Not A Real Blonde
Well, so far I have managed to mess up my whole week. Yeah, it’s only two days in, but somehow I have managed to trash both of them. Not gone to plan, shall I say, not gone to plan at all.
Monday, instead of just getting up, packing man off to work, with man sandwiches, made for man lunch, but usually consumed by 10am, and getting on with going to the gym, I managed to turn my laptop on instead. A huge mistake, but… stuff happens I guess. E-mail tennis about some job or other, which took longer than expected, which then led me to read a forum for the brain dead, which fried my brain… Never read forums posted by models… it’s a big No No!
So then I wrote my blog. By then it was lunchtime, and I hadn’t been where I had planned to go… in fact, I had been nowhere!
Did anyone watch “Three Men In A Boat”? It’s been on before, but this was a “Best Of” version. The three men are Dara O’Briain, Griff Rhys-Jones and Rory McGrath… and they travel in a boat, hence the title. Anyway, they end up in Ireland, and they come accross a “Wishing Tree”, in a field somewhere. People tie things to the branches, like bits of paper and socks and Gravity knows what else, and then they make a wish… possibly for the other sock to appear…
But, Griff and Rory, began poking fun at the tree, and to be fair, it was a bit of a mess. But, then, Dara said… “I am Irish, and while I can make fun of the wishing tree, I feel a little annoyed that two you are… is that weird”?
I think we all do this. I can make fun of myself, and very often do… a sort of self put down thing I have, but I get upset when others join in. It also baffles me when people say… “You shouldn’t put yourself down… blah blah blah”. Because, I only see self put down as fun, funny, not taking myself too seriously, or whatever you wish to call it. Also, this is where people get mixed up with all this racial abuse stuff, because while it is OK for two black people, or two Asian people to call themselves by slang names, it’s not OK if white people do. It’s like a boundary, where those on the inside can laugh and self mock, while those on the outside cannot join in.
I did go to the gym, in the end, a little later than planned, but I did get there. I didn’t go for lunch, as lunchtime had waved “bye bye” by then, so I drove home instead. My friend Natalie called, asking if I fancied going for a run… “You must be joking”! So, she cut her run in half by running to my place, before running back home… a pretty neat trick, because not only did she get a half run rest, but also got a drink and a KitKat too. Us athletes do know how to live!
During the coffee break, Nat picks up my acoustic guitar, and while sat on the sofa, she begins to sing that song from the TV advert. The one where the busker guy on a train station platform, sings to the girl sat on the other side of the tracks.
“Girl on the platform smile… it was a very very very nice smile. She was a re-al blonde… he looks up her skirt… she wasn’t a re-al blonde”!
Fits of giggles at the word change, and giggles, as we all know, are infectious, so that past a few minutes.
Anyway… we have found some branches for our Crystal Tree. Kelly found a place on the Internet, based just outside Manchester, so not too far away, who said they stock Twisted Birch branches. Tuesday morning, we set off to go see. Worsley isn’t too far, but morning traffic slows everything down, but we got there in one piece, eventually. So, one of the men there, showed us the branches, packed in a see through plastic bags…
“You’re making a Wishing Tree then”? The man asked.
Kelly replied… “Errrmmm I’m making a Crystal Tree”!
“Same thing, Wishing Tree, Crystal Tree… it’s a variation on the old Wishing Tree theme where things hang off the branches, make a wish for luck… you know”!
“Oh right cool… well, we’ll take one bag and see how we go”!
So, one bag containing 20 branches cost us £25… so how this woman spent £300 making each tree, sort of left us a bit flummoxed… She’s either trying to put us off making our own, hire hers type of thing, or she’s completely nuts… one of the two.
Tuesday was a bit of a rush around day. We were home from the Worsley trip by 9am, but by then, I had to get ready for my first job, which was my only job, until one was added by my tog friend Damien. A phone call, just after 10am, and somehow I agreed to be a stand in for some model who had cancelled at the last minute. It really is just a pain in the arse when people let you down with some lame excuse. Monday night, apparently the mod was fine, but by Tuesday morning she can’t make the shoot… and it just makes us all look stupid… “Models are shit because they never turn up”! Well, I turn up, and I have never missed… but hey, shit happens.
So, the client didn’t get who they thought they were getting, but it seems they were pleased with the “stand in”, so all turned out well in the end. It did give me a manic day though, and even though I was late for Damien’s job, through no fault of my own, at least the job got done… so, your loss, my gain… Thank you!
When Matty arrived home from work, I hadn’t been home myself for long… so his usual greeting…
“Hi, how was your day”
Was met with…
“Fucking nuts… how was yours”?
That’s how it felt, being on the go for almost 12 hours, from buying branches for Wishing Trees at dawn, to rushing in traffic to meet afternoon deadlines, imposed by some silly bitch who probably thought… “Stuff it… I’m staying in bed”!
The Out
My team won a cup. And like most things my team does, they didn’t make it look easy. In fact, it wasn’t easy, because opposition Cardiff City, hadn’t read the script. Cardiff went out to win… I mean, what you doin’! It’s our cup! How very dare you try to win our cup! So with hands held to our faces, we watched the “Big TV” through a couple of open fingers. It went right down to the last penalty kick… and as Tony Gerrard kicked the ball just wide of the post, the whole pub erupted into a huge “Yeeeeeesssss”!
Spring is here, have you noticed? No?
Well it is, just, almost. The days have been warmer, Thursday was lovely, and it reached 63 degrees… at least for part of the day. But yes, I can feel Spring in the air, during this last week of Winter, there has been a marked change. Even the most spoiled cat in the world, has ventured outside… so there you have it! Spring is officially here.
Friday had it’s little twists and turns. One of my acquaintances has decided to go and find a real job. And as I write this, on this Monday morning, she will be getting ready for an interview. Sales and Marketing is her chosen field, which sounds rather grand, but then of course, it could mean anything. Cold calling people for gas supply change maybe? Or am I being too cynical? Who knows? But, Sales and Marketing hey!…. Who would have guessed! To be fair, her passing into the real world will not cause a stir, not even a minor drop in a massive over sized tea cup. She will probably not even be mourned, missed, or possibly even, no one will actually notice, and those few who do, will probably say “Thank fuck for that”!
Monday is pay day, the 27th is the day I do our payroll, paying myself, and Kelly our salary for our underwear business. It’s still kind of strangely exciting, and it adds to a monthly pot. On it’s own, it would be pretty pathetic, but dropped into a pot, it’s a nice little addition. To be fair, as time keeps ticking relentlessly onward, I often wonder, what if?… what if this was really it!
I guess we have concentrated more on venue dressing… more than building this underwear thing into something bigger. Life takes little twists, and sometimes things you never even dreamed of come along, and present possibilities. I guess, that has become what will be my long term future… amazing really, because I never even thought of it when I began plotting for my life after modelling.
This last week, I have thought about that “After Life” a little more than usual, birthdays tend to have that effect. There is an old joke, one which I have told on here before, more than once…
“What happens to models when they retire”?
“They all become Make-Up Artists… Duh”!
Actually, that isn’t true anymore, because MUA’s aren’t required like they used to be, thanks to the economy, they’ve become a luxury, and even the ones who have survived, have taken a massive fee cut. So, what’s the point in dreaming of making the plain look beautiful? None!… because, as a profession, it’s dead in the water, the bubble has burst, and most MUA’s are fighting for what few jobs arise ! So now maybe, ex-models now become Sales and Marketeers… or flip burgers… “You eating in or eating out… you want fries with that”?
This acquaintance of mine is 24, and she says she has had enough. Enough of the travel, enough of the business in general, it is time to move on, and do something different… sell gas on the telephone? To me, after 6 years, which is what she has done, it seems a bit of step down the ladder, not only in terms of pay, but also in terms of not being free.
I love what I do, and I have said that may times on here. I say it to myself too, because I feel blessed to have had so much fun over the last 9 years. And, while I plot and plan for my own after life, it will be a sad day, when that day actually arrives. I don’t know if I will be missed, possibly not, but that doesn’t matter… what does matter is, I will miss doing what I have done all my adult life.
To give it up… to go off and work for some company, peddling their wears for a monthly salary? Well, in my book, if that ever happened to me, I would consider it as having failed. If, when I do give up and join the real world, if at that time, I had to go off and be “Interviewed”… I think I would look on the last 9, 10, 12 years as being a total waste of time. Not because I am a snob, or that I hate work. No, it’s just because, it was never my plan.
I was chatting last week with another Mod, and she was saying, she fancies going to college to learn photography, she want’s to swap sides, and be a tog… one day. Transcending to the “Dark Side” hey… Well that’s been done before. I know a couple of togs who used to be male models… “I now get to snap some gorgeous men”! And, on bad days they get to snap me too… I must be a disappointment on their calendars!
That idea, is just based upon wanting to stay in this industry, because that is all they know, and to move on is just far too scary. Like the kid at school, who wanted to be a teacher, simply because they loved school so much. I think perhaps, the other side may be different to the side you knew and loved? But hey… we all need an out.
Saturday evening, I had my folks over, and Matty’s folks over too, for a belated birthday celebration. Three days after the real event, and by then, I was wondering what all the fuss was about, it was old news really, but, I guess these things have to be done. So, we all ordered a Chinese take away, which was delivered, so we didn’t so much “take it away”, as they “brought it here”. We had enough rice to open a rice shop, and we all had a bit of each others order, just laid out so you could help yourself. Actually, it was a very enjoyable evening, all in all. But thank Gravity, it is all over at last, and we can move on to something new.
Saturday, was quite fun anyway, even before the folks invaded us later. You may remember, Kelly and I had a couple of meetings, last week, was it? One meeting interrupted by her friend Danni dropping in, and side tracking us into discussions about relationships and honeymoon periods. Despite that, we did actually get somewhere with our discussions… anyway, perhaps I should start at the beginning?
A co-incidence really, which started about 3 weeks ago, when a future bride asked Doreen, if we supply “Crystal Trees”. We don’t, but the very next day, another woman contacted us, asking the same question. The first woman, the future bride, wanted to hire, while the second woman actually supplied them.
So, a Crystal Tree… basically, it’s a bunch of twigs, stuck into a pot base, with crystals hanging from the branches, to be fair, there are different styles… but that’s the idea. They make a centre piece for guest tables at a wedding, and, we are reliably informed… this is a new trend. The supplier woman, really wanted a link from our website, in return for one to ours from hers… but in the conversation, we quizzed her.
She imported twisted birch twigs, from the shores of the good old USA, and rooted them in concrete, in a huge flower pot. They stand 4 foot tall. She then decorated them with real, genuine, Swarovski Crystals, hanging from it’s branches by strings, like a string of pearls. She also embedding lights in the branches, so the lights make the crystals sparkle at night. She has 15 in all, at the moment, and she reckons, each one cost her £300 to make.
So, in true Top Gear fashion… Kelly stated… “How hard can it be”!
Now, you my think… branches grow on trees, so all you have to do, is climb a tree, and cut some branches off. While nobody is looking preferably. At night maybe? Simple Huh! But no, they all have to look reasonably similar, and it isn’t that easy.
So, on Saturday, we took a trip to the flower wholesaler, who said he had some branches… but having seen them now, they’re not what we want. The search then, continues.
The other topic which came up in our discussion was, “Sweet Buffet’s”, sometimes called “Candy Buffet’s”, and these too, are a new fashion, a new fad type thing. A buffet made from sweets, from years gone by. Sweets from the 1960′s, 70′s and 80′s which you see springing up in specialist sweet shops all over the place. Now this is right up our street, because we love sweets!
This little task was easy, we have sourced a couple of sweet suppliers, and the whole thing was done and dusted in an hour… the “Sweet Buffet” lives and breaths! Crystal Trees however, might take a while!
The one thing, which has been a source of wonderment, is seeing my friend Kelly getting involved in arts and crafts, making little boxes with ribbons on, and making really pretty invitation cards, and now wanting to make fake trees too… Jeez, how people change, it’s pretty damn amazing really!
Fish, Chips And Mushy Peas
When you tell someone a story, or a piece of information, it can be quite accurate. But as they re-tell the story to others, some of the vital points can change, or be missed out, so when the next person tells the story, they fill in the gaps with pure guesswork. Parts of the story become total fabrication, and by the time the story has passed though numerous ears, the whole story may have taken on a whole new context. I think they call it Chinese Whispers.
Let’s say, if I told you, after Matty leaves for work every morning, Mollycat spends a good hour trying to get my attention, so to shut her up, I play with her for a while. By the time 3 people have passed the story on, the whole thing will have taken a twist. The fourth person might tell a completely different story… “Hey, have you heard… when Matty goes to work, Sarah spends an hour playing with her pussy”! See, the basic facts are there, but now the whole context has changed. I have been transformed, from caring cat owner to s*xaholic, in a very short space of time.
Here’s a story I heard yesterday…
At Bristol Zoo… there is a car park, a rough patch of land which sits next to the zoo itself. For the last 25 years, the same man has turned up, and sat in a little hut to take parking fees off the visitors. For 25 years he never had one day off through illness, and no problems were ever reported, the whole thing worked like clockwork. One day, he didn’t appear for work, and the Zoo were concerned, so they phoned the council, asking them to send a replacement, as the car park wasn’t manned.
