Another week has flown past. Fortunately, the last of my full-time work on the PCH, my counter manager is back from her holiday. I've really missed working with her, and to be honest I don't want the responsibility of the counter. It's been hideous trading and we're so behind with our targets, I have a feeling she's going to go ballistic when she sees the figures. Ah well, I can't be worrying about it.
Going back to regular PCH hours also means my working for the Heat Pump Company again. Back to the 6 days a week. It's brilliant for my bank account, but it's wrecking my social life and energy levels. The good thing about working out of the city, is there's not much to spend my money on apart from the odd sausage roll or cornish pasty (which are gorgeous, made locally, yum yum). I'm not sure how long I can keep this pace up, but I'm going to do my damnedest.
Today, I took things really easy. I had a lie-in, then wandered into town to do some paperwork at work, ready for my Counter Manager's return. I then went into M&S and bought some cherries - very naughty of me, I know. But they were begging me to take them home, begging I say. I gritted my teeth and went to Argos to get my CD alarm changed. It wasn't half as painful as I thought it was going to be, not only that but I also got a gift-card for £5.99 because the price of said item had been dropped in the new catalogue. I was so chuffed. It's now installed on my bedside table and seems to be working ok; tomorrow will tell.
When I got home, I was very naughty. I slathered myself in suntan lotion, put on my skimpy wear and lay out in the sunshine for over an hour. It's such a pleasure to feel the sun on my skin. I never realised quite how much I've craved sunshine and heat before now. I know that I'm going against all of my training, scientific knowledge and good old common sense, but I did take the precaution of SPF 50 on my face and neck first. I don't usually sunbathe, I normally get bored, but today I lay in the park, bathed in sunshine, listening to my tunes completely blissed out. Apparently, it's going to be chucking it down this week, but given that was the forecast for the weekend and it's been fine - more than fine, I've got my fingers crossed that the good weather will continue.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Decadent Day Off
Life here continues apace. My Counter Manager is away, sunning herself in foreign climes, drinking French wine, eating French food - and she didn't invite me along. Humpf. I'm working full-time for the PCH, which is tiring, but not as exhausting as doing 6 days on the trot as I have been doing lately, juggling two jobs.
I've decided I'm far too lazy for this type of economic activity. The time I spend working to pay the bills (after the second black bill, the one before the red, snotty one), I could be interferring with Boy's X-Box time; I could be drinking coffee, eating small pastries with Gee; I could be irritating Viking in the mornings making him get up and amuse me; I could be writing. Instead, I'm being fiscally responsible. Humpf.
This week pretty much everything that could go wrong electronically, did. My wonderful Nokia N73, of which I have had many a diatribe, its days are numbered. O2 said I could have an upgrade, which I nearly bit their online hands off. I elected to have a cheaper tariff, with a less snazzy phone in the hopes that the less there was to go wrong, the more likely it would work more. Which in theory was sound. New phone arrives. Does it work? Does it heck. Couldn't even switch the damn thing on. In the hopes it was just me being thick, I took it to an O2 store in town. A sales guy, who looked younger than Boy, deigned to stop talking to his girlfriend long enough to assertain my phone didn't work. I then had to ring O2 Customer Services to organise the swap. I thought I'd have to post the damn thing off and wait until they sent a new one out to me. There is a God, and She is good. Or perhaps the nice lady on the phone heard how fed up I was. They organised for a courier to come with the new phone and swap it for the faulty one. Of course, I was at work and they couldn't guarantee when the courier would come a-calling. Boy was home from school and was able to take delivery. So I now have a swanky new phone, one that actually works. How cool is that?
Unfortunately, my new CD alarm seems to be lazier than me. It starts playing a track and then decides it really can't be bothered. At all. It means I have to go back to Argos and bitch to some bored teenager to get it exchanged. Can I find the receipt? Can I heck as like! So, I'm now looking at my baskets where I dump my paperwork, to see if I can find a bank statement with the transaction, to show I paid for the damn thing. Do I want to do that today? I'm in my pink, fluffy dressing gown, enjoying my second cup of coffee (love you Hottie) and I'm loathe to leave my flat to head into town just for that. There are plans afoot to meet the gang in the Pub-Over-the-Wall and while I'm happy getting dressed for them (though to be fair, they wouldn't care if I turned up as I am), I really don't think the sacrifice of becoming presentable is worthy of Argos today.
I've decided I'm far too lazy for this type of economic activity. The time I spend working to pay the bills (after the second black bill, the one before the red, snotty one), I could be interferring with Boy's X-Box time; I could be drinking coffee, eating small pastries with Gee; I could be irritating Viking in the mornings making him get up and amuse me; I could be writing. Instead, I'm being fiscally responsible. Humpf.
This week pretty much everything that could go wrong electronically, did. My wonderful Nokia N73, of which I have had many a diatribe, its days are numbered. O2 said I could have an upgrade, which I nearly bit their online hands off. I elected to have a cheaper tariff, with a less snazzy phone in the hopes that the less there was to go wrong, the more likely it would work more. Which in theory was sound. New phone arrives. Does it work? Does it heck. Couldn't even switch the damn thing on. In the hopes it was just me being thick, I took it to an O2 store in town. A sales guy, who looked younger than Boy, deigned to stop talking to his girlfriend long enough to assertain my phone didn't work. I then had to ring O2 Customer Services to organise the swap. I thought I'd have to post the damn thing off and wait until they sent a new one out to me. There is a God, and She is good. Or perhaps the nice lady on the phone heard how fed up I was. They organised for a courier to come with the new phone and swap it for the faulty one. Of course, I was at work and they couldn't guarantee when the courier would come a-calling. Boy was home from school and was able to take delivery. So I now have a swanky new phone, one that actually works. How cool is that?
Unfortunately, my new CD alarm seems to be lazier than me. It starts playing a track and then decides it really can't be bothered. At all. It means I have to go back to Argos and bitch to some bored teenager to get it exchanged. Can I find the receipt? Can I heck as like! So, I'm now looking at my baskets where I dump my paperwork, to see if I can find a bank statement with the transaction, to show I paid for the damn thing. Do I want to do that today? I'm in my pink, fluffy dressing gown, enjoying my second cup of coffee (love you Hottie) and I'm loathe to leave my flat to head into town just for that. There are plans afoot to meet the gang in the Pub-Over-the-Wall and while I'm happy getting dressed for them (though to be fair, they wouldn't care if I turned up as I am), I really don't think the sacrifice of becoming presentable is worthy of Argos today.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Forgive me Mr Bank Manager...
...for I have sinned. I got carried away with trivial, frivolous things and yea, I bounceth off my overdraft facility yet again.
I did need a new CD alarm from the den of iniquity that is Argos, to play me soothing sounds so I might rest well and be woken up gently. This way I can go to work refreshed and able to earn money to keep you in your BMW.
I have over-indulged in frothy coffees and meals in the staff canteen, cafes and takeaways. I now am making interesting and healthy packed lunches as penance. No more shall I covet Wagamamas or Pizza Express. This I do swear.
Lo, I hang my head in shame for the weakness that lead to the purchase of not just one, but two bottles of OPI nail polish. Their sexy, sparkely shades of red, one of which (Midnight in Moscow) is such a dark red it looks black, seduced me. I admit it, I was weak.
And thus, I count the hours til pay day and keep my fingers crossed that your wrath does not lead to a £30-a-day charge. But...to tide me over until then, I will need to visit M&S for a bottle of naughtiness to keep me sane as I continue to work 6 days in row.
I did need a new CD alarm from the den of iniquity that is Argos, to play me soothing sounds so I might rest well and be woken up gently. This way I can go to work refreshed and able to earn money to keep you in your BMW.
I have over-indulged in frothy coffees and meals in the staff canteen, cafes and takeaways. I now am making interesting and healthy packed lunches as penance. No more shall I covet Wagamamas or Pizza Express. This I do swear.
Lo, I hang my head in shame for the weakness that lead to the purchase of not just one, but two bottles of OPI nail polish. Their sexy, sparkely shades of red, one of which (Midnight in Moscow) is such a dark red it looks black, seduced me. I admit it, I was weak.
