeded.) Successfully achieve station where I recognise fellow commuter from pedestrian crossing and fiddle with bike lock in airy, devil-may-care manner until train leaves, to avoid travelling with him to Waterloo.
Tube is busy and I end up jammed between two traders, hanging onto the central pole like an inadequate stripper.
Further proof of unluckiness of shoes occurs as I leave London Bridge when man who is standing handing out papers manages to tread on my heel, removing shoe in process (How? How does he do this he was STANDING STILL?).
Have just mentally resolved to throw shoes in Thames when River Police appear from nowhere. Immediately give into paranoia on subject of thought police, which is made worse when the Police boat slows down and creeps along the river parallel to me until I get to work. Think pure thoughts until they have gone, just in case.
Day takes turn for better with call from Gorgeous George, current favourite client with lovely voice who we know to be wearing uniform whenever he calls. (Gorgeous is honorary title based on joint imaginings of girls in office, as obviously we have never seen him.) He admits today he is in his blues and is joined by number of colleagues wearing their greens who proceed to audibly serenade me in the background to the tune of "Oh Mandy" inserting my name at the appropriate point.
Day peaks too soon and have mid-afternoon crisis, which is resolved by medical application of G&T and sage advice of Dear Friend Rachel. Have cause to review sage-ness of advice when DFR announces she wishes she had a willy. Further investigation as to internal musings that prompted such a statement reveal long and involved train of thought relating to ease of relieving granny-like bladder in public place with addition of such appendage. Level of shock to Adored Husband Andy not discussed. Further strains to granny like bladder proposed by boss and we retire to the bar.
Find myself in snit with HTB for no other reason than his staying at work until normal time when I had envisioned early return, house cleaned, supper in oven and lift from station. Entire fantasy based on something he said two weeks ago and hasn't mention recently and I should know better.
Take life in hands once again and choose to keep unlucky shoes to walk home in.
Snit and gin cause me to march across London Bridge swinging my arms with such vigour that I whack perfect stranger across groin with free paper. Apology charmingly accepted, leading me to cynical conclusion that strangers are perfect because they remain strangers. Am momentarily diverted by train of thought in which chance whacking leads to conversation, drinks, unsuitable marriage and exile to S America before necessity of negotiating escalator in unlucky shoes brings me back to present and perfect stranger disappears onto Jubilee Line unaware of his narrow escape.
Would like to discuss cleverness of conclusions reached regarding perfection of strangers with HTB, but since we have not been strangers for at least 25 years, I cannot think of any way of doing this that he would not find insulting.
Seated on train between woman who is spitting image of Judy off Richard and Judy but who I assume is not, and married man who smells strongly of cat pee. Some strangers NOT perfect - think fondly of charming Argentinean looking man with whom things could have been so different if we had not been going in different direction on tube.
HTB meets me at station with takeaway and rapprochement achieved that I will draw veil over. Friday 13th aparently lucky for some.
Friday, 6 October 2006
The Provincial Lady in London
Glorious start to day, with rosy hued sunrise on one side of the house and rainbow on the other. Sadly the bad weather promised by both "red sky in the morning" and distant rainbow arrives during bike ride to station and I arrive soaking wet and very cold and steam gently all the way to Waterloo.
Read E.M. Delafield's "Diary of a Provincial Lady" on the train and like Helen Fielding before me am very influenced by her style of writing.
Am struck again on tube by similarity between commuters and Hobbits and this train of thought prompts me to purchase second breakfast. Morning takes turn for better when I discover that loyalty to famous purveyor of bagels is to be reward with free bagel. Celebrate by purchasing hot chocolate with whipped cream for girls in office from well known American Coffee Bar.
Anxiously inspect my thighs for signs of either hot chocolate and bagel and/or daily cycling and find none. (Query have they cancelled each other out or is it simply Too Soon to Tell? Resolve to ask dear friend Rachel who runs, scuba dives and mountain climbs For Fun and will therefore Know About Such Things.)