The council said… “It isn’t our car park, it’s your car park, so it’ your responsibility”!
The zoo thought the land was council land, and the man who had been there each and every day was a council employee… but no, he wasn’t, and he never turned up again. They worked out, over the last 25 years, he had taken an average of £7 per car, and nobody knows who he is. He just did such a good job, nobody questioned him, but he’s pocketed all the money, and probably retired to the sun. Over 25 years, he has made somewhere around £8 million.
That story was in a London newspaper, and I think it’s the best story I have heard in years, and although, it’s a complete scam… good on him!
One little trait I have, relates to my eating… I am a very, very, slow eater. Some say, this is a good thing, because when you eat slowly, you become full quicker, quicker than someone who shovels their food down. In fact, when people have weight problems, they are advised to eat more slowly. I just eat slow naturally, I always have. When I was little I was always last to finish meals, and as I have grown older, nothing much has changed. But, while eating slowly may be good for my figure, it does drive other people nuts!
When we eat out, Matty has finished his meal, while I am only half way through mine, and by then, I am totally stuffed, so I eat even more slowly… Apparently, that makes me a pain in the arse. At tea time, I can spend 45 minutes just eating my tea, and obviously, it’s gone cold by then. Now why this should be, I have no idea, I guess I just dwell to long between fork fulls… or maybe I take smaller portions per fork full, than normal folks. Matty reckons it’s because I never use a knife, so I lack that sweeping knife action, where knife helps to load fork. Also, I talk a lot too… and I don’t think that helps either.
I worked on Wednesday, and I spent most of the time complaining about how hungry I was. Tuesday was Pancake Tuesday, and I had two pancakes for tea… I was stuffed full after the second one… later I had a round of toast, and on Wednesday morning, I had a bowl of Frosties for breakfast. So, by lunch time Wednesday, I was starving!
The photographer guy said, the only food available was from a chippy. So to shut me up… he offered to buy me anything my little heart desired, and also offered to go and get it too… To make things easier, or harder, depending on your point of view, I just said… “I’ll have what you have… you choose”!
He left, and soon returned with two portions of Fish, Chips and Peas… So, I ripped the paper off mine, and there, sat on a plastic tray, was one huge battered fish. I tucked in, with my tiny blue plastic fork, while he made us both a cup of tea. Anyway, to cut a story short, I did eat 80% of it… but the bad news was… it took an hour!
Now, I know what you are thinking, and I have no answer to your question, it just took an hour, and when I had finished I just wanted to curl up an go to sleep. But, I had to drag my fish shaped arse back to work, and add the lost time on too…
To make things even worse, I had now developed a bad case of the yawns, and the next two hours where dominated by…
“That looks good Trace, hold it there… Oh for fuck sake you yawned again… right hold it there, we’ll take that shot again”!
Despite moaning for half the shoot about being hungry, and then wanting to have a snooze for the second half… and constantly yawning, especially when the flashes fired, of all times, and taking an hour to eat fish, chips and peas… apparently I am… “Fun to work with”! Well, you should catch me on a good day… I’m a hoot!
So, this was my Birthday, discussed at great length in the last post, and the evening was to be a little pub crawl in celebration. It ended up as a few drinks in one pub, and then we invaded an Italian restaurant, for something to eat. They were pleased to see us, and pushed tables together for us. I had amassed 10 guests, and I use that term very loosely… 4 men and 6 mad women. Oh, and me and Matty. Twelve in total, which for a wet Wednesday in February, isn’t too bad, I thought to myself.
The last of the 10 “guests” to arrive, was Natalie, who had been working and turned up late, and because I wasn’t sure if she was coming or not, I didn’t inform her we had moved on… so around 8.30pm, she gave me a call…
“So, I’m in the pub, and there’s me, and not you, so where are you and why am I here and you’re not”?
“What did you say”?
“I said… Oh never mind… where are you”?
Anyway, Nat found us, we were only two doors away, a seat was moved for her, and Nat began to share someones starter… uninvited of course, but who cares? We had a really nice night, what might be described as “A right good laugh”! To be fair, I struggled eating very much, because that lunchtime whale and chips still sat heavy. Matty helped me out by raiding my plate, honestly, the man is half pig!
Over the day, I had lots of Birthday messages from friends, work buddies, and even from people I do not know in person. Twitter buddies, replies on here too, so thank you all, very much, not only for remembering, but also for taking the time… :-)
I was a little bit drunk last night, tipsy, I think might be more accurate, no, I was pretty much drunk if truth be known. But a functioning drunk, and aided, I could walk a straight line. It only took a few attempts to get the key in my front door too, so that’s a good sign! I kicked my shoes off, cuddled MollyCat, who became instantly drunk, through me breathing on her, and then put the kettle on. I looked at Twitter, found out why Sheffield Wednesday are not called Sunday, from a “Blades” fan, and the next thing I know I was on my bed. Now, how I got there, I can’t remember… I must have fallen asleep on the sofa.
Anyway, I woke up, and there was Matty, at the end of the bed tugging my jeans off, while I am slowly moving with them. Not so much dragging my jeans off, as dragging me, feet first down the bed…
“What you doin to me”?
“Trying to get you into bed… you drunk”!
“They’re still fastened”!
A few people asked the same question throughout the day and evening… “So, how does it feel to be 27″?
Well, it doesn’t feel like anything physically. Mentally, it hasn’t sunk in yet, so give me time and I’ll let you know. I am kind of shocked though, at how quickly time passes by. I was 24 when I started this blog for instance… Jeez it only seems like yesterday!
21 The Last Of 26
I have never really been fixated with weight… “Oh yes you are”!… Eeeerrrmmm excuse me! Who’s blog is this!
Anyway, as I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted, I have never really been fixated with weight. As long as I am around 8.5 stone I am quite happy, the world is a nice place. Tuesday evening, I was playing text tennis with one of the girls I worked with on Monday, she dropped into the conversation, something about going to the gym. Then, as we were chatting nicely, she mentioned weight, and said she “Felt a little chubby”, and after asking the pertinent question, she replied… “I am usually somewhere about 7 and a half stone”!
She is 5 foot 3… So I am 2 inches taller, but that means, those 2 inches weigh a stone!
Where are these inches? And why do they weigh so much?
Later in the evening, I showed Matty the relevant text message…
“Look at this… she’s a stone lighter than me, but only 2 inches shorter… we gotta find these 2 inches”!
“She’s probably super skinny… don’t worry about it”!
“No, she isn’t super skinny, she was very nicely put together”!
“Well maybe she’s lacking somewhere”!
“No, she had two arms, two legs, and body and a head… I notice this stuff”!
“Did she have boobs”?
“Yeah… two”!
“Little ones”?
“Kind of… I guess”.
“Well there you go then… mystery solved, now can we get back to watching Iron Man”?
“So my boobs weigh a stone”?
“No, they weigh about the same as a bag of sugar… each”.
“You’ve compared my boobs to a bag of sugar”?
“Yeah… why, what’s wrong with that”?
“You’re weird”!
“Maybe, but I’m not looking for two inches which weigh a stone, am I?… 7 and a half stone? I could pick her up in one hand”!
“Could you pick me up in one hand”?
“Yeah… as long as the other hand could operate the winch”!
Tuesday was Pancake Day… or Shrove Tuesday, whatever that means? It was also know as, “The last day of being 26″. Over the last few weeks, I have conditioned myself for this day, and came to the conclusion that there is no point fretting at another year passing. Logically, there is nothing I can do. The clock just keeps ticking, whether I fret or not. So, logic dictates… fretting about age is pointless. However, logic isn’t always at hand, so lets have a damn good fret… Shit I am twenty fucking seven!
Now, 27 is a pretty shitty age to be. The 27 club and all that… Even my Dad said, “Well if you get through 27, you’ll be around for a long time”! Well that just goes to show, the man I grew up with, and the man I relied on as the “Knower of all things”… talks a heap of shit!
But, I am determined to get through this 27 thing, and still be alive next year… even though that means, I will be twenty fucking eight!
OK, sorry for all the swearing, but it’s an emotional time. I quite liked being 21, but that only lasted a year, it disappeared pretty quickly in fact. And no doubt, this 27 stuff will pass equally quickly too. It’s pretty damn scary! But, then of course, you are expected to celebrate this day too… I kind of forgot what I am supposed to be celebrating here!
My Dad sent his usual text of Happy Birthday, and tagged on… “Oh I still remember the day you were born, it was raining and horrid, and just as you popped out, this ray of sunshine came through the window and lit the room up! I can’t believe that was 27 years ago, it seems like it was only yesterday”!
Shut up Dad…
All this must sound like I am neurotic, and feeling down, and sounding all grumpy? Not so! Not so! I do not care if my friend, acquaintance, person, is one stone lighter than me. More fool her, for not growing boobs which weigh a bag of sugar… each. And more fool her, for only being 5 foot 3 inches tall! I do not care. I also do not care that the 21st is my last day of 26… because that is just how things are. I shall just look at it as passing time. I am one year cleverer, and one whole year wiser, than this time last year. And, during that year, I have achieved things! Many things! OK, I can’t remember what they were right now, but I did achieve things. I got a certificate, in basic flower arranging… that’s something I didn’t have before. And, I rescued MollyCat from a tree! Not bad for a year, I hear you say!
So, if 27 is to be my last year, at least my tomb stone will be a little fuller. “Here lies Sarah Louise Lambert… she had a certificate in basic flower arrangement”.
Matty, in one of his, shall we say, more wittier moments, told me…
“Ooooooh tomorrow I get to have sex with an older woman”!
“Well, don’t be too long… because tea will be ready around 6.30″!
“I mean you stupid… You’re catching me up… 27 hey, you laughed at me when I was 27, do you remember”?
“Yeah I remember, but it wasn’t because you were 27, it was because you’re an idiot”!
Tuesday was another day of work. My week has been a little topsy turvey again, having worked on Monday too. Doreen had a doctors appointment, set for Tuesday afternoon, which meant she would have to shut her shop. So, I volunteered myself as shop helperer outerer. With working in the morning, there was an overlap of time, so, she dropped a set of keys off, so I could open up when I got there.
She asked…
“Should I leave the alarm off, or will you be OK if it’s turned on”?
“Eeermmm, put it on if you want, write the numbers down for me”.
“Right, so you tap these numbers into the pad and it will go beeeep… are you sure you’ll be OK”?
She thinks I am stupid doesn’t she! I explained that I am a very sensible human being, and I am quite capable of tapping four numbers into a key pad. “Do not stress, I will be fine”!
After a mornings shoot, which went quite well, pretty well in fact, apart from falling over when getting dressed to leave, which amused everyone, apart from me. I decided to leave the shoes on in which I had been working. That was a big mistake! Highlighted when I got one heel caught in my skirt as I was pulling it up, and after some hopping, I just went feet in the air and landed on the floor. Then there was this ripping sound as my heel tore the lining… awesome! Everyone was very, very, concerned, and when they had stopped laughing at me, someone asked if I was OK… I was, thank you!
A quick change from a very smart, but now ripped black pencil skirt, which I was going to look after the shop in, into a denim mini skirt, which wasn’t really the plan. But better than the other stuff in my bag of outfits, I guess. Beggars in this case, cannot be choosers!
No problem with the alarm system at the shop, see, I am quite capable. I put the kettle on, and had just got back into the shop when some old dear walked in…
“Are you open”?
“Yeah… we’re open, why”?
“It’s just that the sign on the door says Closed, that’s all”!
I forgot about that, so I turned it around… Now we are really open. The old dear picked a bouquet of flowers, paid and toddled off, so I made my cup of coffee. The next customer was an old man, who picked a bunch of flowers…
“How much are these love”?
“Eeerrrmmm I don’t know… eeerrrrmmm I think they are five quid”!?
“Five pounds? They were only £3.99 last week”!
“You bought some last week”?
“Aye, I buy them every week, they’re for my wife, I go to see her every Tuesday”!
“Well, I guess if they were £3.99 last week, they’re still £3.99 this week too”!
“Are you new here”?
“Yeah, I’m here because Doreen, the owner, she’s at the doctors today”.
“Oh I see. A government thing is it… you’re on that work experience thing are you”?
“Yeah, something like that… anyway I hope your wife likes the flowers”.
“She’s been dead 20 years”!
“Ooooooo sorry… £1.01 change… thanks, bye now”!
Shit! How was I supposed to know? The next customer was a woman, I guess in her 50′s maybe, and as mad as a box of frogs.
“Hello, do you do Venue Dressing here”?
“Yeah we do… what can I help you with”?
“I saw the sign in the window the other day, (Which says, Venue Dressing, Chair Cover and Bow Hire) and I thought I would come back and ask if you do it”.
“Yes, we do do it… so what can I help you with”?
“My daughter is getting married, and she’s collecting tea cups”!
“Hhhhmmm hmmm, as a hobby”?
“No, for her wedding”!
“Right, OK, so what can I do for you”?
“My daughter is getting married next year, and she’s collecting antique tea cups, and tea pots too, when she finds nice ones… she goes to auctions, you know, and she’s got a few now”!
“That’s nice… so what can I do for you, does she need flowers or chair covers? Both maybe”?
“Oh no… she doesn’t want flowers, that’s what I’ve been saying to you”!