And thus, I count the hours til pay day and keep my fingers crossed that your wrath does not lead to a £30-a-day charge. But...to tide me over until then, I will need to visit M&S for a bottle of naughtiness to keep me sane as I continue to work 6 days in row.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Long Live Lazy Mums
I was reading Northern Monkey's post about the imminent arrival of her niece and she touched a nerve and I ranted for a bit, and when I paused to take a breath I came back here to start writing. This has been something that has been lurking in the back of my mind for ages so it's the perfect excuse to vent.
What is it with mums today? They give birth and pretty much in a couple of days they are tottering around on heels, showing new born baby off in the brand new pram. The Viking and I were queuing in Boots when the baby in front started to exercise his lungs. Newly birthed babies have a particular kind of cry, it's not the fully fledged waah of a 6 month old, they almost sound like a cat mewling. This baby was certainly in his first month, and Viking couldn't understand why I was tutting like a maiden aunt.
The more I think about it, the more I think that mum's aren't encouraged to enjoy the speciallness of the experience of having a baby. Everything is geared to getting her 'back to normal', which to me is both downright daft and bordering on criminal hypocrisy. There is no such thing as 'normal' when you have a baby. They change your body and your life. I feel nothing but sorrow for the women who work so hard to 'get back to normal', who then spiral into depression because their version of normal can never live up to their expectations.
Being pregnant puts great pressure on a woman's body. For 40 weeks, hormones prepare her body for the assault of labour, ligaments and muscles are softened so the pelvis and coccyx can give way to let the baby through. The woman carries however much the baby weighs and probably the same again in amniotic fluid. A solid night's sleep in the last weeks of pregnancy is impossible with junior tapdancing on your bladder which seems to have shrunk to the size of a walnut. Labour is called labour because it's bloody hard work. While there are some women who drop children like shelling peas, mostly, it can be long, painful hours.
So having gone through all of this and then thinking about breastfeeding, some women want to climb back into their skinny jeans and parade their baby about like a winners cup to all and sundry. I think they're mad. I stayed home in bed for a week. A week of trying to rest, to get used to this small, grizzling bundle, who ideas of his own about everything. My husband dealt with the house and other stuff. My midwife strongly advised me not to climb up and down the stairs unnecessarily so as not to strain my joints. I lazed in my jammies, seeing only the in-laws for a short time at first, then after two weeks friends were invited round and invited to leave quickly so as not to tire me and subject my little one to too many germs.
It was special time. It was time that I'll never forget. I slobbed around in sweat shirts and jogging bottoms watched my baby boy air his bare bottom in front of the gas fire.
I don't mean to make it sound too rosy (pardon the pun). It wasn't. There were sleepless nights, sore bits, sore nipples, short tempers, lots of icky nappies, not to mention flabby tummy and stretch marks. There was no expectation of me and from me, that it was anything other than what it was. No tummy 'snapping' back, no parade. No pressure to conform to the motherhood as portrayed by Posh, Mylene Klass etc.
Long live lazy mums, who enjoy their babies, take the time to get to know them and also take their time to enjoy and learn about the changes their babies make. Long live lazy mums who give their bodies the time to recover from pregnancy and labour, who don't try and rush the process. I don't regret being a lazy mum, it was a special time.
What is it with mums today? They give birth and pretty much in a couple of days they are tottering around on heels, showing new born baby off in the brand new pram. The Viking and I were queuing in Boots when the baby in front started to exercise his lungs. Newly birthed babies have a particular kind of cry, it's not the fully fledged waah of a 6 month old, they almost sound like a cat mewling. This baby was certainly in his first month, and Viking couldn't understand why I was tutting like a maiden aunt.
The more I think about it, the more I think that mum's aren't encouraged to enjoy the speciallness of the experience of having a baby. Everything is geared to getting her 'back to normal', which to me is both downright daft and bordering on criminal hypocrisy. There is no such thing as 'normal' when you have a baby. They change your body and your life. I feel nothing but sorrow for the women who work so hard to 'get back to normal', who then spiral into depression because their version of normal can never live up to their expectations.
Being pregnant puts great pressure on a woman's body. For 40 weeks, hormones prepare her body for the assault of labour, ligaments and muscles are softened so the pelvis and coccyx can give way to let the baby through. The woman carries however much the baby weighs and probably the same again in amniotic fluid. A solid night's sleep in the last weeks of pregnancy is impossible with junior tapdancing on your bladder which seems to have shrunk to the size of a walnut. Labour is called labour because it's bloody hard work. While there are some women who drop children like shelling peas, mostly, it can be long, painful hours.
So having gone through all of this and then thinking about breastfeeding, some women want to climb back into their skinny jeans and parade their baby about like a winners cup to all and sundry. I think they're mad. I stayed home in bed for a week. A week of trying to rest, to get used to this small, grizzling bundle, who ideas of his own about everything. My husband dealt with the house and other stuff. My midwife strongly advised me not to climb up and down the stairs unnecessarily so as not to strain my joints. I lazed in my jammies, seeing only the in-laws for a short time at first, then after two weeks friends were invited round and invited to leave quickly so as not to tire me and subject my little one to too many germs.
It was special time. It was time that I'll never forget. I slobbed around in sweat shirts and jogging bottoms watched my baby boy air his bare bottom in front of the gas fire.
I don't mean to make it sound too rosy (pardon the pun). It wasn't. There were sleepless nights, sore bits, sore nipples, short tempers, lots of icky nappies, not to mention flabby tummy and stretch marks. There was no expectation of me and from me, that it was anything other than what it was. No tummy 'snapping' back, no parade. No pressure to conform to the motherhood as portrayed by Posh, Mylene Klass etc.
Long live lazy mums, who enjoy their babies, take the time to get to know them and also take their time to enjoy and learn about the changes their babies make. Long live lazy mums who give their bodies the time to recover from pregnancy and labour, who don't try and rush the process. I don't regret being a lazy mum, it was a special time.
Friday, July 04, 2008
The Difference Between Retail & Office Work
I had a friend ring up last week and ask if I would provide emergency office cover. I'm not proud, I need the cash, I gave it a go. I had a really good time. I then realised there were some major differences between Retail and Office work:
Retail: You have 1 and a half hour break, and nothing bar fire, flood and acts of God will keep you from them.
Office: You turn up at 9am, leave at 5.30ish and eat at your desk.
Retail: You have to smoke in your break time.
Office: Smoke every 3/4 hour or more often depending on your stress levels. If you don't smoke, you're glued to your desk.
Retail: On your feet 7.5 hours a day.
Office: On your feet only to get to the photocopier/kettle and only if your chair won't roll all the way.
Retail: You count the seconds between your coffee break and lunch.
Office: Coffee is but a click away. Oh yeah, baby!
Retail: Lots of 'interesting' customers in your face.
Office: Not so many 'interesting' customers, and they're usually on the phone.
Retail: Nothing less than glamorous will do, preferably in a short skirt and high, high heels.
Office: It's clean, what more do you want?
Retail: Every moment is a surprise.
Office: Same shit, different day.
I'm hoping to do more of the office stuff, it really has been fun and it will keep me in coffee and hopefully, a colour laser printer. Besides, what else am I going to be doing on my days off?
Retail: You have 1 and a half hour break, and nothing bar fire, flood and acts of God will keep you from them.
Office: You turn up at 9am, leave at 5.30ish and eat at your desk.
Retail: You have to smoke in your break time.
Office: Smoke every 3/4 hour or more often depending on your stress levels. If you don't smoke, you're glued to your desk.
Retail: On your feet 7.5 hours a day.
Office: On your feet only to get to the photocopier/kettle and only if your chair won't roll all the way.
Retail: You count the seconds between your coffee break and lunch.
Office: Coffee is but a click away. Oh yeah, baby!
Retail: Lots of 'interesting' customers in your face.
Office: Not so many 'interesting' customers, and they're usually on the phone.
Retail: Nothing less than glamorous will do, preferably in a short skirt and high, high heels.
Office: It's clean, what more do you want?
Retail: Every moment is a surprise.
Office: Same shit, different day.