Spend morning dealing with numerous enquiries regarding boat hire from members of public who are quite frankly too stupid to hire boats and will probably constitute danger to others and themselves, but am constrained in my desire to express this opinion by need to earn living, at least for rest of month.
New mobile phone arrives and I am delighted with it. Call dear friend Charlotte and tell her I am leaving my job and she says How Brave and What Will I Do? And I laugh depreciatingly and say Not Really and I Don't Know, Perhaps I Will Finally Start to Write?
Ride moving staircase at Waterloo behind exquisite creature in red coat with sheet of blonde hair down back. Mentally try on coat (it doesn't fit) and speculate fruitlessly as to why I am the only woman in London with hair that doesn't lie flat down my back, instead looking like something that cats or Husband To Be have chewed while I am sleeping (this not, to my knowledge, the case and can think of no way to tactfully investigate with HTB). Take shallow and unworthy pleasure in noticing ball of long hair stuck to coat in armpit, spirits raised out of all proportion that I am not the only longhaired woman afflicted by this phenomenon.
HTB offers to cook, and pizza and garlic bread duly arrive, very proudly reports that he Has Done The Washing Up, admit more thought could have gone into response of Was There Much With Pizza? but alas sometimes the mouth is swifter than the brain.
Retire to bed at 10pm and fall asleep promptly in middle of train of thought too ridiculous to record but involving number of things I am too worried about to sleep.
Read E.M. Delafield's "Diary of a Provincial Lady" on the train and like Helen Fielding before me am very influenced by her style of writing.
Am struck again on tube by similarity between commuters and Hobbits and this train of thought prompts me to purchase second breakfast. Morning takes turn for better when I discover that loyalty to famous purveyor of bagels is to be reward with free bagel. Celebrate by purchasing hot chocolate with whipped cream for girls in office from well known American Coffee Bar.
Anxiously inspect my thighs for signs of either hot chocolate and bagel and/or daily cycling and find none. (Query have they cancelled each other out or is it simply Too Soon to Tell? Resolve to ask dear friend Rachel who runs, scuba dives and mountain climbs For Fun and will therefore Know About Such Things.)
Spend morning dealing with numerous enquiries regarding boat hire from members of public who are quite frankly too stupid to hire boats and will probably constitute danger to others and themselves, but am constrained in my desire to express this opinion by need to earn living, at least for rest of month.
New mobile phone arrives and I am delighted with it. Call dear friend Charlotte and tell her I am leaving my job and she says How Brave and What Will I Do? And I laugh depreciatingly and say Not Really and I Don't Know, Perhaps I Will Finally Start to Write?
Ride moving staircase at Waterloo behind exquisite creature in red coat with sheet of blonde hair down back. Mentally try on coat (it doesn't fit) and speculate fruitlessly as to why I am the only woman in London with hair that doesn't lie flat down my back, instead looking like something that cats or Husband To Be have chewed while I am sleeping (this not, to my knowledge, the case and can think of no way to tactfully investigate with HTB). Take shallow and unworthy pleasure in noticing ball of long hair stuck to coat in armpit, spirits raised out of all proportion that I am not the only longhaired woman afflicted by this phenomenon.
HTB offers to cook, and pizza and garlic bread duly arrive, very proudly reports that he Has Done The Washing Up, admit more thought could have gone into response of Was There Much With Pizza? but alas sometimes the mouth is swifter than the brain.
Retire to bed at 10pm and fall asleep promptly in middle of train of thought too ridiculous to record but involving number of things I am too worried about to sleep.