“OK… so what does she want from us… I think I missed that part”?
“My daughter is getting married next year and she’s collecting….”
“Yeah, I got that part, but we don’t sell tea cups, new or old… we do flowers and chair cover hire… this isn’t Sotheby’s”!
“No, no, I know… What she want’s to know is… What I want to know is… When she has all the cups and tea pots, will you take them to Walton Gardens and set them out on the tables for us? I don’t think she will have time on the wedding day”!
“Eeeerrrmmm No”!
“Oh”!
“Well, we aren’t insured to carry antique cups and tea pots, they’re valuable I guess, and I’m not risking it… we aren’t Pickfords either”!
“Oh”!
“Look, pack them all in boxes, and take them to the venue the night before the wedding, their staff will set them out for you. Just tell ‘em where they all go”!
“Oh that’s a good idea!… Did you say you sell flowers”?
“I did, we’re a florist shop, we sell flowers… I thought you said she didn’t want any”?
“No she doesn’t want flowers”!
“Cool… well there’s nothing I can really do for you then… sorry”!
“She wants a bouquet, and ones for the bridesmaids, and button holes as well”!
“So, she wants flowers then”?
“No, she doesn’t want flowers, just a bouquet, and ones for the…”!
“Here’s a brochure of everything we do, take this home and have a look. If there is anything we can do for you, apart from the transportation of old crockery, we would be happy to help”!
She left… I sighed, then sat down with my now cool cup of coffee, and played some music from my phone. An hour past, without any further incident, a few sales, but no gaffs from me, or any more head cases collecting tea cups. Doreen came back…
“How did you go on at the docs”?
“OK, really, he gave me some tablets… everything OK here”?
“Yeah… no problem at all. It all went peachy. I’ll make you a nice cuppa… and tell you about Mrs. Tea Pot”.
The Meaning Of Life… Condensed Version
Woooo… I have a couple of days away, and the whole of cyberspace dumps it’s Spam on my doorstep, I mean, how can anything I write relate to “Pitbull Insurance”… Never had a Pitbull, they’re illegal aren’t they?! And some man has wrote an essay to me, a thesis, about Gravity knows what… Spam Spam Spam…
We have no water, the whole of England, and those other parts which don’t like us too much, are facing hose pipe bans and drought… pestilence and such like. As consumers, we waste water, we don’t look after it, we let it flow, when flow is not necessary. Our water is not being collected efficiently by those nice people at North West Water, and someone else, if you live elsewhere. Rivers are dry, reservoirs are low. We’ve had driest years since somebody began recording dry days. Actually, now I think about it, it hasn’t rained much, and when it does, it’s kind of… not much.
So the next TV based Charity Comic Relief type opus, will feature us. Forget the Africans, with their 26 children, all trudging 40 miles to the nearest pool of shit infested water… That will be us instead!
“This is Sarah, she has to walk 40 miles every day just to get fresh water, and her new, all singing, all dancing, BARGAIN washing machine stands idle… but Sarah lives on a fucking island, surrounded by water”!
I was watching Sky News on my phone yesterday, yes I know… “Poser”… but one of the news reader women, suggested “Showering together”. No… not with her, with your partner. Well, yes, that’s a good idea I guess, and we used to do that most mornings. The only problems in our case… Matty used to be late for work… and you just end up with some very clean bits, while other parts of your body don’t get a look in. It just ends up as a “You wash my bits, and I’ll wash yours” kind of thing… Then of course, you drop the Dove shower cream, and then next thing you know… you need another shower!
So, yeah, great idea… but you have to think these things through… It doesn’t work! Not for saving water anyway, and it doesn’t work for punctuality either!
I gave my Mum her £70 back, the money left over from my bargain washing machine. It wasn’t too easy, as for some reason, she wanted me to keep it… So, it went back and forth, from hand to hand, but in the end, she now has it back. But, talking of money, Matty is getting a bonus in this months pay, a grand, one thousand quid, less tax and NI of course, and then, from April, he’s got a rise. It’s something just shy of £900 a year… Now before we get hate mail, can I point out, he doesn’t work in a bank… OK!
On top of this good news, he has also been told he will be getting a £250 voucher for some sort of “Performance”… He had a choice of vouchers, but decided on one from Curry’s/PC World… the other choices were Marks and Spencer, and some other useless outlets. So, he gets that in mid March. We are going shopping!
Saturday, we booked another wedding. The little sticky dots on the wall planner are mounting up. Kelly and I spent some time in Doreen’s shop, and we ended up wrestling in the store room… “I wanna put the sticky dot on the planner”! The sticky dot packet ended up on the floor, and I had Kelly held around the waist in “Saz’s death lock of total death”, but somehow she survived that, and scrambled to the sink, she bent over to pick the packet up, so I kicked her bum. Kelly then lunged at me, head first, and grabbed me around the waist, we ended up propped up against the wall. And when the tussle ended, the damn sticky dot had been put in place by Doreen, who calmly walked in, picked the packet up… and called us “Children”!
Saturday evening, we went to see the Muppet movie… Now, if there was ever proof, that love is about give and take. Me going to the damn Muppet’s is that proof. I was sort of amazed that a grown man would want to go and see a Muppet movie, even more amazed that I actually agreed to go. Still, I guess we do lots of stuff I want to do, so fair is fair… Muppets!
Sunday, my team won a football match… 6-1. OK, most of our goals were scored by one of their players, but 6-1 is still pretty awesome! For all those moaning Reds who said… “Don’t get too excited, it was only Brighton, and we were at home”, can I just remind you, it isn’t so long ago, we were battered by Northampton at home!
Monday was a bright day, and it seemed longer with being light, however, it wasn’t what you would call a warm day. Much better than the dull cloud filled days though. I worked on Monday, hence my absence and silence, because Monday was quite manic, with a little travel thrown into the mix too. I love my job, jobs, and I can’t explain why. Partly it’s because work is diverse, and I am not always doing the same things day in, day out. Variety maybe, but I do love what I do.
I worked in a studio which was quite busy, and two other mods were there too. During lunch break, we had a chat, which was funny, but also quite interesting. I can’t remember how the subject came up, I think it was more of a wandering discussion about work in general. One girl was saying she had been asked to do an “extra” part in the upcoming film about Paul Raymond, which is starring Steve Coogan as the King of Soho. They want to film a photo shoot, and she has been asked to be the model, she was excited, because Steve Coogan will be there too.
But, we got onto the weird subject entitled… “Every model has one”. Actually, I don’t have one, not that I know of, although I have had one in the past. Having had one once, I don’t really want another… Photographers who have an unhealthy interest in what work you have done recently, and who you have worked with. They drop, “Oh… you worked with so and so last Thursday, and with whatshisname last Tuesday”! into a conversation while working. While this information isn’t difficult to find out, you wonder, why they bothered to find it out at all… there is no real reason why they should… unless?
They ask… “So, are you busy”?
“Yeah, not too bad”!
“You were busy last week, didn’t you work with…”?
It’s an infatuation type thing, which manifests because when we work, it is usually a friendly atmosphere, a laugh, a few jokes, some giggles… and of course the serious part of work. But, because it’s like that, some people begin to blur the edges. They have had a laugh, and they want to do it again, and they get jealous, when they find out you are working with someone else on a particular day. So, they drop the line into a conversation to gauge your reaction… “Was is a laugh… like the ones we have”? Like most infatuations, there is a certain amount of self destruction, because it annoys them to find out the information, it winds them up, but also they know, of course we work with other people… that’s our jobs! But they can’t balance it in their heads. What they logically know, is overrun by the annoyance of their imagination. Yet, if they didn’t look for the information, they wouldn’t know who you were with… it’s a weird thing this infatuation stuff!
I guess it is also a weird working environment, because if I am working in underwear, I don’t see the point of getting dressed to have a break, a cup of coffee in the studio kitchen, and the same goes if I am working in less than underwear, there’s no point really. What’s the point of getting dressed just for a cuppa, when in a few minutes, it’s all coming off again? And obviously, he’s seen what I’ve got anyway, so it seems a bit pointless, going all coy just for a coffee break. But these can been seen as signals, I guess, if you don’t understand the reason.
As said, I don’t have one of these types at present, but I have had one in the past, and at some point I think we all have. If you are bitchy, you don’t work much. If you are pleasant, on the other hand, like most of us are, you get hit on sometimes through mis-read signals. Life, as they say… can be tough!
It was a little late when I arrived home, and although what I do isn’t physical work, I was kind of pooped. Mentally pooped. I just wanted to flop on the sofa and watch TV, but like most nights, that didn’t quite work out… Hey Ho!
Shudda Gone To…
I don’t know if your friends are a little like mine, possibly in some ways, friends can be great assets, and also, some can be a bit of a pain now and again. I have one, who is always there to offer late advice. By which, I mean, no matter what I buy, I should always have gone somewhere else…
“I bought a pair of shoes”!
“Where from”?
“The shoe shop”
“Oh the shoe shop.. you shouldn’t have gone there… you should have gone to the discount shoe shop”!
In fact, I am pretty sure, if I went into a shop, and the shop paid me for purchasing, and gave me free shopping for life… my friend would know of a better deal. Kind of annoying really, but that’s friends…
I found a washing machine, after some Internet surfing. I found a Zanussi one, from the Planet Zanussi no less. Comet had an offer on, which reduced a £450 washing machine down to £229.99… With a 1200 spin speed, Eco this that and the other, and a large 8kg drum… Bargain! I thought to myself… that’s the one for me!
I reserved it on-line, just in case they have an Internet price and a shop price… and when Matty finished work, we took the drive to Comet. Now, as you may know, Comet and PC World are the same company, and our store has both under one massive, huge roof. You can buy anything electrical, Apple computers, TV sets, cameras, kettles, fridges… anything you can think of.
Show Matty a gadget, and he is enthralled, so we wandered the aisles looking at… everything! We stood in front of a few 3D TV sets, with our goggles on… riding the rapids, watching football… Actually, it’s pretty amazing, although, the goggles are a bit off putting. I think I would scare the cat… but hey, nice idea. We looked at docking stations and speakers, we looked at stuff we already have. We wandered around for an hour!
Anyway, finally we went to the pay desk, and after establishing my order, two teenagers wheeled the washing machine over… we paid, and the two teens loaded it into the rear of the van. They didn’t say anything to us, like “Thanks” or “Goodbye”, because teens don’t, it’s just too much for them to cope with.
I got the idea, that this washing machine was pretty heavy, because when we sat in the van, we had a view of the stars. Not so much like sitting in a van, more like sitting in a Space Shuttle waiting for blast off. OK, I exaggerate… we couldn’t see any stars, it was a little cloudy. Despite the weight in the back, and my little van stating… “Jeez you’re kidding me”, we arrived home in one piece, safe and sound.
Before any lifting could commence, we decided to eat, so for the second evening in a row… we went to the pub for tea.
The first job, was to remove the old washing machine, which means turning off the water supply to the two hoses… Matty got into the cupboard under the kitchen sink… and broke the first tap off with his fingers, passing me a chunk of mangled plastic. Apparently, it was a bit stiff… but now, it was also… a bit broken! No problem though, we disconnected the pipes… flooded a reasonable size of the kitchen floor, and then began the big move. I mopped up the flood with a couple of towels, and soon the old washer was out of the way. Around this time, Matty remembered it was almost 9pm…
“Can we watch Hustle… it’s the last one ever”!
I made a coffee for us both, and we sat to watch Hustle. In the meantime, because things had been moved around in the kitchen, MollyCat was voicing her displeasure. Her bowl had been moved, and things were just not “So”!
Hustle took us to 10pm, and the new washing machine was still in the rear of the van. Matty wanted to point some things out…
“This washing machine is going to be heavy… like it’s going to weigh a ton”!
“Hhhhhhmmmm”
“Well, what I am saying is… will you be able to lift it”?
“Not on my own”!
“No, will you be able to lift one end”?
“I dunno… I’ve not lifted it yet”!
“Right… We need a plan”!
“OK… What’s the plan”?
“First of all… We get it out of the van… Then, we need to get it to the kitchen door… OK”!
“That’s not a plan Matty… that’s just stating the blindingly obvious”!
Plan A… Part 1 went quite well, the washing machine came out of the van without any problem…
“What do those arrows mean Matty”?
“They mean… This way up”.
“They’re pointing at the foor”!
“It’s OK, don’t worry, they’re only a guide, they’re not important”!
“You sure”?
“Yeah, don’t worry, it’s just upside down, no worries”!
Plan A Part 2… The washing machine, being upside down presented a problem…
“If we tilt it to me, this is the heavy end, will you be able to lift the light end off the floor”?
“No Matty, coz that’ll mean me lifting the whole thing”.
“Well I’ll tilt it to you then”!
“No, coz that’s too heavy too… why don’t we both support it and roll it over”?
“Good idea”!
Two roll overs and it was the right way up… Phew
“OK… so on 3 we lift and we walk and we don’t stop till we get to the kitchen door… Ready”?
“Ready”!
“Lets go… Lift”!
“Matty… we didn’t go very far… what’s up”?
“One of us didn’t walk”!
“I think that was me… OK shall we try again”?
The kitchen door seemed miles away, but we got there, eventually…
“Right Saz… now all we have to do is lift it over the doorstep… it’s only six inches, so after 3 we lift”!