I'm hoping to do more of the office stuff, it really has been fun and it will keep me in coffee and hopefully, a colour laser printer. Besides, what else am I going to be doing on my days off?
Monday, June 30, 2008
Monday Monday
Note to self: do not be heavy handed with the ground coffee in the coffee machine. It leads to much tossing and turning until 3am and a pretty pissed off cat. The only upside to having 4 hours sleep is being awake at stupid o'clock to talk to my Viking as he was working Lates. The downside was my alarm going off at 7am and I felt dreadful. I need lots of sleep (Viking will attest to that) otherwise I become Major Grumpy Knickers (Boy will vouch for that too). My mood wasn't helped when I got into work and faced a Performance Review.
I was concerned when my Counter Manager said the Department Manager wanted to see us. The minute she said 'it's nothing to worry about', paranoia kicked in and I put in some serious worrying time. One thing I can do very well, if I don't say so myself, is obsess. I can obsess for England, if only it were an Olympic sport. So I obsessed. By the time the meeting was called, with the lack of sleep and the obsessing, I was in a bit of a state. I was probably not my most sparkling, or witty or even coherent (I suspect). It was quite an intense experience. I've been appraised before, but this was full on Performance Review complete with targets, objectives and jargon (lots of it). The long and the short of it is: they're quite happy with me. They feel I've got off to a good start and will continue to make good progress. I like the work, even if it is hard on my legs and there are really worse ways to make a living.
I crawled home, punch drunk from lack of sleep and the fall-out from the obsession session. I struggle to convey the joy of opening my front door to be greeted with hugs from Boy and miaows from the Cat. Boy had hoovered and done the recycling. Is there a better feeling? Yes there is. Trust me, there is. After we stopped hugging he said "I brought the pasta I made during food tech home. Do you want it for dinner?"
See. I told you. There is a Goddess and damn is She good!
I scraped off the orange, changed into sloppy clothes and have just finished a huge bowl full of yummy spicey pasta. The only thing I must/have to do tonight is wait for Tescos to deliver the shopping. Tomorrow, I'm moonlighting in Marsham. Tonight, I'm going to put my feet up and whoop some Oblivion ass.
I was concerned when my Counter Manager said the Department Manager wanted to see us. The minute she said 'it's nothing to worry about', paranoia kicked in and I put in some serious worrying time. One thing I can do very well, if I don't say so myself, is obsess. I can obsess for England, if only it were an Olympic sport. So I obsessed. By the time the meeting was called, with the lack of sleep and the obsessing, I was in a bit of a state. I was probably not my most sparkling, or witty or even coherent (I suspect). It was quite an intense experience. I've been appraised before, but this was full on Performance Review complete with targets, objectives and jargon (lots of it). The long and the short of it is: they're quite happy with me. They feel I've got off to a good start and will continue to make good progress. I like the work, even if it is hard on my legs and there are really worse ways to make a living.
I crawled home, punch drunk from lack of sleep and the fall-out from the obsession session. I struggle to convey the joy of opening my front door to be greeted with hugs from Boy and miaows from the Cat. Boy had hoovered and done the recycling. Is there a better feeling? Yes there is. Trust me, there is. After we stopped hugging he said "I brought the pasta I made during food tech home. Do you want it for dinner?"
See. I told you. There is a Goddess and damn is She good!
I scraped off the orange, changed into sloppy clothes and have just finished a huge bowl full of yummy spicey pasta. The only thing I must/have to do tonight is wait for Tescos to deliver the shopping. Tomorrow, I'm moonlighting in Marsham. Tonight, I'm going to put my feet up and whoop some Oblivion ass.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Treacle Day
Today is my day off, I just wish I had the energy to enjoy it. Everything aches including my head and I feel...well the best I can say is Bleaugh! It's a technical medical term that I've gleaned from those medical blogs. Tasks that are fairly simple to do normally, seem to be taking ages. My brain is processing everything that much more slowly and I feel as if I'm drifting through treacle. Don't get me wrong, I'm not unhappy or feeling blue. I'm just not doing anything particularly quickly, efficiently or even promptly, which is fine I suppose as it's my day off.
The last few weeks my hayfever has been grim, but it seems to be settling down at the moment. I'll resist giving you a blow by blow account of my symptoms, I'm sure you don't need to hear about the itchy eyes, constant sneezing and general ick that goes with this time of year for me. Besides, it's hayfever. I'm not dying. It's just inconvenient.
The Council finally came and fixed my roof on Thursday. Of course it hasn't rained since then, which sums up my luck. But hey, it's done. My ceiling has an interesting look to it kind of sagging papier mache kind of look, but I can live with it. I can hang something to cleverly disguise it, or simply ignore it until I muster the enthusiasm for decorating my front room again, not likely to happen for a while yet.
I haven't managed to do anymore work on my writing project recently. I've been busy with work and trying to catch up with people and I'm feeling the lack. It's weird how itchy I become if I don't write. It's not so much a past-time, but an absolute necessity. The other plus about writing is that I tend to get loads of other stuff done if I think about my writing. For example, I'm supposed to be working on it now. In the time that I set aside to do my writing I've: upgraded my MS Office, I've emptied the fridge of all things mouldering, had a quick tidy round, done the bins, watered the plants, tidied my desk, done some admin. All of which needed to be done....days/weeks ago.
Last week I got a call from a friend of mine asking if I was able to do emergency reception/office work. I didn't like to say no. So, I've picked up 4 days work in the midst of my PCH work. I did one day Friday and will do the others next week. I must admit it is rather fun pottering around an office. It's really nice getting home and not feeling completely rung out. I knew I was tired from my normal work but I'd never quite appreciated how hard retail is on the legs. My counter manager is going away on holiday for two weeks, so I'll be going full time, which will be a complete killer. Office work 5 days a week is a doddle compared to retail that's for sure.
Just in case anyone's wondering: Hottie really is a Goddess! She gave me a fab pressie this week, which I have test driven today - a coffee machine! How cool is that? I bought some really nice, proper coffee and my cup this afternoon was heavenly. Unfortunately, I'm suffering from caffiene overload, but oh, it was yummy. I'm really looking forward to my morning cup tomorrow. Boy even commented on how nice the flat smelt with it going. I just need to get the ratio of ground coffee to water right. I'm not normally a huge fan of kitchen gadgets, but this coffee machine seems to be built for ease of use and convience.
Anyway, I'd better slope off. I'm in the midst of making burgers for Boy and me and there are a hundred and one things that I really should be doing...
The last few weeks my hayfever has been grim, but it seems to be settling down at the moment. I'll resist giving you a blow by blow account of my symptoms, I'm sure you don't need to hear about the itchy eyes, constant sneezing and general ick that goes with this time of year for me. Besides, it's hayfever. I'm not dying. It's just inconvenient.
The Council finally came and fixed my roof on Thursday. Of course it hasn't rained since then, which sums up my luck. But hey, it's done. My ceiling has an interesting look to it kind of sagging papier mache kind of look, but I can live with it. I can hang something to cleverly disguise it, or simply ignore it until I muster the enthusiasm for decorating my front room again, not likely to happen for a while yet.
I haven't managed to do anymore work on my writing project recently. I've been busy with work and trying to catch up with people and I'm feeling the lack. It's weird how itchy I become if I don't write. It's not so much a past-time, but an absolute necessity. The other plus about writing is that I tend to get loads of other stuff done if I think about my writing. For example, I'm supposed to be working on it now. In the time that I set aside to do my writing I've: upgraded my MS Office, I've emptied the fridge of all things mouldering, had a quick tidy round, done the bins, watered the plants, tidied my desk, done some admin. All of which needed to be done....days/weeks ago.
Last week I got a call from a friend of mine asking if I was able to do emergency reception/office work. I didn't like to say no. So, I've picked up 4 days work in the midst of my PCH work. I did one day Friday and will do the others next week. I must admit it is rather fun pottering around an office. It's really nice getting home and not feeling completely rung out. I knew I was tired from my normal work but I'd never quite appreciated how hard retail is on the legs. My counter manager is going away on holiday for two weeks, so I'll be going full time, which will be a complete killer. Office work 5 days a week is a doddle compared to retail that's for sure.