Tuesday, 3 October 2006
Quel Day
Have franticly fragmented day today. I start the day feeling completely achy and light-headed and this immediately convinces me that I am coming down with Cat Flu, or possibly TB. The tube is inordinately crowded and I am disappointed to miss the train that was full of firemen and instead shared my very personal space with a hung over trader who smelt of whisky and had left his tie, belt and ability to button a shirt correctly at the house of whatever nameless woman he spend the night with. (Note to self: attribute disappointment over firemen to delirium caused by Cat Flu/TB/Bubonic Plague should Husband To Be comment on it)
Spend an inordinate amount of time quoting for Christmas parties and trying to stop my eyes from rolling up in my head. Have one woman request a quote for Christmas 2007 and am still unable to decide whether she was being hideously efficient (why for the love of God?) or too dim to realise that December the 25th still counts as this year.
Attended a performance of the Shaolin Monks at the Peacock Theatre with HTB in the evening. Would love to be witty and superior about the experience - and certainly the couple seated in front of us who had a full scale domestic via text (yes I peaked over her shoulder) gave me plenty of scope, but in truth I feel too privileged to have been in the presence of such skill and discipline to say anything facetious.
Am treated to the singular site of myself with a halo on the way home. The train stops outside Waterloo, and my reflection is momentarily framed by the lights of the London Eye. A Madonna sans child if you will. When I point this out to HTB with great excitement, he smiles at me sweetly and remarkes that I see the world very differently from other people; personally I like to think it's one of the things he loves most about me!
As Holly Golightly would say "quel day"
Spend an inordinate amount of time quoting for Christmas parties and trying to stop my eyes from rolling up in my head. Have one woman request a quote for Christmas 2007 and am still unable to decide whether she was being hideously efficient (why for the love of God?) or too dim to realise that December the 25th still counts as this year.
Attended a performance of the Shaolin Monks at the Peacock Theatre with HTB in the evening. Would love to be witty and superior about the experience - and certainly the couple seated in front of us who had a full scale domestic via text (yes I peaked over her shoulder) gave me plenty of scope, but in truth I feel too privileged to have been in the presence of such skill and discipline to say anything facetious.
Am treated to the singular site of myself with a halo on the way home. The train stops outside Waterloo, and my reflection is momentarily framed by the lights of the London Eye. A Madonna sans child if you will. When I point this out to HTB with great excitement, he smiles at me sweetly and remarkes that I see the world very differently from other people; personally I like to think it's one of the things he loves most about me!
As Holly Golightly would say "quel day"
Conversations You Don't Expect to Hear in the Office
"What the Government have done to this country is f*cking criminal - they've f*cked it up worse than Hitler ever could have."
"Yes and all he did was kill a few million people"
"Yes and all he did was kill a few million people"
Thursday, 28 September 2006
Underground Overground Commuting Free ...
I have been commuting on the tube for nearly a year now and I am still continually amazed by the bizarre behaviour that riding the tube seems to bring out in people.
This morning for example I was waiting at Waterloo for an eastbound Jubilee train with a larger crowd than usual. (I had arrived on an earlier train and hit the tail end of the pre 9am rush). Now everyone who rides the tubes at all regularly knows that when the train pulls in you have less than a minute before the "stand clear..." announcement and the doors close. This morning the seconds ticked by with no announcement and I started to slow down aware that the doors must close soon, while the crowd around me continued to try to shove onto the tube. (Apparently the doors magically stay open if there is no announcement!) Suddenly, with no warning, the doors slammed closed and an Italian woman reeled back from the doors shrieking and clutching her head. The rest of us of course pretended not to see her, and generally acted in a typically British manner when faced with such a regrettably foreign lack of reserve about what was, quite frankly, only a minor decapitation.
The woman then stood mumbling to herself until the next train arrived, at which point she recovered remarkably and shoved her way on with the force of a charging rhino. This time it was the fate of some hapless chap to be squeezing onto the train when the doors closed, leaving half his coat outside. I was somewhat disconcerted that the doors couldn't tell they weren't closed properly and we whizzed off down the track with the chap tugging at his coat and eventually succeeding in pulling it through the slightly open doors.