“OK, I’m ready”!
“Why aren’t you lifting”?
“Coz you said after 3… and you didn’t count to 3″!
“Fuck… right 1,2,3 lift”!
“That was a bit quick… slow ‘em down”!
” 1….. 2….. 3…..”
“You didn’t say lift”!
Thankfully, the new washer only has one hose… there is only an inlet for cold water, so the hot tap, which Matty broke wasn’t needed. After a short while, and much swearing, it was hooked up and put in place.
“Shall we test it, just to make sure it doesn’t leak anywhere”?
“OK, I’ll wash the two towels I mopped the floor with”.
So, I put some washing powder in the draw, added a little splash of fabric conditioner in the tray too, threw the two towels in, and pressed the “Eco wash button”. The machine jumped into action, and little LED lights came on, and as it took in water, there seemed to be no leaks. We celebrated with a cup of coffee, while comparing our new arm length… mine sweep the floor now… Jeez that machine was heavy!
We curled up on the sofa, while the machine did it’s wash, and I read the instruction booklet…
“Shit! Matty, listen to this”!
“What’s up”?
“Before using the Eco setting for 40 degree wash, first of all, fill the tray with 2 litres of water, and do a full hot wash with the machine empty. This ensures the Eco valve is opened before proper use”!
“What does that mean”?
“I dunno, but I put it on an Eco wash and this says some valve should be open”!
“Well it’s working OK… it’s going around isn’t it”!
Two hours and 15 minutes later, it was still going around, by then it was 2am… and I could hear it from bed…
Saturday morning, the wash had finished, I have no idea how long it took, but the two towels looked dizzy! Clean, but dizzy! So, after doing one wash through the night, I decided to go by the book, and go through the “Pre wash set up guide”!
My friend sent a text… and I mentioned the washing machine…
“Hey, new washing machine, should have been £450… reduced to £230… bargain”!
“Where from”?
“Comet”.
“You should have tried Appliances on-line”!
And this is where I came in, it doesn’t matter if I bought one for 50p… she would still say… “Shudda gone somewhere else”!
On a plus point, I can give £70 back to my folks… because, I think I got a bargain!
Ground Open And Swallow Me
Thursday late morning, early afternoon, was spent at Kelly’s. She has been busy, getting down to making invitation cards and favour boxes. They’re the boxes used for sweets at a wedding, if you are unsure. I think traditionally, the boxes contain 5 sugar almonds, symbolising, health, wealth, fertility and two other things… happiness and errmmm… maybe white electrical goods. I can’t remember what the 5th one is. Most people go for mints these days, sugar almonds are not really popular, and with good reason… Yuk spit ‘em out!
Kelly has made a few little designs, and having said “Yeah, they’re nice” once, I had to repeat numerous times, each time getting louder “YES THEY ARE NICE”! See, the louder you speak, the nicer they become. But to be fair, she only wanted some reinsurance’s, and I thought 100 reasurrance would do the trick… seems not, more were required…
“You sure they look OK”?
“Yeah, they’re nice”
“You sure… you’re not just sayin”?
And on and on and… you get the idea. So, to show I am not lying, we are going to display them in the shop… for all to see.
Our business meetings are possibly not what you might expect. I believe in the real world, meeting rooms are set aside, with a table to sit around. Ours tend to be slightly more relaxed affairs, with me curled up on a sofa, and Kelly sat behind her desk. I can’t see her from where I am, because with her being small, she’s hidden from view by her PC monitor… but hey, we get there, somehow.
Then there are the visitors, her dog drops in for a slobber, a duck maybe, odd nameless water fowl trot by, on their way to the pond… it’s pretty different to how “meetings” have been described to me by others.
Just before lunch, one of Kelly’s friends dropped over, which really called time on our meeting. She had been working over this side of the Pennines, and had arranged to drop in when her work was over. It does get kind of boring describing friends and acquaintances, because I guess, personality wise, we are all pretty much the same. You couldn’t do our job if you weren’t an outgoing friendly type. It isn’t a job for wall flowers after all. So, Danni, and that is her real name, who has replied on here once, is one of those out going chatty types, who I guess would fit into Matty’s idea of top totty. Annoyingly attractive, well not so much attractive as… I wanna cry! We need some ugly friends, quick fast!
One of the conversations, was about her relationship, which is now two years in… I am guessing at some Valentines romance thing, which began two years ago. Someone has told her, two years sees the end of the “Honeymoon Period”. Now, I was told the “Honeymoon Period” only lasts six months… someone then, is obviously lying. This initial period in a relationship, is when every day is lust day, everything in the garden of luuurve is rosy, and neither can do any wrong. Then… it dwindles into some sort of other period, which does not have a name. Sex becomes a Saturday night and birthday thing… possibly done during a spell of TV adverts, and eventually ends up as an annual, or bi-annual meeting of genitalia. This is the Law!
Apparently, this transformation from being humped at any given moment, to being humped only on rare occasions, is so gradual, nobody notices. It’s like grey hair, it just creeps up unnoticed… and what was once “The whole reason”… becomes a bit of a chore. Apparently, as life goes on, sex becomes something which is planned, something which people do not find time for, and this is where Honeymoon ends, and whatever the next stage is called kicks in. Kelly reckons it is called “Post Honeymoon”… which, to be fair, sounds pretty good to me.
So, I have done 2 and a half years now. Which means, I am either 2 years “Post Honeymoon” or 6 months… depending on who you believe. Kelly is 5 years in… so she is obviously getting pretty much nowt! Unless it’s Christmas, which it isn’t. So, is all this Honeymoon stuff true, or is it just some old wives tale?
Well, to a degree, I guess it is true. You can’t really keep up the pace of the first few weeks in a relationship. I think one of us might have died prematurely if we did. But, in my mind, if you get into a routine, that’s the rocky road to Stalesville… things go off the boil when romance is planned. Spontaneity is the key… and there is no law which says you have to be horizontal or surrounded by pillows.
I have a friend who lives in a town just outside Manchester, where Manchester meets Lancashire at it’s Northern boundary. She’s about 10 years married now, she’s a bit older than me. But her husband asks in the morning… “Are we on for tonight then”? And she finds that a little off putting. I thought it was funny, it’s like making an appointment… in fact, it is making an appointment. He was put off spontaneity by being shouted at once, while making advances while she was cleaning the kitchen floor. So, the boredom of being “booked” and him seeing everything as a route to an argument, has led to a not so happy home.
I don’t know who is right or wrong in this case, I have only had her side of the story… but booking a slot (pardon the expression) isn’t really a turn on. I mean, how long do you need to book? I’ve got from 7pm free at the moment.
Between the 3 of us, we established that the “Honeymoon Period” is a load of old tosh! While things change, and they do, it’s really an individual thing. It can’t really be measured by time, because everyone is different.
My folks came over on Thursday evening, but Matty and I had gone to the pub, up the hill, for tea. We were watching the football match on the “Big” TV, when, my Mum phoned to find out where we were. Our cars being parked, and the van sat at the church hall car park, gave the game away, that we hadn’t ventured too far away from home. So, they joined us for a drink, and then we wandered home.
In the kitchen, making drinks, my Mum passed me an envelope…
“Whats this Mum”?
I opened the envelope, and inside, a bundle of £20 notes…
“I’ve given up dealing drugs Mum, what’s this for”?
“Buy yourself a washing machine”!
“I’ve got money for a washing machine… here take it back”!
“No, take it… it’s our treat… from me and your Dad”!
“Jeez… well thank you, I’m kinda shocked… but anyway, thanks”!
So a big hug, and she’s given me £300… which will go some way to buying a super duper, fast spin, washing machine… Do you think she thinks I am poor? Anyway… it was a nice gesture. Mums are funny creatures sometimes.
I baked some tarts and cookies the other night. The tarts lasted about 30 minutes… all gone. My man is a dust bin, hybrid tart vacuum cleaner. But the cookies are still in a tin, most of them. I made them for Valentines day, in heart shapes… but what nobody else knew, was I iced them, with bright red icing. Now, my folks knew I had baked, so my Dad asked… “Any of those tarts left Sarah”? to which Matty answered… “No they’re all gone… but there are some cookies left… they’re in a tin near the kettle”!
Noooooooooooooooo don’t open the cookie tin!
So, my Dad returns, and sits down with a plate of cookies, and offers one to my Mum, who takes a look, and then takes a bite, and looks at me… and I make out I didn’t see the look… and carried on chatting. But in the end, I had to ask…
“So… which cookies did you get Dad” ?
“Two Willy’s and one which looks like lips or something… your Mum has a Willy too”!
“Sorry ’bout that Dad… Mum”!
Slick Editing
It is getting lighter by about 20 minutes every week. A little more light added on the mornings, a little added to evenings. And light is good. More light means longer days, it means Spring is almost here. To be fair, it’s been so cloudy recently, it’s hard to tell when the Sun wakes up, and goes back to bed. But nonetheless, I have decided excitement is necessary, as soon, coats can be left at home, I can feel Spring in the air.
Saturday morning, the one just gone, my washing machine decided, enough is enough, which was pretty bad news, because I had a wash going on. With water inside, the damn door won’t open. Anyway, after a few stern words, most beginning with “F”, it finished the wash. But it’s not well, I think the timer has gone, the dial which clicks around from wash to spin to rinse, isn’t going around. It needs a manual kick up the backside, to complete it’s task.
So, I need a new one, rather than getting this one fixed. It’s about 6 years old, and in Washing Machine years, that makes it 42. Also, with the wedding season looming, I need a washer who does a full shift, no space for part timers here, I’ll have chair covers to turn around soon.
Straight after the washing machine fiasco, Saturday morning also saw the death of my iron. It was just getting warm, not hot, and warm isn’t good, warm is pretty damn useless when it comes to ironing.
Now, tell a man that your iron isn’t working, and interest is fairly minimal. Also, the advice offered includes…
“Is it plugged in”?
“Well yeah… how’d you think it got warm… by friction maybe”?
“Have you turned it to the right setting”?
I mean seriously, just how stupid does he think I am? And with two domestic items going tits up, in the space of 30 minutes, means they’re both my fault. I have done something to antagonise them, or, I don’t look after them properly. I don’t know how you look after an iron… regular walks maybe, some petting perhaps? Or some words of encouragement, aimed to the washing machine?
I now have a new iron, but the washing machine is still with us, on and off. It is still doing it’s intermittent, I might wash, there again I might not thing, but I need a new one soon. Interest however, as I said above, is pretty low… Matty says…
“I don’t know anything about washing machines… you choose one”!
“Well I don’t know anything about washing machines either”!
“Why”?
“Well why should I know about washing machines”?
“Because you’re a woman, and it’s your department, white electrical goods are feminine”!
“Really, is that so”?
“Yeah, that’s why TV remotes aren’t white… too many buttons”!
I was expecting him to say, a new washer could be my Birthday present, but he didn’t, so I didn’t punch him… That’s pity really!
In one of our more serious conversations, we have decided to keep Matty’s house. Once the current tenant moves out, we’ll check it over, and put it up for rent with an agent. A little investment for the future, as selling it now is pretty pointless. It’s already re-mortgaged to the hilt, because he had to buy his ex out when she left. And, it has lost value with this recession, so, with legal fees, and having to pay the mortgage while it is up for sale, we would probably make a huge loss… but such is life I guess. Actually, we might get a little income from renting it too, which sounds a much better idea.
I watched the Panorama documentary about “Poor America”, where all over the country, poor people are living in tents, living in sewer’s and still have no access to heath care. Amazing really, that in America, you can just die because you can’t afford a doctors invoice. Pretty pathetic, that the working middle class think that is OK.
Over here, we are heading the same way, or at least, we are, if we are not careful. This health reform bill, models on US health care. It begs the question, do we really care, because while we worry about what to do with a surplus second house, some people don’t even have one home to live in. Should the rich pay for the poor? Actually, that isn’t the question, because the balance isn’t quite that simple. The rich dodge paying for most things, so the burden of paying for the poor falls upon us… the middle people.
In America it is different, because most people who dwell in the middle, actually believe, the poor should somehow magic money from thin air, and pay their own way… Saving Private Ryan is obviously a heap of cinematic shit. Fall in America, and you can just rot. In Britain, you can rot too, but it’s a little more difficult. We will restore your health for free, and then send you back to your doorway, to get sick again.
I often wonder where money goes, the taxes we pay and the donations we make. The TV Comic Relief, Red Nose Day, Sports Relief, where millions are given, yet every year the plea is the same… I give, I donate, yet sometimes I wonder if there is any point. You see scenes, where some African woman has 26 children, and they walk 40 miles for water every day… and then the music changes to something sweeter, and all 26 children are suddenly in school, and Mum has her own tap.
Job done then, you may think!
Nope!… Next year, it’s another woman, and she has 26 children, and she needs a tap too!
In the documentary about “Poor America”, one young 8 year old boy hadn’t eaten, and he was hungry, and he was worried about his Mother, because his Mother is pregnant… Others interviewed said, while smoking a cigarette, they hadn’t eaten either, and that drink and drugs were rife in tent city. So, lets get this straight… You live in a tent, because you are poor, but you can afford to smoke, drink alcohol, buy drugs, and have babies?