Just in case anyone's wondering: Hottie really is a Goddess! She gave me a fab pressie this week, which I have test driven today - a coffee machine! How cool is that? I bought some really nice, proper coffee and my cup this afternoon was heavenly. Unfortunately, I'm suffering from caffiene overload, but oh, it was yummy. I'm really looking forward to my morning cup tomorrow. Boy even commented on how nice the flat smelt with it going. I just need to get the ratio of ground coffee to water right. I'm not normally a huge fan of kitchen gadgets, but this coffee machine seems to be built for ease of use and convience.
Anyway, I'd better slope off. I'm in the midst of making burgers for Boy and me and there are a hundred and one things that I really should be doing...
Friday, June 20, 2008
Eleanor Roosevelt was Right
Did I tell you I was once gainfully employed? I used to work for a local council as an Economic Development Officer. I had a salary that enabled me to buy my flat, have a brand new car, shop for crockery at Habitat. It was employment with status, my parents were proud of me. And then I gave it up.
I was chatting to my Counter Manager yesterday, we were talking shop and trying to figure out new ways of drumming up business when a man walked by and smirked at me. He was part of the reason I left local government, a restructure would have made him my line-manager and he was a power-hungry, misogynistic bastard and I think part of our working relationship problem was I told him so. Yes, I know. How to win friends and influence people. Not.
He was not the only reason.
I hated local government structure and politics. The constant restructuring to ensure the status quo was maintained. Any hint of creative thinking got stamped on. I got told off because I kept on making unreasonable demand of colleagues: I expected them to do their jobs. When I went to bed at night I longed for sleep and in the morning I'd open my eyes with dread sitting in my belly. I was constantly unwell. I was crotchety, grumpy and vile. Boy and I didn't have much of a relationship as the only time we'd spend together was in the car as I took him to Breakfast Club and picked him up from the After School Club. Yes, it was novel to pay my bills on time and to be able to buy clothes from Next instead of the charity shop, but it was blood money.
So this guy walks by and smirks at me. I could see exactly what he was thinking as I stood there behind my counter and I smiled back and carried on with my conversation. When I walked home the brief encounter stayed with me. He wasn't shopping, he walked through the shop arms swinging. I've worked there over 18 months and I'd never seen him there. In fact, I had only just seen him recently in a local pub and he was barely polite to me then. He thought he could come into my place of work and look down his nose at me, and my choice of job and put me down.
Eleanor Roosevelt said No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
This life that I've chosen, it works for me. I won't lie, I'd like more money. But then, who wouldn't? The fact is I rarely deny myself anything, Boy and I eat regularly. The roof over our head (currently being fixed) is fairly secure. I have a solid relationship with my son. I have a healthy relationship with my Viking. When I wake up in the morning I start thinking about the things that need to be done, and I start balancing them against the things I want to do. More often than not, I do a bit of both. I have an amazing support network, both socially, virtually and through work and college. I chose to be sociable or to be alone. I like working at the PCH, my boss is great, the products fun and working 3 days a week and doing occasional full-time stints for holiday cover, means I have time to do other things like write, hang out with my Boy and my Viking. All in all, I feel blessed.
I was chatting to my Counter Manager yesterday, we were talking shop and trying to figure out new ways of drumming up business when a man walked by and smirked at me. He was part of the reason I left local government, a restructure would have made him my line-manager and he was a power-hungry, misogynistic bastard and I think part of our working relationship problem was I told him so. Yes, I know. How to win friends and influence people. Not.
He was not the only reason.
I hated local government structure and politics. The constant restructuring to ensure the status quo was maintained. Any hint of creative thinking got stamped on. I got told off because I kept on making unreasonable demand of colleagues: I expected them to do their jobs. When I went to bed at night I longed for sleep and in the morning I'd open my eyes with dread sitting in my belly. I was constantly unwell. I was crotchety, grumpy and vile. Boy and I didn't have much of a relationship as the only time we'd spend together was in the car as I took him to Breakfast Club and picked him up from the After School Club. Yes, it was novel to pay my bills on time and to be able to buy clothes from Next instead of the charity shop, but it was blood money.
So this guy walks by and smirks at me. I could see exactly what he was thinking as I stood there behind my counter and I smiled back and carried on with my conversation. When I walked home the brief encounter stayed with me. He wasn't shopping, he walked through the shop arms swinging. I've worked there over 18 months and I'd never seen him there. In fact, I had only just seen him recently in a local pub and he was barely polite to me then. He thought he could come into my place of work and look down his nose at me, and my choice of job and put me down.
Eleanor Roosevelt said No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
This life that I've chosen, it works for me. I won't lie, I'd like more money. But then, who wouldn't? The fact is I rarely deny myself anything, Boy and I eat regularly. The roof over our head (currently being fixed) is fairly secure. I have a solid relationship with my son. I have a healthy relationship with my Viking. When I wake up in the morning I start thinking about the things that need to be done, and I start balancing them against the things I want to do. More often than not, I do a bit of both. I have an amazing support network, both socially, virtually and through work and college. I chose to be sociable or to be alone. I like working at the PCH, my boss is great, the products fun and working 3 days a week and doing occasional full-time stints for holiday cover, means I have time to do other things like write, hang out with my Boy and my Viking. All in all, I feel blessed.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Happy 2nd Blog Day
Yep, you read right. It's been two years since I started blogging. My goodness what a rollercoaster. It's certainly been an experience. Just a quick re-cap of some of the amazing things that have happened in the last two years:
I made new friends
I found my Viking (or vice versa)
I found paid employment in the Independent Dept Store and the PCH
My Boy became a teenager
I lost my Pops
I finished my degree
Loads of people I love got happily married, and I got to dance at their weddings
As well as lots of day to day stuff.
Thanks for joining me for the journey. Here's to the next year and whatever Fortune and Fate bring.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Chillin'
I've treated myself to a couple of days chillin at the Viking's which is a bit naughty. But, I can't be sensible ALL of the time. He's off saving the World and I'm here with my feet up on his desk, a mug of coffee steaming away and feeling smugly domestic. I've just hung out the laundry. Every now and then I surprise us both, and do something useful around the house. It doesn't happen very often and probably won't be repeated for awhile, but hey, it was fun and made a change.
I live in a first floor flat, with no laundry line, so hanging laundry out in a proper garden is a bit of an adventure. Especially, since my hayfever is so bad I've been rubbing my streaming eyes constantly since I've come back in about 10 minutes ago. I'm looking out the window and thinking about a walk into town, wandering around VikingTown, trying not to break my already fragile bank account. Or I can stay in and work on my project a bit more. Or I can daydream on-line.
There are times this year when I've found my life to be quite frustrating. My circumstances haven't changed considerably since then. I'm still skint, still trying to sell expensive creams, potions and lotions to bored women, but I feel more content recently. Even with the disappointment of the MA.
The Viking and I went on a North Norfolk Coast adventure on Sunday. Our car journey was graced with rain and hail, but we were determined to go. We parked up at Burnham Overy Staithe and walked to Gun Hill, a large dune to the east of the village, before the Holkham Estate starts. It's a lovely walk, on the bank that runs between the low, water meadows and the Staithe harbour. There were a few other hardy souls braving the brisk wind and grey. To the west we could see rain tumbling out of the clouds to fall on land and sea, but we couldn't tell which way it was travelling. We risked it and I'm so glad we did. It kept on raining westwards leaving us dry, if slightly chilled. The tide came rushing past us, flooding the mud flats and still we sat chatting, sharing snacks and playing in the sand. We watched a party of 3 wrestle with a large, purple stunt kite. It took them about half an hour to get the thing in the air and then it danced overhead, dipping and swirling to its own music. It was getting late and we needed to pick Boy up from his dad's, but then two things happened. My Viking spotted a large, sandy dune and the clouds parted to let the sun through. I spent the next hour on top of the dune soaking in the sunshine while Viking jumped and ran, up and down the dune til he was knackered. When we finally left, the purple kite was still dancing.