On arrival at London Bridge we were met with another huge crowd, this time of passengers who were waiting to get through the barriers to the Northern line, which had been closed to prevent over crowding. The overhead announcements were repeating their apologies for the closure and suggesting that those people who were heading for Monument might possibly wish to set off across London Bridge thus preventing a delay to their journey. This needless to say had absolutely no effect on the bleating crowds who merely huddled closer to the barrier as if this would magically make them open, in a kind of "baaa, walk? Baaa London Bridge?" manner. The barriers remained closed and all they succeeded in doing was blocking the exit for those lucky souls who had made it to their destination.
The joys of cattle prods have never figured so largely in my thoughts.
This morning for example I was waiting at Waterloo for an eastbound Jubilee train with a larger crowd than usual. (I had arrived on an earlier train and hit the tail end of the pre 9am rush). Now everyone who rides the tubes at all regularly knows that when the train pulls in you have less than a minute before the "stand clear..." announcement and the doors close. This morning the seconds ticked by with no announcement and I started to slow down aware that the doors must close soon, while the crowd around me continued to try to shove onto the tube. (Apparently the doors magically stay open if there is no announcement!) Suddenly, with no warning, the doors slammed closed and an Italian woman reeled back from the doors shrieking and clutching her head. The rest of us of course pretended not to see her, and generally acted in a typically British manner when faced with such a regrettably foreign lack of reserve about what was, quite frankly, only a minor decapitation.
The woman then stood mumbling to herself until the next train arrived, at which point she recovered remarkably and shoved her way on with the force of a charging rhino. This time it was the fate of some hapless chap to be squeezing onto the train when the doors closed, leaving half his coat outside. I was somewhat disconcerted that the doors couldn't tell they weren't closed properly and we whizzed off down the track with the chap tugging at his coat and eventually succeeding in pulling it through the slightly open doors.
On arrival at London Bridge we were met with another huge crowd, this time of passengers who were waiting to get through the barriers to the Northern line, which had been closed to prevent over crowding. The overhead announcements were repeating their apologies for the closure and suggesting that those people who were heading for Monument might possibly wish to set off across London Bridge thus preventing a delay to their journey. This needless to say had absolutely no effect on the bleating crowds who merely huddled closer to the barrier as if this would magically make them open, in a kind of "baaa, walk? Baaa London Bridge?" manner. The barriers remained closed and all they succeeded in doing was blocking the exit for those lucky souls who had made it to their destination.
The joys of cattle prods have never figured so largely in my thoughts.
Wednesday, 20 September 2006
tripping the Light Rantastic
Hurrah! The "Massive Golf Sale" Man was there today, I have missed him and I have missed being able to rant about him.
However for all of you out there who like me, thought this was merely an irritating abuse of the English language check out this link:
http://www.greatbigstuff.com/golfball.html
I am feeling generally rantastic today – rantastic is a portmanteau word that I coined to describe when I am feeling good about myself, but also grumpy about the world.
This is an unusual time of month for me to feel rantastic and I can only put it down to the fabulous sunshine, and an evening spent in the company of my chum Square Jawed Ed. (SJE) If the Spectator is champagne for the brain (grrr there's a rant right there) then SJE is cocaine for the brain. By this I obviously mean that his company is highly stimulating, not that it makes me talk a lot of b*llox at high speed and think I'm right all the time – although he does sometimes bring that out in me too. But in general a conversation with SJE is a conversation spent looking at the world from a different angle and with an evil sense of humour - and it always leaves me ready to tell the world exactly where it is going wrong.
But I digress, ranting needs an audience so here is my selection of things that have made me rant already today:
Euphemisms for death (BBC News) – "passed on", "passed away", "left us" and today's particular irritant "lost their lives". I know there are many uses of the word "lost" but I hate the inference of carelessness. Lives are not car keys, these people didn't put their lives down and forget where they left them, they died, suddenly and violently and in the service of their country and quite honestly I think the BBC should just say that.
