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.
Sunday, 29 October 2006
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"
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