I realised that I'm becoming easier with just letting life unfurl around me. If something is meant to be, it happens with a minimum of fuss or effort. This is the easy life and I don't miss the tension, the striving, the frustration or the constant, nagging disappointment. The MA will happen or it won't. I'll just wait and see. The time off has been good for me, I don't feel so bone weary all the time. I'm sure there are still way too many things I really should be getting on with, but who cares? Things get done in the end.
I live in a first floor flat, with no laundry line, so hanging laundry out in a proper garden is a bit of an adventure. Especially, since my hayfever is so bad I've been rubbing my streaming eyes constantly since I've come back in about 10 minutes ago. I'm looking out the window and thinking about a walk into town, wandering around VikingTown, trying not to break my already fragile bank account. Or I can stay in and work on my project a bit more. Or I can daydream on-line.
There are times this year when I've found my life to be quite frustrating. My circumstances haven't changed considerably since then. I'm still skint, still trying to sell expensive creams, potions and lotions to bored women, but I feel more content recently. Even with the disappointment of the MA.
The Viking and I went on a North Norfolk Coast adventure on Sunday. Our car journey was graced with rain and hail, but we were determined to go. We parked up at Burnham Overy Staithe and walked to Gun Hill, a large dune to the east of the village, before the Holkham Estate starts. It's a lovely walk, on the bank that runs between the low, water meadows and the Staithe harbour. There were a few other hardy souls braving the brisk wind and grey. To the west we could see rain tumbling out of the clouds to fall on land and sea, but we couldn't tell which way it was travelling. We risked it and I'm so glad we did. It kept on raining westwards leaving us dry, if slightly chilled. The tide came rushing past us, flooding the mud flats and still we sat chatting, sharing snacks and playing in the sand. We watched a party of 3 wrestle with a large, purple stunt kite. It took them about half an hour to get the thing in the air and then it danced overhead, dipping and swirling to its own music. It was getting late and we needed to pick Boy up from his dad's, but then two things happened. My Viking spotted a large, sandy dune and the clouds parted to let the sun through. I spent the next hour on top of the dune soaking in the sunshine while Viking jumped and ran, up and down the dune til he was knackered. When we finally left, the purple kite was still dancing.
I realised that I'm becoming easier with just letting life unfurl around me. If something is meant to be, it happens with a minimum of fuss or effort. This is the easy life and I don't miss the tension, the striving, the frustration or the constant, nagging disappointment. The MA will happen or it won't. I'll just wait and see. The time off has been good for me, I don't feel so bone weary all the time. I'm sure there are still way too many things I really should be getting on with, but who cares? Things get done in the end.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Techno Techno Techno
I'm having one of those weeks. Last week I realised my roof was leaking. I called the Council last Wednesday and a very nice man turned up today to tell me that I had small hole in my felt. He didn't think it would be too much of a bother to fix. It's just a question of getting some scaffolding put up and patching it up (apparently). The problem isn't his time, it's the scaffolding. So it might be fixed tomorrow, it might be fixed next week, I won't know until they turn up. So I'm praying for good weather, or at least dry weather until they manage to find a scaffolder with time on his hands, though apparently it's easier to find unicorns around here.
Over the weekend, my mobile phone, the most expensive piece of kit I've ever owned, played up yet again. My phone does pictures, multi-media messaging, blue-tooth, mp3s and goes fucking wrong at every given opportunity. Two months after I took possession of the damn thing I had to download software upgrades because everytime I wanted it to do something, it froze. Talk about performance anxiety. After that, it was a bit slow doing things, but it did them. Last weekend, it stopped sending texts and wouldn't let me make calls, it threw a complete girlie strop. At one point, I had to put it down and leave the room I was that close to smashing it into little, itty-bitty pieces with hammer.
I went into the O2 Shop and complained. The tired, bored salewoman nodded sympathetically through my tirade and provided alternate uses for the piece of equipment. She even praised me on my self-control for not reducing it to glitter. Bless her heart, she gave me a new SIM card and suggested that might solve the problem failing that I had to bring the phone back to the shop and they'd send it back to Nokia to be fixed. She did start suggesting that I could try upgrading the software on the phone myself, but seeing my exasperation, changed her mind.
Today, I had spent about 3 hours trying to connect my phone to my PC, to back up the data stored on the damn thing before I sent it off to be fixed. After all that palava, I figured I might as well have a go with doing the software myself, see if I could save a lot of inconvenience. Cue more swearing, most of which is down to my inability to read instructions, it really isn't Nokia's fault I don't do as I'm told. Since I did that, I've used my phone twice and it's gone through ok. Hopefully, I have cured the problem; we'll have to see.
Apart from that, I'm writing. Or rather, I should say, I'm plotting. I've got a project on the go and all is trooping along quite nicely. I'm following the Snowflake Method, which is a rather groovy way of doing things, a touch prescriptive, but as I've never successfully completed a novel, I'm happy to experiment. My financial situation is such that it's unlikely, failing a lottery win, that I'll be able to go back to the MA this year. Writing a novel is not a consolation prize for me, it's the reason why I did the damn degree in the first place and I'm pleased to be making a start. It feels right, and it's certainly fun.
Over the weekend, my mobile phone, the most expensive piece of kit I've ever owned, played up yet again. My phone does pictures, multi-media messaging, blue-tooth, mp3s and goes fucking wrong at every given opportunity. Two months after I took possession of the damn thing I had to download software upgrades because everytime I wanted it to do something, it froze. Talk about performance anxiety. After that, it was a bit slow doing things, but it did them. Last weekend, it stopped sending texts and wouldn't let me make calls, it threw a complete girlie strop. At one point, I had to put it down and leave the room I was that close to smashing it into little, itty-bitty pieces with hammer.
I went into the O2 Shop and complained. The tired, bored salewoman nodded sympathetically through my tirade and provided alternate uses for the piece of equipment. She even praised me on my self-control for not reducing it to glitter. Bless her heart, she gave me a new SIM card and suggested that might solve the problem failing that I had to bring the phone back to the shop and they'd send it back to Nokia to be fixed. She did start suggesting that I could try upgrading the software on the phone myself, but seeing my exasperation, changed her mind.
Today, I had spent about 3 hours trying to connect my phone to my PC, to back up the data stored on the damn thing before I sent it off to be fixed. After all that palava, I figured I might as well have a go with doing the software myself, see if I could save a lot of inconvenience. Cue more swearing, most of which is down to my inability to read instructions, it really isn't Nokia's fault I don't do as I'm told. Since I did that, I've used my phone twice and it's gone through ok. Hopefully, I have cured the problem; we'll have to see.
Apart from that, I'm writing. Or rather, I should say, I'm plotting. I've got a project on the go and all is trooping along quite nicely. I'm following the Snowflake Method, which is a rather groovy way of doing things, a touch prescriptive, but as I've never successfully completed a novel, I'm happy to experiment. My financial situation is such that it's unlikely, failing a lottery win, that I'll be able to go back to the MA this year. Writing a novel is not a consolation prize for me, it's the reason why I did the damn degree in the first place and I'm pleased to be making a start. It feels right, and it's certainly fun.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
A Recipe wot I Made up
This could be described as posh cheese on toast or poor-man's pizza.
You need:
Mix the chopped ingredients, add pepper and cheese. You'll note I didn't specify how much. That really depends on how much you like your cheese. I personally would grate the same amount of cheese to salad ingredients and then grate a third more.
Heat your oven (or grill), split the rolls and pile on the ingredients. If you're a sensible bunny, you'd put the rolls on a baking tray first. Put in oven until the cheese melts into a yummy, gooey mass and is bubbling away nicely.
Eat, preferably with a glass of naughtiness, good company and follow with lashings of laughter.
It's not a terribly original recipe, but I thought I would share. Do you have an own-made recipe that you'd like to share below?
You need:
- 1 tomato finely chopped
- 1 pepper (green for colour) finely chopped
- 1 red onion...yep you guessed it, finely chopped
- 3 or 4 sun dried tomatos, finely chopped
- 1 clove of garlic, crushed (or finely chopped)
- black pepper to taste
- grated cheese
- 2 long rolls or baguette
Mix the chopped ingredients, add pepper and cheese. You'll note I didn't specify how much. That really depends on how much you like your cheese. I personally would grate the same amount of cheese to salad ingredients and then grate a third more.