The same with the African films on Red Nose Day… They have no water, no food, no crops… but they all hump each other 24 hours a day, because everyone in the films has a family large enough to fill my house.
And this is what is causing my confusion, and I know slick editing in a TV documentary, or some advert, made to part us from our money, can not be quite as accurate as we may think. But I just wonder what the truth is sometimes, because my money doesn’t seem to be making any difference. All it does is make me feel better… “I have given… I am a good person”!
Maybe the truth is… “I have given… I am fucking stupid”!
Matty say, if things like this bother me, perhaps I should donate to some local charity, or a couple of charities, rather than paying for a tap in Africa. Perhaps he is right, charity should begin at home.
Wednesday was “Work at home morning”, sorting out underwear orders, which takes longer than you may think. It certainly took longer than I thought it would. Later, a trip to Kelly’s house… HQ… for a “Brainstorm” and a milky coffee or two. Our van needs taxing, and it needs an MOT before the month end… and we discussed other stuff too. What is working for us business wise, what isn’t working too well, and what can we do to make the bad stuff better… or do we just ditch the bad stuff?
Questions and decisions, and stepping back to see the big picture.
The Public Face
Social media is part of our lives, and most of us take part to some degree. Also, most of us have chosen how we like to communicate, and we have chosen our favourite websites. For me, it’s this blog and Twitter, as for the rest, well, I just don’t have time. This is enough for me, and they serve a purpose. I can say something on Twitter, disappear for an hour or two to get on with life, and catch up later. On here I write what is in my head, and answer replies as best I can… and reject the idiots and the spammers… Oh those spammers are busy!
I would really like to believe, how I come across on both sites is a true representation of me. How I conduct myself on here and how I act on Twitter, is how I am in “real life”, or at least I hope so. I guess, if you know me from one, or both, and you don’t know me for real, you will have conjured up an idea of me. Like I have of you. Although we may not have met, through a series of different size cables, we are part of each others daily lives. Scary thought that isn’t it really, but it is true, we are remote buddies.
So me… Sometimes very sensible, very studious also (in some areas) meticulous in detail (sometimes)… a complete fucking perfectionist. A bad time keeper, exceptionally pleasant and polite, unless you fuck me over, in which case you will get a torrent of abuse. Sometimes random (I expect you to get it), sometimes funny, sometimes not funny, overly affectionate (even with people I don’t really know)… sometimes embarrassing to be with, perpetual house tidier, sometimes confident, sometimes not confident… Oh and I talk a lot.
Bad things… Well, on more than one occasion, I have heard the word “Poser”. Heard it once at Asda, heard it once at a petrol station, heard it once on walk around the dam up the road. OK… I’ve heard it a few times. I’ll be honest, I thought to myself “Where’s this poser”? I looked around to see who they meant… Me! I must admit, it kind of hurt a little, but then, maybe I am. If that is what people passing see me as, there isn’t much I can do really… Is it worth crying over?… No!
The fact is, we all make judgments. I tend to keep them to myself, most times, others want to say them out loud, or audible enough to hear. I think I should point out, even posers have ears. It’s quite funny really, because, when I mentioned it once, certain facts were pointed out to me. But yes, although I don’t intentionally go out with a “look at me” type of thing going on… they do.
So that’s me, a slightly too honest view of my good self. But I do it to you too. You are either labeled “Good egg” or “Complete Plank” or you reside somewhere in no mans land. And sometimes you move, by magic, between the three, and no doubt, you shuffle me around too.
Social media can be a vile place. Whitney Houston died, and some people think it is OK to say “Good”! Now, I am not a fan of Whitney Houston, or Amy Winehouse for that matter. If they had both staged a free concert, in my back garden while they were breathing, the chances are, I wouldn’t have gone… Talented? Yes, of course they were, but it isn’t my kind of music. But I never knew these people… I have no opinion about how they lived their lives, it was none of my business. I have spent zero time thinking about Whitney Houston while she was alive… but why do people have to say such shit?
OK, you have the right to your own opinion, and social media gives you a vehicle, but if you think it’s “Good” that someone who has never done you any harm has died… you’re just sick! Perhaps comments like that are best kept within.
I wrote a post about football, and you can argue whether what was done, and what was said, was right or wrong. You can argue all day, but the fact remains… it has damaged the club. You really do have to step back, look at the whole picture, and then think before you open your mouth. What you may feel passionate about, doesn’t have to be said in public, because the public interpret in a multitude of different ways.
Valentines Day on Tuesday, and I worked at my ex’s studio. He has been at his new premises just about a year now, and it’s been a while since I have been there. Over Christmas, a quiet time, as I mentioned, the studio has been totally refurbished. Wow, it’s gorgeous in there now… it is really very plush! Still, no changing room mind, but a massive improvement on what it was for most of last year.
Like most of the togs I work for, my ex specialises in glamour photos and fashion, he also does boudoir shoots for the general public. Or in other words, most of his work revolves around taking photos of women in various states of undress. Or not dressed at all. Great job huh!
The studio is just an ordinary shop, with ordinary shops either side, and the front door opens directly into the reception area. It has huge window at the front too, next to the door, so passers by can see inside. The reception has been decorated by his overly attractive girl friend, and it’s extremely posh… very very very comfy and very cosy. But nowhere, either outside, or in the reception, is there anything which gives a clue to what the nature of the business does. Purely because the public can come in, unannounced, and ask for portraits and stuff… So the whole demeanor is one of general photography. There is nothing which would make someone say “Oh that place… don’t go in there”! It’s been done that way on purpose. The public face which he presents, hides what the studio really turns out as major work.
So again, it’s not what you do, it’s what you are seen to be doing which makes a difference. There is no need to make a public statement which may offend the public. It’s a pointless exercise, and in real life, like in cyber life, making the wrong statement, can have repercussions.
I spent most of the day there, as an intermittent flash light failure and a computer problem delayed the whole shoot. So, I was kind of bored for a while, with nothing to do but sit around while the system was fixed, and then fixed again. But eventually it was up and running, and we got the job done in the end. To be fair, it was fun, my ex is pretty good fun to be with most times, and so laid back he’s almost horizontal.
Valentines evening, Matty and I went for a meal, just a Chinese, not too far away from home. A few people say Valentines is a waste of time, a plastic day invented by Clintons. Not the ex-President Clinton… the card shop. Perhaps it is, aren’t all “special days” like that? Slightly tacky and plastic coated? Our local shop, this morning, has replaced the tacky Valentines cards with Mothers Day cards, an overnight change, so everything is mercenary to some degree. But Valentines is what you make of it, it’s just a bit of fun. An excuse for Matty to send rude texts… as if an excuse was needed, and an excuse to write something stupid on a card.
You can moan about it’s meaning or lack of meaning, as some did, and it just presents you as a “moaner”… see, this social media presenting a face stuff, can label you, rightly or wrongly. A Moaner!
Anyway, we had a really nice evening, despite me taking a bit too long to get ready…
“Casual or party dress… what do you think”?
“Jeans are fine… go for jeans and a top”!
So I went for the dress instead… See… I am just a total poser… “Look at me, look at me”!
And on a final note… Thank you for the cards… they were very much appreciated, and they both reside on my kitchen windowsill… thank you very much 
TL’s Basic Guide To Football Management
It is always a little difficult to write, when previous days have been lazy, and the weekend was mainly lazy. Neither do I want to ramble on about something which will just bore everyone to death either, but the weekend, at least, conversations over the weekend, were dominated by “That handshake”.
It’s quite amazing really, when some huge company, which is supposedly run by highly intelligent businessmen, makes mistake after mistake, which ultimately has world wide repercussions.
To give some background. In a football match between Liverpool and Manchester United, Luis Suarez called Patrice Evra a “Negrito”. That remark, eventually led to an 8 match ban. Add to that, another one match ban, for giving Fulham fans “the finger”… In all Suarez missed 9 games for Liverpool, when we really needed him. At one point, it was stated that the 8 match ban would be appealed, but for some reason, it never was. Suarez returned last week for the clash between Liverpool and Spurs, but the big test was Saturdays match against Manchester United, where once again he would face Evra, this time at Old Trafford.
What happened on the day was a bit of a mystery… Did Suarez go to shake Evra’s hand, or did he bypass? Nobody really knew for a while. Now, we do know. Suarez decided to ignore Evra’s hand, and went straight for the hand of United Goal Keeper, De Gea.
So started the row. George Galloway, the well known occupant of Celebrity Big Brother, and friend of Saddam, stated on Twitter that Suarez should be sacked and deported. The New York Times became involved, and called for Liverpool owners Fenway Sports, the owners of The Boston Red Sox, to intervene. The whole affair was growing into monstrous proportions.
Liverpool fans were saying… If Suarez sees himself as innocent of racial abuse, why should he shake hands with Evra? While the rest of the country just see us as backing a racist. And by doing so, we are all racists too.
So, on Sunday, 3 statements were issued. One by Suarez, apologising for what had happened, adding, “I should have shook Evra’s hand”… But the press picked up on the fact he didn’t apologise directly to Evra. Liverpool’s Managing Director, Ian Ayre then published his statement, stating that Suarez, had let the manager down, the club down… the old balloon joke springs to mind… “You let yourself down”! Finally, manager, Kenny Dalglish issued his statement, saying… “Suarez promised on Wednesday, he would shake Evra’s hand”.
The whole situation now, has been placed firmly on Suarez, possibly because Fenway Sports now see the issue as a liability to their “brand”. Sponsors are worried about the whole saga, so they begin to protect their investment.
Some people have asked what I think. Or, how do I feel about being a supporter of such a vile character like Suarez, and no doubt a supporter of a racist football club.
I don’t see myself as a racist, I can’t remember ever uttering a racist taunt to anyone, either in cyber space or in real life. I do think people are innocent until proven guilty, and as the Suarez racism case was one mans word against the other, the guilt, in my mind was never proven. In fairness, I have also never mentioned John Terry’s race case either.
Let us just say for one moment, Suarez was guilty. He has served his ban, and we move on.
I said at the beginning of this post, how amazing it is, such a large company like Liverpool Football Club, could so badly handle the whole situation. So, I will explain how I would have handled the saga…
Way back, when this whole story blew up, the day Evra accused Suarez of the racial comment… Liverpool should have said they were investigating the situation with Suarez… instead of backing him from day one. The T-shirt fiasco should never have taken place. Players wearing Suarez t-shirts, and worse, the manager wearing a Suarez t-shirt was just a ridiculous statement to make, and was just like holding a red rag to a bull. The bull in this case being the F.A.
Once the word Suarez used was found to be “Negrito”… “Little Black Fella”… Liverpool should have just issued an apology to Evra. Even if they believed it to be a “term of endearment” they should still have apologised.
So, on to Saturday’s fiasco. It was always wondered, would Suarez shake the hand of his accuser. Suarez always claimed his innocence, so this was always a bowl of contention. Dalglish now says, he had Suarez’s word the handshake would take place… but as we know, that word didn’t mean much.
If I was manager, I wouldn’t have risked it. I would have put Suarez on the bench until half time, in that way, the hand shake wouldn’t have been a worry.
Personally, I think Patrice Evra is a toad… and Alex Ferguson has played the media well, for his own ends, he is very good at playing mind games. But sometimes, you have to defuse situations rather than inflaming them. You have to play things smart, and that is where Liverpool went wrong. An insincere apology would have been better made at the beginning, with damage limitations put in place. Apologising now, after all the damage has been done, just makes everyone look stupid.
No matter what business you are in, business is like playing a game, and you need to understand the rules, and play the game well.
In my world, you can be the cutest chick in chickdom, but if nobody likes you, you won’t work for very long. Therefore, you have to approach work with a smile, and with a huge amount of professionalism. You have to be friendly, but also make people aware you are not a push over. Cute yes, stupid… no. You smile when you don’t feel like, you work for people you like, and also for people you don’t really like, with the same amount of enthusiasm. It is just a game. Work is not real life. Work just pays for real life.
In the same way, a football club needs to present a friendly face, yet also maintain an air of professionalism, and that is where Liverpool have fallen recently. This racism/handshake fiasco was not what it seemed. It wasn’t Suarez v Evra, it wasn’t Dalglish v Ferguson, it wasn’t even Liverpool v Manchester United. It was Liverpool v The Media. Liverpool really need somebody who is skilled in the art of art of PR… PR stands for Bull Shit, by the way… They need someone who knows what to say, how to say it, and when to say it. PR is not about doing “the right thing”, PR is about “saying the right thing at the right time”.
Whatever the manager thought, whatever the player said, or didn’t say on the pitch, whatever the fans think… This story needed to be put to bed at the earliest possible stage. The press, and the other media, can only dwell on a story if there is confusion, without fuel, there would be no fire. So, Liverpool should have drowned the flames with a bucket of apologies on day one. Whatever else would ensue, could have been kept private.
Neath The Bluebird
My friend Jakk’s husband Chris, you may remember, is learning to play guitar. An acoustic one, and apart from teaching himself, I have tried to help too. Wednesday evening, we had a little get together to see how he’s getting along. After a few bad choices, because of complexity mainly, he has been learning to play one song, or tune, all the way through. He chose “Day Dream Believer” by The Monkeys, which is an awesome song. Learning, a tune all the way through can be quite difficult, but at least there is a reward at the end, rather than just learning chords all the time. That becomes a little off putting, boring even, after a while, and at least if someone asks, “Can you play anything”?… at least he can say “Yeah, a bit… do you wanna hear Daydream Believer”?