"You'll get piles sitting on that cold kerb" (helpful old lady at bus stop). No, I really won't!
The website http://www.medinfo.co.uk/conditions/haemorrhoids.htmllists the following causes for piles:
Causes
Hemorrhoids are very common. They are said to be more common in countries where the diet has traditionally been more processed and low in fibre. The main contributory causes are those things that cause us to raise the pressure in the abdomen. This causes the blood vessels to swell and become engorged.
It seems that the people most at risk of developing hemorrhoids are those who have more causes for raised abdominal pressure, such as:
Those chronically straining with constipation.
After or during pregnancy. Here, the baby may actually press on the main blood vessel that returns blood to the heart (the vena cava).
Overweight people.
People with heavy lifting jobs.
Nowhere does it mention sitting on cold stones, please, helpful old people I beg of you, STOP TELLING ME THIS – IT DRIVES ME NUTS (and that includes you Mother!)
The misuse of the expression "mano a mano" to mean "man to man". (This is my fault for listening to macho traders' phone conversations on the train). "Mano a mano" does not mean "man to man", it means "hand to hand". It is not possible to talk to some one hand to hand, in single combat unless possibly you are arguing in sign language!
This reminds of another thing that was guaranteed to get a rise out of me when I managed a coffee bar in my dim and distant past, which was the common misconception that espresso is pronounced expresso and means only "served quickly". I remember one Saturday morning, short staffed and with a queue out of the door, overhearing a customer complain that he hadn't got his coffee very quickly considering it was an expresso. His face was a picture when I turned to him and said "Actually sir it is pronounced espresso, and also means "produced under pressure" and you must be blind if you think your coffee wasn't produced under pressure in every sense of the word this morning." Not my finest Public Relations moment but it felt so good. Sadly I left that job not long after.
There really is nothing like a job working with the Great British Public to bring out the ranter in you. Things guaranteed to wind us up in the office include:
Clients who ring up and read out the website to us on the phone. "It says here the boat hire is £220 per hour" (Yes we know this we wrote the website) and inevitably they follow this with "is that right?" (No it's completely wrong we just put it there for a laugh because we were bored one morning.)
Clients (always, always teachers) who say "so the buffet is £8.95 a head?" (Yes that's right) "How much would that be for 100 people?" (Answer: I imagine somewhere in the region of £895 sir )
And my personal favourite:
Clients who phone us to say "I'm at the top of the pier where do I go?" (onto the pier …) and then when they get onto the boat that is our office (bearing in mind that they have come here to hire a boat) say "ooh are we on the water – doesn't it make you sick?" (No it doesn't, otherwise I would be having this conversation with you from under my desk with my head in a bin)
I have to report however that this morning I have been outdone completely in the being rude politely stakes by Alice who held the following conversation:
A: "Good morning, [name of company]"
C: "Oh I think I have the wrong number, but perhaps you can help me anyway .. can you give me the number for "On the Rocks" in Sheffield?" (we are based in London)
A: "I'll just connect you" and hangs up phone.
All power to Alice - ranters of the world unite.
However for all of you out there who like me, thought this was merely an irritating abuse of the English language check out this link:
http://www.greatbigstuff.com/golfball.html
I am feeling generally rantastic today – rantastic is a portmanteau word that I coined to describe when I am feeling good about myself, but also grumpy about the world.
This is an unusual time of month for me to feel rantastic and I can only put it down to the fabulous sunshine, and an evening spent in the company of my chum Square Jawed Ed. (SJE) If the Spectator is champagne for the brain (grrr there's a rant right there) then SJE is cocaine for the brain. By this I obviously mean that his company is highly stimulating, not that it makes me talk a lot of b*llox at high speed and think I'm right all the time – although he does sometimes bring that out in me too. But in general a conversation with SJE is a conversation spent looking at the world from a different angle and with an evil sense of humour - and it always leaves me ready to tell the world exactly where it is going wrong.