Heat your oven (or grill), split the rolls and pile on the ingredients. If you're a sensible bunny, you'd put the rolls on a baking tray first. Put in oven until the cheese melts into a yummy, gooey mass and is bubbling away nicely.
Eat, preferably with a glass of naughtiness, good company and follow with lashings of laughter.
It's not a terribly original recipe, but I thought I would share. Do you have an own-made recipe that you'd like to share below?
Monday, June 09, 2008
Iron Resolve...
of a rubber band. Last week I promised myself that I would do things differently. So I indulged in several takeaways, did no exercise and had a yummy chicken BBQ burger yesterday. Says it all really.
However, I might have slipped in that resolve, but I'm writing again. Thanks to a point in the right direction from Gee, I've actually got a writing project on the way. In the last 10 days, I've worked out my plot structure and have started fleshing out the protagionist. I spent most of Friday afternoon creating a form to act as a Character Template. It's going to be a long and drawn out process, but at least I've started and I know where I'm going and how I'm going to get there.
The biggest bugbear at the moment is my roof. I've got a soggy patch in my front room and it's got soggier every time it's rained and of course it's been raining quite a bit recently. Although I own my flat, the Council own the bricks and mortar, which means that they've got to come and put it right. Thanks to the computer going down and various other dramas they've yet to turn up. The next few days are supposed to be dry thank goodness, I'm just hoping they'll turn up before it starts to pour again. *sigh*
Right, I'm going to put the kettle on, have something to eat and dust my desk. I should be writing you see.
However, I might have slipped in that resolve, but I'm writing again. Thanks to a point in the right direction from Gee, I've actually got a writing project on the way. In the last 10 days, I've worked out my plot structure and have started fleshing out the protagionist. I spent most of Friday afternoon creating a form to act as a Character Template. It's going to be a long and drawn out process, but at least I've started and I know where I'm going and how I'm going to get there.
The biggest bugbear at the moment is my roof. I've got a soggy patch in my front room and it's got soggier every time it's rained and of course it's been raining quite a bit recently. Although I own my flat, the Council own the bricks and mortar, which means that they've got to come and put it right. Thanks to the computer going down and various other dramas they've yet to turn up. The next few days are supposed to be dry thank goodness, I'm just hoping they'll turn up before it starts to pour again. *sigh*
Right, I'm going to put the kettle on, have something to eat and dust my desk. I should be writing you see.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Childbirth Song - Helen Austin
Came across this on Facebook. I've watched it several times now, I'm still laughing.
House Of Pain - Jump Around
This remains the best floor filling track ever. My abiding memory of the wedding evening do will be a very pregnant lady bouncing up and down to this.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Balancing Act
I'm not dead. Really. I've been away. Went to a wedding and then Boy and I went oop North and planted ourselves on my Viking - who is probably shovelling out his house as we speak, from all the devastation we seem to cause, wherever we go.
The wedding was fabulous. Viking's family are brilliant and his sister-in-law's are amazing. I was made to feel welcome in both camps. I had emergency tissues at the ready while bride and groom made their heart-felt, sincere promises to each other. Fortunately, forward planning meant hard-core waterproof mascara and eyeliner, so afterwards I didn't look like the clown from Stephen King's 'It'. The bride looked beautiful, the groom looked nervous and both of them, once they'd got through the ceremony smiled as if they'd just run the London marathon and won the lottery. My Viking's speech went really well. Although he's probably lost a couple years in his life expectancy in the worry and stress in the run-up to the proceedings, he did a brilliant job. Most importantly, he got the music spot on and didn't lose the rings. I came away feeling like I'd made new friends and expanded my family network.
Boy and I kicked around doing not a lot at my Viking's pad. He spent most of his time on the X-Box oggling Lara Croft's tits and bum as she swung round and round a horizontal pole. I disappeared into a pile of trashy reading, occasionally coming out to swat him when poor Lara must have been getting dizzy doing all those flips, rolls and somersaults out of the way of the bad guys and monsters. Seriously, she must have a cast-iron sports bra. We wandered into the Market Town where my Viking calls home and indulged in naughty cakes and dvds. It's been a really nice time. Though, the Cat is seriously freaked out by being left on her own for the better part of a week (I have to explain that our time away was broken up into two and three days away with a couple of days at home, in case you were thinking of dialing the RSPCS). She peed all over an M&S bag I'd left by my front door, full of clothes I was going to return this week. Fortunately, M&S make good waterproof carrier bags and the clothes don't whiff of cat's pee.
On the train journey back, as I listened to the racket on my MP3 player, I wrestled with a Truth about myself that I can't resolve. In many aspects I'm a split personality. I am constantly torn by my conflicting needs. It should be a fairly obvious process to prioritise my needs, but it's not. It's like I'm two entirely different women existing in the same consciousness.
I crave stability, success, recognition, status. I'd love to have a job which was well-remunerated, status filled and successful. Unfortunately, I'm too flakey to have a successful 'career'. Hence me working in cosmetics. I can't bear the routine and the structure which goes with the job. I can't function in the structures which would fullfil my need to be useful. I'd love to be able to have a responsible job like nursing or policing, but I can't deal with the pain and emotional fall-out which goes with those professions. So I sell expensive creams to spoilt women.
I don't know what I'm doing, or where I'm going long-term. In the short to medium term, I'll be starting my MA again in October, I'll be doing that part-time. That'll give me another two years before I have to make a serious decision. I can't move anywhere until Boy has completed his A-levels in 4 years time. Where I'll be then is anyone's guess. I suppose I'll just try and keep both sides of my split self happy and hope for the best.
I used to think when I got sorted that life would be easier and more straight forward. While things are a lot more clear, they aren't much easier. Painful decisions aren't any less painful, it's just that the consequences are more obvious. Life has become a process of elimination, me having a checklist ticking off things that don't/haven't worked for me. The real problem has become the fact that just because I know it doesn't work for me, it hasn't stoped me craving it.
Like me eating meat. I really love my meat. Give me dead animal slapped bloody on my plate, with a bit of mustard and fries and mayo and I'm a happy, happy carnivore. I have had at least 2 years when I was a vegetarian and I was very healthy with it. My system works so much more efficiently when I don't have meat in my diet. Yet, I regularly over-indulge. Meat with more meat thanks very much. I gave into my carnivourous cravings after an afternoon fantasizing about bacon sandwiches, KFC and Burger King. I have the will power of a moth, but I'm tired of the singed wings. Perhaps this is really the truth of my inner conflict - I don't want to give things up that are bad for me. I'm not really a grown up at all, I'm really 5 years old sprawled on a pavement throwing a tantrum. Perhaps I should just grow up.
The wedding was fabulous. Viking's family are brilliant and his sister-in-law's are amazing. I was made to feel welcome in both camps. I had emergency tissues at the ready while bride and groom made their heart-felt, sincere promises to each other. Fortunately, forward planning meant hard-core waterproof mascara and eyeliner, so afterwards I didn't look like the clown from Stephen King's 'It'. The bride looked beautiful, the groom looked nervous and both of them, once they'd got through the ceremony smiled as if they'd just run the London marathon and won the lottery. My Viking's speech went really well. Although he's probably lost a couple years in his life expectancy in the worry and stress in the run-up to the proceedings, he did a brilliant job. Most importantly, he got the music spot on and didn't lose the rings. I came away feeling like I'd made new friends and expanded my family network.
Boy and I kicked around doing not a lot at my Viking's pad. He spent most of his time on the X-Box oggling Lara Croft's tits and bum as she swung round and round a horizontal pole. I disappeared into a pile of trashy reading, occasionally coming out to swat him when poor Lara must have been getting dizzy doing all those flips, rolls and somersaults out of the way of the bad guys and monsters. Seriously, she must have a cast-iron sports bra. We wandered into the Market Town where my Viking calls home and indulged in naughty cakes and dvds. It's been a really nice time. Though, the Cat is seriously freaked out by being left on her own for the better part of a week (I have to explain that our time away was broken up into two and three days away with a couple of days at home, in case you were thinking of dialing the RSPCS). She peed all over an M&S bag I'd left by my front door, full of clothes I was going to return this week. Fortunately, M&S make good waterproof carrier bags and the clothes don't whiff of cat's pee.