Chris’s problem in learning the tune, has been memory. Playing a song all the way through isn’t as easy at it may seem, because it’s very easy to forget what comes next. I am no good at remembering song words. I don’t think I know the words to one single song all the way through. Even when I sing along to one on the radio, I always get at least one phrase wrong, fortunately the singer of the track jogs my memory a little, and singing along in the car, doesn’t really matter too much.
We went to see a band in a pub once, Graham and I, a friend of his had a band, and we went to add some support. But the poor singer forgot the second verse to one song, so he sang the first verse twice, and then after the guitar solo, he sang the first verse again. A mental block more than anything I guess, nerves maybe, but it happens from time to time. It even happens to big name bands, because even they use play lists. A written paper list of the songs they will play, in the correct order, and I have heard, some of the onstage conversations revolve around… “How does the next song begin”?
When I play, I hum the tune in my head, but when I’ve played with my friends as a band, I found I couldn’t hum the tune, because the noise around, from the drums and the bass, drown out my own head humming. It’s really distracting, and many a time I have got to a point where I have got some part of the tune wrong. Then of course the others look with dagger eyes, as if to say… “What the fuck are you playing now”?… Not wanting to seem a complete idiot, I usually give the lame excuse, “It’s called improvisation Duh”!
I was talking to a violinist guy, at a wedding show once. He played in a quartet, and they hired themselves out for weddings and functions. He said, he marveled at rock bands, pop bands, because they play without any prompting. He, and the other three, play from sheet music. You can therefore never go wrong if the music is laid out in front of you. Sure, you can play a bum note, but you can never forget where you are up to. But playing blind, from memory, can be difficult, even for seasoned pro’s.
So, “Daydream Believer”, sometimes also known as, “The Cheer Up Sleepy Jean” song, is one of those catchy, sing along 60′s songs, and now, after playing it with Chris, about 1046 times, give or take a dozen or two, it has stuck in my head like glue. All day Thursday…
Oh, I could hide… ‘neath the wings
Of the bluebird as she sings.
The six o’clock alarm… would never ring.
But six rings and I rise,
Wipe the sleep out of my eyes.
My shavin’ razor’s cold… and it stings.
Cheer up Sleepy Jean.
Oh what can it mean.
To a daydream believer… and a… homecoming queen.
Aaaaaarrrrgggghhhh make it stop! I’ve been driving myself nuts singing this damn song. In the car, in the shower, making tea, even on the toilet… “Oh I could hide… ‘neath the wings”… SHUT UP!
Thursday, Kelly and I went to a craft fair show, near The Trafford Centre… “The Traff”, near Manchester, well, it is in Manchester really, on the outskirts. So, I picked Kelly up and we drove… “‘neath the wings, of the bluebird as she sings”.. to what is a pretty new, and pretty large exhibition hall. Anyway, as we drove into the car park, some 20 minutes later, we were both in harmony… “Cheer up sleepy Jean, oh what can it mean”. Complete with synchronised, shaky, side to side head movements.
You have, no doubt, seen Top Gear? Well, we have been having a little problem, with the invitation card side of our venue dressing business. We wanted to expand into bespoke wedding invitations last year, save the date cards, thank you cards, but the firm we chose, the biggest in the land, is a nightmare to deal with. So, Kelly thought… “We could make our own”! And, in true Top Gear fashion, added the immortal words.. ”How hard can it be”?
Kelly bought 2 tickets on-line for the show, so there we were, with our little name badges, walking around, looking at all the card making craft stalls… hundreds of them, or so it seemed. Still singing this damn song… “You once thought of me… As a white knight on a steed… Now you know how happy I can be”… We had a demo from a couple of stall holders along the way, and many of them were selling the same machine, but at different prices. Very confusing, as some also had “Show deals” too.
Eventually, we chose one, and bought it. Thrown in as a “freebie”, some packs of card, some stencils and some glitter bottles. Basically, the machine is a roller press thing, and it embosses card with stencil patterns, and it also folds and trims the edges. How hard can it be? Actually, it’s quite cute, because it looks like a blue plastic hand bag…
Now this story, compressed into a couple of paragraphs, may seem like a quick visit… in and out… Actually, although I would forgive you for such thoughts. No, it was not a quick in and out. We arrived at the exhibition hall at 10am and we left at 5pm… Just to give you an idea of the gigantic time scale involved, I arrived home after 6pm… Worn out, completely… head done in!
This is going to be Kelly’s little baby, by the way, she can be quite artistic at times, so we are leaving it to her… a sort of “See how it goes” type of thing. Then we’ll make a portfolio, and then try to sell the nicer ones, to the unsuspecting public. That… sounds like a plan!
To relax after tea, dinner, or whatever an evening meal is called… TEA… I decided to have a third attempt at baking some Flapjacks. I had bought a new baking tray, as I managed to destroy the last one. So this new one is a pottery one… ’tisn’t made from that stupid tin stuff, which is prone to melting in an oven.
Anyway… Flapjacks number one were a little bit dry. The second attempt, they were a little bit soggy. Actually, Matty preferred the soggy Flapjacks for some reason… but this attempt, is to strike a balance, my aim is for “moist”.. Moist is good, soggy is… not so good!
This is from Lorraine Pascals recipe book, and I enjoyed watching her telly programs. My baking is nothing like Lorraines though. Lorraine bakes in tranquility, all is calm in the Pascal kitchen, all is well, as sunshine bathes her in a golden glow from an open doorway. She even has time to narrate the whole baking process, with a cute smile to camera. Nowhere on Lorraine’s set is untidy, everything is “just so”. Lorraine never gets covered in oats, or manages to pour syrup over herself, or to stick oats to syrup and wipe them through her hair. Lorraine does not have a cat, who thinks a jar of syrup could be a can of tuna.
Lorraine’s kitchen is serene… mine is fucking madness!
It was about 9pm when I finally sat down. I felt like I had been on my feet, on the go, so to speak, all day. 9pm, daytime clothes off, footy shirt on… feet up on the sofa… time to chill. Relax. But no… my phone goes off, and there is Chris…
“I think I’ve cracked it… wanna hear some Monkeys”!
“You know what… Right now… I would like nothing better”!
Twang twang twang… “Oh, I could hide… ‘neath the wings”……… Aaarrrrrggghhh make it STOP!
Freezing Reign
Over 1 million self employed people, failed to complete their tax returns by the deadline this year, that’s an automatic fine of £100, and a daily fine for every day it remains outstanding. That’s a whopping £100,000,000 levied by the revenue this year, and that is one heck of a windfall, but, it is slightly down on last years 1.1 million. A bit of a bummer really, when you put it like that.
So, why are self employed people so rubbish at paying tax. Maybe the main reason is… It’s a pain in the arse, and like so many other things which fall into that category, it gets put off. You could liken it to one of those little jobs you haven’t done around your home. A tap which needs fixing, a door which needs painting… Who cares, we’ll do it later! But “later” never actually comes, and that tap just keeps on dripping, and that door still needs painting.
That is what happens with bookkeeping… it gets put off, and off and off, until… Well, lets face it, I know some people who do their business bookkeeping once a year. A mountain of paper, receipts, invoices, little pieces of paper from the petrol station… something bought from Staples… fuck knows what that was? Then it becomes a memory test, and an exercise in cheating the clock, as it ticks down to D-Day… The day of the big fine! And, as we all know, you cannot cheat the clock… it isn’t possible… no way!
Despite being a complete plank, I religiously keep my books up to date. It’s quicker, faster, it’s a lot less stressful, and I put little notes on my spreadsheet to explain unusual stuff.
A while ago, five or six years maybe, I was investigated my the nice Tax People. Apparently, every year, they pick people at random, and go into great depth to find if you are cheating the system. At that time, I had an accountant, so she did most of the work, all I had to do was explain things, and pay her for the privilege. One of the main areas I was pulled up for was fuel. I was asked why I traveled here, there, and almost everywhere. Well, the answer is fairly simple, I have to travel to my jobs, and unlike most people, I don’t work in the same place every day, I don’t even work in the same city every day.
The whole investigation took a couple of months, and eventually, a letter arrived, saying the ordeal was over. Nothing untoward was found, everything was fine… end of story. The very next year, they investigated me again. This time, my accountant wrote a letter, complaining, as I had been investigated the year before. They wrote back, and basically said “Tough”!
Again, nothing was wrong, but the explanations, and the general stupidly of it all, just hangs over you. I think, because at that time I was very young, and I was making a good old living, they thought, maybe there is some more stashed away. There wasn’t… that was the whole lot, laid out on a spreadsheet for all to see. There was nothing stuffed under my mattress.
But then of course, when you tell people you have been investigated, twice, they automatically think… “Hhhhmmm she’s a bit dodgy”! But, honestly, it is just a random selection. I just managed to have my name pulled out of the hat twice. Honest Guv!
So yesterday, the Harry Redknapp trial came to a conclusion, along with his “pal” and ex boss Milan Mandaric, were both found not guilty of tax evasion. Putting jokes aside, which is quite difficult, this case took 5 years, and cost us, the tax payers £8 million. All this time, and all that money, to investigate where £30 grand turned up from. Who’s was it? What was it for? Why is it off-shore? Why is the account held in a dogs name?
£8 million to trace the tax on £30 grand! Wow! how stupid is that!
It is quite a special year this year… Liz has been Queening for 60 years, and on Monday 4th June, there will be a massive gig outside Buck House, to celebrate her Diamond Jubilee. On 6th February, 1952, Liz became Queen at the age of 25 and she’s been Queening ever since. There is great division between the public about the Monarchy, some are for, while some would prefer them to be removed. The problem is, if you remove the Monarchy, you would have to replace them with a President… President Cameron and his First Lady… Nick Clegg, somehow doesn’t have the same ring!
Arguments go back and forth, about how much the Monarchy costs the tax payer, and also, what do we actually get for our money. Personally, I quite like things the way they are, there is something quintessentially British about doffing our caps to someone of stature, even if that stature is in place, only by birth or by marriage. It’s as though, these people are better than us mere mortals. We are like little worker bees, feeding the big fat Queen. To be honest, if you analysed all that cap doffing shit, it is quite funny, and also rather embarrassing. It’s like “We are not worthy”! Yet, without us, there would be no them. Human nature tends to put a certain few upon a pedestal, and for me, that’s the embarrassment. I bow before you, because you are much better than me!
While I have no real problem with our Royals, and all the pretentious shit which surrounds them, I do have a problem with the honours system. I can’t see the point of people being made “Sir” and “Dame” for “Services Rendered”. More so, when these people receive their honour for simply doing their job. Singers, actors, bankers, sports people… we all know how they are, and for me, it’s just a ridiculous system. Sir Sugar, Lord Sugar… Sir McCartney, Sir Elton of Syrup… No other country in the world worships their tap dancers, piano players, and crap computer manufacturers like we do. In America you might get a star on a pavement… over here you get your bum licked good and proper. Forever!
Or, until we find out you weren’t really a banker… you were more of a wanker… and then we take the honour back.
Wednesday was cold. The previous few days had been reasonably warm, but Wednesday saw a return to the big chill. My feet were like ice for most of the day, they just didn’t seem to warm up at all. We have been told to expect “Freezing Rain”, but I have no idea what freeing rain is. I thought rain which was frozen, was called snow… I am totally wrong!
Freezing rain falls from clouds as snow, but as it falls, it falls through a warm band of air, which melts it back into rain. Then, once it has passed through the warm band of air, it freezes again, and falls as ice, rather than soft snow. Pretty amazing, and it doesn’t often happen, and up to now, it hasn’t happened here yet.
See, this blog is just pure education… even if it’s just self education.
Sell Or Rent
There used to be a time, not long ago, when you could quite easily lie to people on the phone. Stephen Fry once said, “Ringing phones are very rude, it’s like someone tapping you on the shoulder, begging, Talk to me now, Talk to me now”! It’s true, because as soon as your phone rings, you drop everything you are doing, just to catch it before it rings out. But not long ago, you could get rid of people quickly, with a little white lie. “Listen, I can’t talk right now because… eeerrmm I’m just doing something”! Now, with this stupid Face Time idea, they can see you are doing “Not very much”…
I am hoping it’s a fad, and soon my friends will become bored with us looking at each other during phone calls, and go back to the old method of phoning. Jakks has now started propping her phone on her knees, so all I see is her damn ceiling… or various views of her kitchen when she makes a cuppa. Even my Mum has embraced the new technology, even though she has a Blackberry, she has now been Face Timing me on my Dad’s iPhone. I think it’s my Dad calling, so I adjust myself suitably… and it turns out to be my Mum. Matty has abused Face Time in ways Apple never thought of… and without going into too much detail, anyone who has enough time to stick a paper smiley face on their penis, just doesn’t have enough work to do… Now he’s even made it a little jacket, complete with waving arms, fashioned from the middle of a toilet roll…
I seriously hope he never dials the wrong number!
Last night, Natalie Face Timed me, just as I got out of the bath. Matty had gone to play football, and I thought I would have a relaxing couple of hours. Some peace and quiet… Anyway that didn’t happen, it never does. Nat knows I’ll be on my own, so she phones, just so I won’t get bored… fat chance of that happening!