But I digress, ranting needs an audience so here is my selection of things that have made me rant already today:
Euphemisms for death (BBC News) – "passed on", "passed away", "left us" and today's particular irritant "lost their lives". I know there are many uses of the word "lost" but I hate the inference of carelessness. Lives are not car keys, these people didn't put their lives down and forget where they left them, they died, suddenly and violently and in the service of their country and quite honestly I think the BBC should just say that.
"You'll get piles sitting on that cold kerb" (helpful old lady at bus stop). No, I really won't!
The website http://www.medinfo.co.uk/conditions/haemorrhoids.htmllists the following causes for piles:
Causes
Hemorrhoids are very common. They are said to be more common in countries where the diet has traditionally been more processed and low in fibre. The main contributory causes are those things that cause us to raise the pressure in the abdomen. This causes the blood vessels to swell and become engorged.
It seems that the people most at risk of developing hemorrhoids are those who have more causes for raised abdominal pressure, such as:
Those chronically straining with constipation.
After or during pregnancy. Here, the baby may actually press on the main blood vessel that returns blood to the heart (the vena cava).
Overweight people.
People with heavy lifting jobs.
Nowhere does it mention sitting on cold stones, please, helpful old people I beg of you, STOP TELLING ME THIS – IT DRIVES ME NUTS (and that includes you Mother!)
The misuse of the expression "mano a mano" to mean "man to man". (This is my fault for listening to macho traders' phone conversations on the train). "Mano a mano" does not mean "man to man", it means "hand to hand". It is not possible to talk to some one hand to hand, in single combat unless possibly you are arguing in sign language!
This reminds of another thing that was guaranteed to get a rise out of me when I managed a coffee bar in my dim and distant past, which was the common misconception that espresso is pronounced expresso and means only "served quickly". I remember one Saturday morning, short staffed and with a queue out of the door, overhearing a customer complain that he hadn't got his coffee very quickly considering it was an expresso. His face was a picture when I turned to him and said "Actually sir it is pronounced espresso, and also means "produced under pressure" and you must be blind if you think your coffee wasn't produced under pressure in every sense of the word this morning." Not my finest Public Relations moment but it felt so good. Sadly I left that job not long after.
There really is nothing like a job working with the Great British Public to bring out the ranter in you. Things guaranteed to wind us up in the office include:
Clients who ring up and read out the website to us on the phone. "It says here the boat hire is £220 per hour" (Yes we know this we wrote the website) and inevitably they follow this with "is that right?" (No it's completely wrong we just put it there for a laugh because we were bored one morning.)
Clients (always, always teachers) who say "so the buffet is £8.95 a head?" (Yes that's right) "How much would that be for 100 people?" (Answer: I imagine somewhere in the region of £895 sir )
And my personal favourite:
Clients who phone us to say "I'm at the top of the pier where do I go?" (onto the pier …) and then when they get onto the boat that is our office (bearing in mind that they have come here to hire a boat) say "ooh are we on the water – doesn't it make you sick?" (No it doesn't, otherwise I would be having this conversation with you from under my desk with my head in a bin)
I have to report however that this morning I have been outdone completely in the being rude politely stakes by Alice who held the following conversation:
A: "Good morning, [name of company]"
C: "Oh I think I have the wrong number, but perhaps you can help me anyway .. can you give me the number for "On the Rocks" in Sheffield?" (we are based in London)
A: "I'll just connect you" and hangs up phone.
All power to Alice - ranters of the world unite.
Monday, 18 September 2006
Thing children say part 2 ...
Conversational openers at the dinner table that you know aren't going to end well:
"You know those things Doctors call testicles?" ....
"You know those things Doctors call testicles?" ....
Sunday, 17 September 2006
Things children say part 1 ....
My partner's seven year old son on the dietry problems faced by people who run away to the circus:
"I would never join the circus, I don't want to have to eat fire"
"I would never join the circus, I don't want to have to eat fire"
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