On the train journey back, as I listened to the racket on my MP3 player, I wrestled with a Truth about myself that I can't resolve. In many aspects I'm a split personality. I am constantly torn by my conflicting needs. It should be a fairly obvious process to prioritise my needs, but it's not. It's like I'm two entirely different women existing in the same consciousness.
I crave stability, success, recognition, status. I'd love to have a job which was well-remunerated, status filled and successful. Unfortunately, I'm too flakey to have a successful 'career'. Hence me working in cosmetics. I can't bear the routine and the structure which goes with the job. I can't function in the structures which would fullfil my need to be useful. I'd love to be able to have a responsible job like nursing or policing, but I can't deal with the pain and emotional fall-out which goes with those professions. So I sell expensive creams to spoilt women.
I don't know what I'm doing, or where I'm going long-term. In the short to medium term, I'll be starting my MA again in October, I'll be doing that part-time. That'll give me another two years before I have to make a serious decision. I can't move anywhere until Boy has completed his A-levels in 4 years time. Where I'll be then is anyone's guess. I suppose I'll just try and keep both sides of my split self happy and hope for the best.
I used to think when I got sorted that life would be easier and more straight forward. While things are a lot more clear, they aren't much easier. Painful decisions aren't any less painful, it's just that the consequences are more obvious. Life has become a process of elimination, me having a checklist ticking off things that don't/haven't worked for me. The real problem has become the fact that just because I know it doesn't work for me, it hasn't stoped me craving it.
Like me eating meat. I really love my meat. Give me dead animal slapped bloody on my plate, with a bit of mustard and fries and mayo and I'm a happy, happy carnivore. I have had at least 2 years when I was a vegetarian and I was very healthy with it. My system works so much more efficiently when I don't have meat in my diet. Yet, I regularly over-indulge. Meat with more meat thanks very much. I gave into my carnivourous cravings after an afternoon fantasizing about bacon sandwiches, KFC and Burger King. I have the will power of a moth, but I'm tired of the singed wings. Perhaps this is really the truth of my inner conflict - I don't want to give things up that are bad for me. I'm not really a grown up at all, I'm really 5 years old sprawled on a pavement throwing a tantrum. Perhaps I should just grow up.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Acts of Parliament
Blogland is buzzing with the vote about to go through Parliament dealing with stem cells, IVF & the abortion limit. The Daily Mail and Guardian go head to head waving their flags, fists and rhetoric. I haven't been keeping an eye on the debate simply because I'm trying to deal with my day to day stuff. Pretty much like everyone else I suspect. Turning over to the sports page, looking for cheap holidays or a date.
I haven't voted for years. In fact, I last voted for Tony Blair the first time around (yes, it's all my fault. I know). I am the disaffected voter. Part of it comes from working in Local Government and seeing the process of democracy at work and the complete loonies who claim to represent you and I. The truly shocking decisions that get made, or don't. Granted the council I worked for was in worse shape than most, but it excelled in arse covering and wall-papering. The fact of the matter is I don't believe that those members on a local level are any different to Members of Parliament. I don't believe that my local MP is any more honest and trustworthy and quite frankly he gets paid a damn side more for regularly fucking up, than I do. If I was that incompetent or dishonest I'd be sacked forthwith. That they get away with spouting forth about family values and have the personal lives of alley cats, makes me less likely to believe anything they say about family values and moral fibre.
However, I this is an uninformed and general rant. My opinion, which accounts for absolutely zip, but doesn't stop me from voicing it.
There are some mutterings from the conservatives about the rights of lesbian couples to IVF. They claim that the lack of a father figure will lead to the downfall of society and have followed through with various statistics about the terror of single parenthood and the apocalypse. As a single parent, I am constantly disappointed in my child. I hang my head in shame. My Boy, despite his lack of father on hand 24/7, continues to be polite to adults. *gasp* He's doing well in school. *shock* I mean, he doesn't even throw stones at little old ladies! The shame.
It's always dodgy trying to simplify a complex argument, but I think they're missing a point here. A lesbian couple who want a child are more likely to parent their child properly. Their child has the same chances as the rest of us to grow up 'normal'. Tell me again, how is that wrong? And try not to quote 'God' in any of your answers.
There's also the abortion law. Moves afoot to drop the limit from 24 weeks to 20 weeks. Foetus viability hasn't improved despite advances in neo-natal medicine. Interesting, since there are tests which can only be done at 20 weeks to check for birth defects. Will a woman who has the test done at 20 weeks, receive the results in the same week and if necessary arrange and have an abortion in that same week? So a woman has a test done and gets the result and makes a decision to have an abortion before the Friday? Because of course most clinics operate Monday to Friday. How exactly is that going to work?
Do I believe that a woman has a right to chose whether she has a baby? Absolutely. Especially since the Nanny State we live in fails so miserably to care for the carers. If a woman decides she won't have a baby for financial, emotional, psychological reasons, I think she should have access to the services to make a termination possible. I don't think society has a right to dictate that she brings an unwanted baby into this world.
I haven't voted for years. In fact, I last voted for Tony Blair the first time around (yes, it's all my fault. I know). I am the disaffected voter. Part of it comes from working in Local Government and seeing the process of democracy at work and the complete loonies who claim to represent you and I. The truly shocking decisions that get made, or don't. Granted the council I worked for was in worse shape than most, but it excelled in arse covering and wall-papering. The fact of the matter is I don't believe that those members on a local level are any different to Members of Parliament. I don't believe that my local MP is any more honest and trustworthy and quite frankly he gets paid a damn side more for regularly fucking up, than I do. If I was that incompetent or dishonest I'd be sacked forthwith. That they get away with spouting forth about family values and have the personal lives of alley cats, makes me less likely to believe anything they say about family values and moral fibre.
However, I this is an uninformed and general rant. My opinion, which accounts for absolutely zip, but doesn't stop me from voicing it.
There are some mutterings from the conservatives about the rights of lesbian couples to IVF. They claim that the lack of a father figure will lead to the downfall of society and have followed through with various statistics about the terror of single parenthood and the apocalypse. As a single parent, I am constantly disappointed in my child. I hang my head in shame. My Boy, despite his lack of father on hand 24/7, continues to be polite to adults. *gasp* He's doing well in school. *shock* I mean, he doesn't even throw stones at little old ladies! The shame.
It's always dodgy trying to simplify a complex argument, but I think they're missing a point here. A lesbian couple who want a child are more likely to parent their child properly. Their child has the same chances as the rest of us to grow up 'normal'. Tell me again, how is that wrong? And try not to quote 'God' in any of your answers.
There's also the abortion law. Moves afoot to drop the limit from 24 weeks to 20 weeks. Foetus viability hasn't improved despite advances in neo-natal medicine. Interesting, since there are tests which can only be done at 20 weeks to check for birth defects. Will a woman who has the test done at 20 weeks, receive the results in the same week and if necessary arrange and have an abortion in that same week? So a woman has a test done and gets the result and makes a decision to have an abortion before the Friday? Because of course most clinics operate Monday to Friday. How exactly is that going to work?
Do I believe that a woman has a right to chose whether she has a baby? Absolutely. Especially since the Nanny State we live in fails so miserably to care for the carers. If a woman decides she won't have a baby for financial, emotional, psychological reasons, I think she should have access to the services to make a termination possible. I don't think society has a right to dictate that she brings an unwanted baby into this world.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Two Things I Learnt Today
1. Eating cold, day old pizza is not as disgusting as it sounds.
2. I always seem to achieve more when I don't set out to do anything.
2. I always seem to achieve more when I don't set out to do anything.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Getting On a Bit
It's official. I am a year older today. So I went to work.
I've been feeling very pre-menstrual to the point where the cat stopped talking to me and started fleeing the room I walked in. Boy merely put his head-phones on and listened to Penduluum. My Viking gave me cuddles and was sympathetic as I tried to bite the carpet in my frustration.