“Aye up!… Ooooh you just washed you hair… bad timing”?
“Well sort of, I’ve just got out of the bath, what’s up”?
“Nothin’… where’s MollyCat, Rolo wants to say Hello”.
“Jeez… hang on, I’ll find her… I think she’s downstairs watchin’ TV”.
So, what was supposed to be “Me Time”, turned into “Face Time”… actually I shouldn’t moan, the conversation was fun.
My Mum wants to know what I want for my Birthday, and also, what is happening. My Birthday falls on a Wednesday, so do I want a family gathering the weekend before, or the weekend after? Or, are we all going for a meal like last year? Decisions… decisions!
Matty has also asked… “What do you fancy doing on your Birthday”?
“I dunno, I thought just the two of us this year, maybe do something special”.
“You mean like a standing up 69… we’ve not done that for a while”!
“Well, yeah, but I was thinking maybe a nice meal, maybe a stay over somewhere different, a hotel maybe”?
“One with a reasonably high ceiling… leave it with me”!
Anyway… The couple who rent Matty’s house have given us notice, they are moving out at the end of March, so we have a decision to make. Either put it up for sale, or re-rent it to someone else. We’ve not been there for ages, so we have no idea what state it is in, but as the guy works with Matty, it’s unlikely he’s wrecked it. Maybe it needs a little decoration or a a coat of paint here and there.
I was talking to someone who owns some houses which he rents out, and he said, it is pointless decorating to rent, because people just don’t care anyway. If you spend too much on decoration, people just wreck them, and it’s a waste of money. As long as it is reasonable, everyone is happy. I was also getting an idea of how much we could rent it for, because at the moment it’s on, “Mates Rates” and the rent just basically covers the mortgage payments each month. But, if it stands empty, we will have to pay the mortgage, so we need to make a decision soon.
I am all for keeping it, as it’s an asset for the future, and if it is sold now, we won’t make much on it. If it was sold now, it would just pay the mortgage off. At least, if we keep it, someone else pays the mortgage and we could make a couple of hundred quid a month from the rent, at least. And, also, is the housing market buoyant at the moment? I don’t think it is, so, if it takes a while to sell, we would end up paying the mortgage for all that time. So, I vote for hanging on to it, and renting it out again for 6 months. I think this time, we would rent it out through an agent, because that takes any problems away from us, we would be sort of anonymous, and the tenant would just deal with the agent.
I guess, like most things in life, somehow, things get sorted out, at the moment, it is just item on a list of “Things To Do”.
Pssssttttt You’ve Been Sprayed
I think we have all agreed, it has been pretty cold lately. One day I am pointing at some daffodils, pushing their way out of the soil, thinking “Oooooo Spring is on the way”… the next day, we hit an ice age. OK, we should be used to some frost, some ice and snow by now, but every year, we all have a damn good moan about our weather. Just because we expect bad weather in this country, doesn’t mean we have to enjoy it.
I was watching the news on TV, and they were showing pictures of the snow covered North West fields and hills, frozen lakes and countryside. But here, it was quite mild on Monday. The snow had gone, and it rained during the early morning, so no frost or ice either. Monday, once the rain had stopped, was quite pleasant.
Sunday night was Superbowl. Now, I don’t understand American football, I haven’t got a clue about the rules, and the whole game just goes way over my head. The last two years, we have watched it live… and then spent the next day in some sort of half sleep. It’s just stop, start, stop, with so many breaks, adverts and Gravity knows what else. Four hours to play a game which seems to span an hour of live play. I’m not knocking the game. I just don’t get it, that’s all. So this year, I decided I wouldn’t bother watching, enough is enough.
Matty however had other plans, so the bedroom TV was on while MollyCat and I snuggled under the duvet and went to sleep. Monday morning when I woke up, the TV was still on…
“How was the match”?
“Yeah it was good”!
“So, you left the telly on all night… who won”?
“Eeeerrmm I don’t know, to be honest, I fell asleep halfway through”!
Pretty much a waste of time then, but on a plus, at least we were up on time, and awake.
Everywhere you go, you are reminded of Valentines Day, actually, it’s been quite good for sales in the the world of underwear. We also had an e-mail price list sent to us, for red roses. It came over on Monday from the flower wholesaler. Jeez… how much are roses? The price has more than doubled for this one day, no wonder the price of a dozen red roses is astronomical in the shops. Supply and demand I guess, it pushes the price through the roof. Still, if we don’t have any in stock as a florist, we would just look pretty lame.
I must admit, the excitement of Valentines has long worn off. School days were fun, the amount of cards received, sort of determined your popularity with the tother s*x. Most of the day spent asking friends how many they had, as a comparison. Then, later, when you are a single adult, it is still kind of fun deciphering the hand writing. Now though, it’s just the one card… and I know who it’s from. So, I had better hunt down a nice card in return, before all the good ones have gone, and only the crappy ones remain. Then of course, it’s a big decision… the overly romantic, against the joke card. I am always drawn to the funny cards, but then buy a mushy one instead… just in case the joke falls flat.
And finally, the dilemma of what to write. Downright rude, or a romantic message with a pledge of undying love… Hhhmmm I think the latter. The former will just delay tea time. Anyway, Valentines falls on a Tuesday this year, a week today, and Tuesday TV is usually rubbish… so I might write a rude one, it will probably pass an hour or so. If I’m lucky… Ha!
I dropped into the hairdressers, some damn split ends need trimming off. That’s caused by using heated straighteners too much. The choice was, pay £5 and the owner cuts my hair, with his expertly certificated hands… or for free, his new apprentice girl can practice her skills. She was looking at me with puppy dog eyes, as if to say “Choose me for free… please”. So I asked.. “Have you done this before”? Half hoping she would say “Yeah, loads of times… each one a total success”! But no, she answers… ”No, never done it before, you’ll be my first”!
Then, just to add to the drama, the owner guy states… “If she makes a mess, I’ll sort it out”!
Somehow, my mouth decided to say “Yeah OK”! while my brain shouted “What did you say then… did you say Yeah OK… are you insane”?
Anyway, after the cut, she did the mirror thing, I opened my eyes to have a look, and to my delight, I still had hair… that’s good! The owner guy then starts running his fingers through my hair, laying it over my shoulders, measuring one side to the other. Then began the great debate about whether it was level or not… we concluded it was. Trauma over!
I went home, got changed, and went off to the gym. I spent 10 minutes sat on the leg press machine, staring at the wall sized mirror, tilting my head from left to right… thinking “Yeah, both side are the same length… aren’t they”?
You may know, there again, you may not… My friend Kelly is a rugby fan, and up here in the “Norf” the popular version of the game is Rugby League. Our home town is a rugby town, or egg chasers, as football fans call them. However, Kells will also watch Rugby Union, and although the two don’t really mix, I think she just likes watching overly large men running around, chasing an egg. Which, to be fair, on the face of it, seems quite reasonable. I’ve been to a few Rugby League matches too, and it’s fun. Great atmosphere and such.
Kelly reckons football is boring, even though her boyfriend Nick is a big Manchester City fan, Kells thinks all footballers are, to coin her phrase… “Foookin’ Nancy’s”! Now, I like football, I have never played, apart from kicking a ball in my folks back garden years ago… and once or twice in my Bro’s back garden, on birthday gatherings. I somehow managed to kick the ball over the fence and into next doors garden once… so apparently, I am “A Plank”…
Matty likes his 5 A-Side matches on a Tuesday, but although to me, he seems quite good, he can do a few tricks and keepy-uppies and stuff, he’s never going to be a pro. Hey Ho! Life is cruel.
Anyway, to the point made by Kelly… To be fair, I do see her point. We watched a little of the 6 Nations on Sunday, Wales playing Ireland at that Rugby Union thing. It seems, men can run, have other huge men lunge at them, fend them off, and keep running. Pretty amazing I thought! Actually, I can take a run, and take a fair flying leap at Matty, legs wrapped around his waist kind of thing… and we’ve never once fallen over. I guess one day we will, but as yet, he’s always held me up… which is why I do it… I ain’t that stupid!
So, why is it, when rugby players of either camp, League or Union, land in a heap, with other pretty big men on top of them, they can just simply get up, and just carry on with the game? But, when footballers fall over, the look like they’ve been shot in the head, they roll around on the floor like dying flies, who have just been sprayed with the killer can, just because someone tripped them up.
To be honest, it’s all just an act, put on for dramatic effect to gain some sort of foul, but it’s pathetic… they’re supposed to be men.
The more protection they get from bad tackles, the more they play on every tackle being bad… or worse than it was… diving like swallows at the slightest touch. I’m not singling anyone out here, because most are as bad as each other. But it is really really annoying!
I mentioned shopping. My friend Janette worked part time, in a jewelers over Christmas, to earn extra money, and the year before, she worked in Next. Kelly calls Janette “Pufnstuf”, because her day job is in HR, but anyway, Janette says, working in a shop, makes you hate all mankind.
We haven’t quite reached that point yet. Up to now, working on the odd occasion in Doreen’s shop has been mostly fun. But strangely, there are a couple of women customers who I can’t deal with, and others Kelly can’t get along with… and one or two Doreen struggles with too. I guess, it’s a personality thing… you just can’t like everyone, it’s just not possible. So, we juggle them, some deal with Do, some deal with Kelly and some are stuck with me. It’s just something in all of them, which somehow winds one of us up, luckily, we all do a really good false smile, and that gets us through most times.
But yes, women and their shopping habits, is a controversial subject, and it depends how you look at it, and from which side of the fence you view from. Personally, I like a good old indecisive mooch, but on the other hand, if I was serving someone like me, I would drive myself nuts.
That’s me done!… Not bad for an iPhone update… you reckon?
The Reasoning
Today, we shall explore the the logic behind women’s shopping habits.
Now every man who has had a girlfriend, wife, or something similar, will tell stories about how women shop. Stories like, “They see something they like in the first shop, then they spend hours going to other shops, and then go back to the first shop to buy the first thing they saw”!
Now, I must admit… I do that too. But, there is a reason, and I will try to explain. Men and women shop differently, because shopping registers in our brains differently. Women see shopping as therapy, a treat, while men see shopping as places to buy stuff. Man realises he needs to buy something, and he sets off to the shops to find what he needs. When he sees whatever it is, his brain tells him… “Stop feet… stretch out arm, open hand… hhhmmm that’s what I need… buy that one”!
Women on the other hand, are completely different. When we see something we like, our brains say… “OK, yeah that’s nice, store this information for comparison purposes, and lets see if we can find something nicer… Lets go feet, get a move on”! So the next two hours, are spent comparing all the other things we see, to that first item. Then, when we finally realise it’s a fruitless mission, and we finally admit defeat, we trudge all the way back… and then stand there going… “Hhhmmm it’s not as nice as I thought it was”! But, we buy it anyway… because after all, we don’t want to look completely stupid.
By now of course, our man, if he is actually sharing this shopping mission with us, is looking totally pissed off, because his brain is saying… “Why didn’t she just buy it hours ago”! It has probably been saying that to him, silently, for about two hours.
Most women shop like this. Not all, but most. There’s always some decisive bitch who lets the side down. But, most women like to compare, and the only difference between us… is how long that comparison takes. It’s actually quite a simple equation…
Time available x shops available – money available + distance involved + coffee shops to stop at + man shops to gaze at + nice things – horrid things + meeting people you know + sending texts and tweets = Time Taken To Go Back To First Shop. Obviously, Man Shop gazing is variable… depending upon… plus or minus man company.
I like a good shopping session… I do not know anyone in my world who doesn’t, and over the years, we have learned the same rules. These are the rules of shopping, when you take your man with you on a shopping trip.
Rule one… Always stop at man shops, these are places where you can sent texts and tweets from, because he won’t notice anything you are doing, when he is looking at “Shoot ‘em up games”!
Rule two… Always promise man some food. This can be likened to holding a carrot in front of a donkey. But remember, once man has been fed, man will think the trip is over. Therefore, more promises are needed, like snacks… cookies and doughnuts, these little treats tend to work well.
Rule three… Always ask man for his opinion, and always nod your agreement as you place the item back on it’s rack and move on. Confusion keeps his brain busy, and while he’s wondering why we have not purchased, he’s not thinking about the time.
Rule four… Never enter into the argument over how long the trip has taken so far. Never point out how long you stopped at the “Shoot ‘em up game shop”, as he will only see this as conflict. We don’t need conflict in our lives, so all arguments about time can be diverted with these words… “Is that a fresh cookie shop”? There doesn’t need to be a real cookie shop, the thought that there may be… is enough.
There is one very important fact we should all realise about Rule 3. Asking for opinions.
When I try a top on, a blouse, a cardie or something casual. I am thinking, “Will it match that skirt at home? Will it go with jeans? Does the colour suit me”?… and so on.
Man is not thinking these things… Man is thinking… “Hhhmmm I can see cleavage. I can see a bit of belly. If she bends over a bit they’re definitely on show. How many buttons are there keeping that top on”?
This is why man is not good at giving opinions. If asked, “This one or this one”, me holding out two tops for his perusal, man will not think which one is nicer, or which one will go with my other clothes at home… Man just says… “That one”, and points at the one where he saw more of my tits on display.
Just because I enjoy shopping, and also, I will endure endless shopping trips with my equally indecisive friends, that does not mean women do not drive me completely nuts with their indecisive bollox!
Saturday, Kelly and I decided to spend a few hours in Doreen’s shop. Two couples were supposed to be dropping in to discuss venue dressing, and Matty had gone to play golf, apparently a bit of frost hadn’t closed the course. They’re really macho these golfer types. Saturday morning was cold, but no colder than any other preceding day of the week. I turned up at the shop at the agreed time of 10am, and Kelly wasn’t far behind.
By midday, we had served a few general customers, and had our first meeting with one of the venue dressing couples. They booked, paid their deposit, and when they left we three did our customary celebration, Doreen and Kelly jump in the air with a “Yay”, and I blow the smoking gun… Another one booked.
During this time, the weather took a turn for the worse, it became much colder, very quickly, and then it began to snow. Take into account, we are in a florists shop, which needs to be cool anyway, with very little heating… so now it’s like working in a fridge! The snow was coming down quite thickly by midday, and when our customers left, we all wanted lunch. The only problem was, none of us wanted to go the the bakers. So, a cunning plan was devised. Doreen, who was exempt from leaving the shop, held a leaf in her hand, and made two fists…
“Right, whoever chooses the hand without the leaf goes to get lunch… Kelly do you want to choose”?
Kelly weighed up each hand, and eventually tapped Doreen’s left, Doreen opened her left fist… it was empty! Kelly muttered something which sounded like “Fuck”, and went off to get her coat…
“What do you two want then”?
“Whatever you have… anything”.
So Kelly went outside, and took the walk to the bakery shop… When she had gone, I said to Doreen…
“Phew… I’m glad it’s not me going”!
Doreen opened her other hand, that one was empty too… We had a giggle at duping poor Kelly into venturing into the snow.
Doreen said… “She’s got the biggest coat… I just thought it was fair”!
We had just finished our pasty, sausage roll and a cream cake, when the second couple arrived. He looked like he had just walked into his worst nightmare, and she was just so indecisive, well, to be honest, she was just really annoying. One hour of chopping and changing her mind about colours, flowers… everything. And, after all that, she said… “Right we’ll let you know, we have a couple of other places to see first”! His face was a picture, the thought of doing all this again, somewhere else, was just showing on his face. The Bridezilla… the shopper from Hell.
So, although I understand the “shopping around” philosophy… when it stands in front of you, in all it’s indecisive glory… it’s kind of annoying.
Frantic
Friday is mine, Friday belongs to me. After a frantic week of running around from job to job, finally, Friday contains some time for me.
It’s been a pretty cold week, and the temperature has hardly crept above freezing during the days. It’s been bright and sunny, but every morning has seen a layer of frost and frozen car windows. Everyone walking around in a cloud of breath, like little steam trains, and when you speak, your words take to the cold air in a cloud of vapour.
My car looks like it’s been taken off road, rallied over some muddy field, it’s covered in a thin film of white-ish brown grime. Salt from the roads, dirt kicked up from motorway travel. Black is a difficult colour to keep clean at the best of times. During the Winter, it’s pretty much impossible. When the low shallow sun hits my smeary windscreen, it’s difficult to see anything. So, today, I think it needs a damn good wash.
This week has been busy. Jobs from last week, added to jobs for this week… it’s just been a bit of a rush. Gotta be here, gotta be there. Still, it’s over now, and life gets back to normal. It’s nice to be busy, and this weeks work has been fun, mostly fun, but it has meant I haven’t had much time to write. Spare time, if that is what it is, has been taken up with other things.
My Nan was let loose from Hospital yesterday, and this time they have sorted her tablets into daily trays, so, with a bit of luck, she should get the doses right this time. I guess nobody likes being ill, but hospital visits are pretty shitty too, and although it sounds selfish, a few of my family, including me, have said… “We’ve got better things to do”! That sounds awful, I know, and nobody would ever not visit my Nan… but it takes 2 hours out of an evening, and visiting time is from 6.30pm till 7.30… which is a pain in the rear end.
Then, whoever went to visit, also has to write a text to everyone who didn’t go… The Nan UpDate!
It looks likely I will get a trial for the Great Britain Peeing Team for the forthcoming Olympics, I don’t know what it is about this cold weather, but it sure makes me run for the loo. Yesterday, Thursday, I turned up for my job, just about on time too, well, I was just five minutes late. I had spent the last 20 minutes of the journey, shouting “C’mon” to the traffic in front. I rushed into the studio… “Hi, Hi, Hi, Sorry I’m late… traffic’s awful… I need a pee”! Then, 20 minutes into my drive home, after having a leaving pee… I wanna another pee! It’s all I seem to do… pee!
Being such a busy week, my absence has put some stress on poor Kelly. She’s had her own jobs to attend, but she has also sorted our business stuff … A fact she likes to remind me of. She has also been to Doreen’s shop and booked another Venue Dressing job in for this year… She has also been practicing her flower arranging skills in the shop. She’s caught the flower arranging bug, and keeps texting pictures over… “Yay watcha think of this one”?
Actually, they look very nice, so it looks like I have some catching up to do.
The wedding season doesn’t really start for us until March, but that means people owe us their balances during February. So I need to get some invoices out, so we get paid on time. February should be a pretty lucrative month in terms of money coming in. Quite welcome too, after 2 months of inactivity. And then, from March, it’s back to working Saturday’s, the odd Friday and some Sunday’s too. This year though, I intend to have some days out again over the weekends. Last year, our Sunday walks came to a halt for some reason, but this year we intend to get out a little more.
Right, that’s me all caught up… Time for lunch. Have a great weekend xox
Six
Goodbye January!… Miss you already! January is my least favourite month, even if this year it has been OK, in a “I hate you”! sort of way. January is like one long miserable Monday, like some relative (who shall remain nameless) who overstays her welcome. No one has any money in January, not that I’m materialistic… am I? Well yeah I suppose I am, a lil bit… but everyone seems to be in limbo over January… January is poop!
February is much better, and although this month is a day longer than it normally is, at least the world begins to wake up and returns to some sort of normality. Whatever that is. But in my world, January is a dire month all round. It’s dire for underwear sales, because nobody has any money to spend on frivolous shit. It’s dire for wedding bookings, for our venue dressing, because nobody has been paid since before Christmas. It’s also a bad time for modelling work too, because many togs are only just getting their jobs in place themselves. February looks more positive. It’s not mega busy, but at least things begin to happen.
February contains Valentines Day… that’s good. Women spend money on undies… and men propose marriage. It’s all good for business.
February also contains my birthday. Which isn’t good. It has already been mentioned too, but he got slapped with a cushion, halfway through the sentence. I was hoping to keep the passing of another year quiet. Like a secret. But, no. Anyway, there is another 22 days to revel in being 26, so lets not go there yet. It’s not time to stress. It’s weird, because no matter how much you dislike growing older, there’s nothing you can do to stop time marching on.
Tuesday was always going to be a busy day, one which needed to be planned by someone highly skilled in logistics, someone with impeccable timing… someone… Oh lets face it, I just muddled through as usual.
Last weeks flower arranging course had caused a little stress, because I had to re-schedule a couple of photo jobs. I can’t remember ever doing that before, so I was a bit… eeerrmmm, not nervous about doing so, more eeerrrmmm I don’t know what the word is. But cancelling or re-scheduling jobs isn’t something I do, so I was expecting to be moaned at on the phone, or re-placed by some other mod… sacked, disgraced… called names. Sent to sit on the naughty step.
Non of those things happened. All that happened was… they were re-scheduled. One was re-set for Tuesday, but I already had a job for Tuesday, so the whole logistics thing swung into place. The main plan being, don’t be late for the first job, because that will mess up the next one. I used to do this all the time, way back in the day when times were more lucrative, juggling jobs and times, but nowadays it’s rare. Almost as rare as finding Dodo feathers.
I had my case packed on Monday night, with all my junk inside, hair junk, eye junk, all kinds of junk… all I had to do on Tuesday morning was get me ready. I gave myself some instructions… Don’t touch the laptop… don’t get distracted by anything… just get up, get ready and go!
To my amazement, it worked… OK I looked at my phone when it dinged, a couple of times, but I was up, transformed from fluffy haired sleepy head into wide awake, slick super mod… and I was off, gone… whooosh!
Job number one went well, I was 10 minutes early… that’s good! Job number two however… 10 minutes late. But hey, 10 minutes is nothing. 10 minutes is well within tolerance. 10 minutes can be brushed aside with puppy eyes and a sorry.
Funny really, at job number two, the tog was having a bad day. His first job of the day had been cancelled because the model had called to tell him, her boiler wasn’t working, so she couldn’t shower, or wash her hair… He was pretty much pissed off with that lame excuse. So pissed off, he spent the first 30 minutes of our job talking about her… I don’t think my 10 minutes lateness even registered with him.
Whoever you are… Thank you!
So, my two jobs spanned the whole day. It seems, if you hire yourself out for four hours, some people take it seriously, and actually want their full four hours. 2 x 4 = 8 and with travel time, it was 8pm when I arrived home. Jeez, that’s worse than having a real job! I had been out for almost 12 hours… What’s the world coming to?
Matty had been home and gone out again, to his five-a-side football, he had left a note for me on the kettle, saying… “You’re tea is in the fridge”. Which means, make your own tea. To be honest, I had gone past being hungry, so I made a massive salad sandwich, I just piled it so high, I couldn’t get my mouth around it, and in one bite, it just exploded all over my plate… it turned from salad sandwich into a salad, with two rounds of bread.
Then, a shower to freshen up, and a quick change into one of my football shirts, which I use to laze about the house in… time to relax, and try and catch the second half of the football match. Wolves v Liverpool. I fell asleep, and missed the whole second half, and hadn’t seen much of the first either. I know I fell asleep, because I woke up, just as Matty was trying to push a second teaspoon up my nose. I checked myself for other items of loosely placed cutlery, thankfully, there were none.
This week, so far, has been a little bit busy, and it looks like being so, for the next couple of days, at least. Still, no complaints really, just head down and keep going. Oh! we won the match I missed, that’s awesome news, and Andy Carroll actually scored a goal… 1 year to the day, and at a cost of £35 million and he’s now scored 6 goals. Shall I get the calculator out…. 35,000,000 divided by 6.
No, best not… lets just hope he scores a few more!
Hittin’ The Flats
I might be a little out of tune with everyone, but I think, if you do a deal with someone, you honour the agreement. Especially if the agreement is a written contract. This Stephen Hester story which has been in the news, has caused some debate, and whether people like it or not, we need to pay the going rate for the job he is doing. He’s now turned down the share bonus, which I guess was through media pressure, but he was entitled to those shares. It’s OK for Labour politicians to squeal on our behalf, but they set the conditions in place when they were in government. It’s their deal.
There is something very yukky about politicians worrying about the salary and bonuses of bankers, when they’re just as bad with their own expenses. A case of pots calling kettles. To be fair, I’ve totally lost the political plot with Labour. They support the government cuts, but they don’t. They wouldn’t reverse anything if they were elected, but they would offer an alternative? How does that work? You either support or you object… you can’t do both. You can’t have an alternative plan if you don’t plan on changing anything… I’m a bit lost with it all to be honest. It’s all becoming very vague.
Shall we just say… we’re all financially fucked up, and nobody knows what to do anymore. Germany own the whole Monopoly board, and we’ve ended up with The Old Kent Road.
Monday was Matty’s first day back at work, after having Thursday and Friday off with that tummy bug thing. I was up first as usual, I followed MollyCat down stairs, I opened the kitchen door so she could go outside to do cat stuff… Somehow, during the night, our house had transported itself to the South Pole.
MollyCat sat down in the doorway… just peering outside in disbelief. I was stood there shivering, telling her to go outside and do what cats do. She’s looking up at me thinking… “You must be joking”! I could see her point, I wouldn’t fancy going out there either, but with the door open, the whole house was turning into an igloo.
Monday then, the usual gym and lunch day. Gym was quite good, because with Matty being ill, I hadn’t gone wild with my weekend meals, therefore, I hadn’t piled on a couple of pounds like I usually do. I was pretty chuffed at that news.
At the cafe, the staff numbers have dropped by one. The Christmas waitress girl has gone, and things were pretty quiet. I guess on cold days, people don’t go shopping, or leave their offices.
“Home made chicken soup Madam”?
“How on earth do you make a chicken at home”?
“You start with an egg Madam… and wait”!
It stayed cold all day, it never warmed up at all, and in the evening I went to visit my Nan. I left Matty at home, as I had arranged to meet my brother Jamie at the hospital. I think Matty was quite pleased about the arrangements, and to be fair, I’m not too keen on going to hospital either.
My Nan is doing OK, the hospital just want to keep an eye on her, and she’s had a scan and some tests. She has some heart irregularity which was causing her blackouts last week. She was surprised to see us both, because my bro and I don’t really hang out together much. Now, that isn’t because we don’t get on, we do, I like Jamie a lot, it’s got more to do with circumstances than anything personal between the two of us. While we are together, alone, we get on fine. So, we did our best to cheer Nan up, because like us, she doesn’t like hospitals either.
She just wants to go home.
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