Despite the horrid moodiness, I've had a really nice birthday. I bought loads of cakes for the ladies at work, when it was quiet I pottered around in the stockroom and played with our new testers. I like playing with Stuff, don't quite know why, I just do. I think I'm just a hoarder at heart, which is probably why I've got a silly amount of fragrances, cosmetics and make-up. Thanks to my birthday bag from work, that pile has just got a little bit higher - much to my delight. I've been treated to loads of fabulous new colours, cosmetics and some of my favourite fragrances. I think my bottle count is now 19! Oops. Perhaps that is a touch over the top.
I'm settling into my job quite nicely. My Counter Manager is such a sweetie. She's been in the industry long enough to know her stuff backwards, but is still enthusiastic about her work. The training has done wonders for my confidence in the product knowledge, which has meant that I've been landing some good sales. I no longer feel apologetic for charging a hideous amount of money for our products. They cost a lot, because a lot goes into them. They really do what they say on the jar.
Apart from the attack of the Grumps, life continues quite happily.
I've been feeling very pre-menstrual to the point where the cat stopped talking to me and started fleeing the room I walked in. Boy merely put his head-phones on and listened to Penduluum. My Viking gave me cuddles and was sympathetic as I tried to bite the carpet in my frustration.
Despite the horrid moodiness, I've had a really nice birthday. I bought loads of cakes for the ladies at work, when it was quiet I pottered around in the stockroom and played with our new testers. I like playing with Stuff, don't quite know why, I just do. I think I'm just a hoarder at heart, which is probably why I've got a silly amount of fragrances, cosmetics and make-up. Thanks to my birthday bag from work, that pile has just got a little bit higher - much to my delight. I've been treated to loads of fabulous new colours, cosmetics and some of my favourite fragrances. I think my bottle count is now 19! Oops. Perhaps that is a touch over the top.
I'm settling into my job quite nicely. My Counter Manager is such a sweetie. She's been in the industry long enough to know her stuff backwards, but is still enthusiastic about her work. The training has done wonders for my confidence in the product knowledge, which has meant that I've been landing some good sales. I no longer feel apologetic for charging a hideous amount of money for our products. They cost a lot, because a lot goes into them. They really do what they say on the jar.
Apart from the attack of the Grumps, life continues quite happily.
Friday, May 09, 2008
Friday Nite In
This week is Summer and I have been flashing my bronzed legs. The flat's windows and front door are wide open letting the cooling evening breeze take out the fusty air that's built up during the day while I was at work and Boy at school.
Boy has survived his SATs and has reluctantly agreed that maybe the revision I nagged him into doing helped a bit. As I type he's happily killing the bad guys on the XBox. He looks a touch tired, but is otherwise unscathed.
As for myself, I'm not sure where the week went. Actually, that's not true. I know exactly where it went. I just haven't caught up with myself yet. I had four days of training in London, a night in my own bed then it was back down to London for a Hen-Do. Viking's eldest brother is tying the knot and I got invited to his fiancee's Do. It was a sucessful weekend, if a lot of hard work. Network Rail decided to do loads of engineering works, so what should have been less than a 2 hour journey down, became a 3 1/2 hour journing. The organiser of said Do, arranged for me to share with a woman who was lovely enough to book a twin room. When I got to the hotel I realised I'd forgotten the e-mail with the booking details in Norwich. I rocked up to this posh, 4 **** hotel, marble lobby, brass fittings, I thought 'oh dear'. The very nice receptionist couldn't find me or my room-mate on her system. She called her manager who also looked and couldn't find us. To cut a long story short, because my roomy was still at home while I was trying to book, she was able to send a copy of her confirmation e-mail to the Duty Manager (a very dishy Australian). He then organised a twin room in their sister hotel, The Westbury for the original price. They also paid for the cab to take me from them, to there.
Now, you have to understand that my half of the room was £60. One of the first questions my room-mate asked me was whether the hotel was a dive. It was most certainly not. I was feeling scruffy enough as it was. I had a scruffy cardigan, battered and none-to-clean jeans, knackered trainers, Lumpy and my back-pack. In all likelihood I would have just been allowed into a hostel. During the journey across to The Westbury, the cabbie asked whether I had posher clothes to change into - did I have time to go shopping. When I'm all grown up and have a proper income, I want to do London from The Westbury. The staff were starched, proper and very kind. Nothing was too much trouble. I was helped from my cab, Lumpy taken off me to be delivered to my room shortly, I was shown to Reception, shown to the lift. The room, or should I say rooms, were stunning. It was an Olde Worlde feel with the latest technology. There was a dressing room, complete with a walnut dressing table, polished within an inch of it's life. I want that bathroom, marble and white tile, white cotton bathrobes and a towel warmer.
I did scrub up good for the Hen-Do and had a brilliant time in good restaurants with great company. We went clubbing in a basement club that was concentrating on 50s-60s rock'n'roll. Elvis without the tassles, Duke Ellington etc. Thankfully there was not a pink cowboy hat, handcuffs or an L-plate to be seen. I gave up about 2am and got back to my blissfull room.
My bed. What can I say about my bed? Yes, it was a single, but with a touch more room than a normal single. The bed was so comfortable it was like sleeping in a hug. The duvet and pillows were feather, but I didn't have any problems with allergies at all. It was only the realisation that I'd forgotten to ask what time breakfast finished and when we had to vacate the room, that actually got me out of bed by 10.00. I just didn't want to risk having to pay full price for the room (that would have set me back £175) for the Sunday.
It was just as well I had a good time Saturday night, the journey back was horrendous. Fortunately, I had a Viking meet me at the Norwich station which soothed and eased my very tired, ruffled feathers.
Boy has survived his SATs and has reluctantly agreed that maybe the revision I nagged him into doing helped a bit. As I type he's happily killing the bad guys on the XBox. He looks a touch tired, but is otherwise unscathed.
As for myself, I'm not sure where the week went. Actually, that's not true. I know exactly where it went. I just haven't caught up with myself yet. I had four days of training in London, a night in my own bed then it was back down to London for a Hen-Do. Viking's eldest brother is tying the knot and I got invited to his fiancee's Do. It was a sucessful weekend, if a lot of hard work. Network Rail decided to do loads of engineering works, so what should have been less than a 2 hour journey down, became a 3 1/2 hour journing. The organiser of said Do, arranged for me to share with a woman who was lovely enough to book a twin room. When I got to the hotel I realised I'd forgotten the e-mail with the booking details in Norwich. I rocked up to this posh, 4 **** hotel, marble lobby, brass fittings, I thought 'oh dear'. The very nice receptionist couldn't find me or my room-mate on her system. She called her manager who also looked and couldn't find us. To cut a long story short, because my roomy was still at home while I was trying to book, she was able to send a copy of her confirmation e-mail to the Duty Manager (a very dishy Australian). He then organised a twin room in their sister hotel, The Westbury for the original price. They also paid for the cab to take me from them, to there.
Now, you have to understand that my half of the room was £60. One of the first questions my room-mate asked me was whether the hotel was a dive. It was most certainly not. I was feeling scruffy enough as it was. I had a scruffy cardigan, battered and none-to-clean jeans, knackered trainers, Lumpy and my back-pack. In all likelihood I would have just been allowed into a hostel. During the journey across to The Westbury, the cabbie asked whether I had posher clothes to change into - did I have time to go shopping. When I'm all grown up and have a proper income, I want to do London from The Westbury. The staff were starched, proper and very kind. Nothing was too much trouble. I was helped from my cab, Lumpy taken off me to be delivered to my room shortly, I was shown to Reception, shown to the lift. The room, or should I say rooms, were stunning. It was an Olde Worlde feel with the latest technology. There was a dressing room, complete with a walnut dressing table, polished within an inch of it's life. I want that bathroom, marble and white tile, white cotton bathrobes and a towel warmer.
I did scrub up good for the Hen-Do and had a brilliant time in good restaurants with great company. We went clubbing in a basement club that was concentrating on 50s-60s rock'n'roll. Elvis without the tassles, Duke Ellington etc. Thankfully there was not a pink cowboy hat, handcuffs or an L-plate to be seen. I gave up about 2am and got back to my blissfull room.
My bed. What can I say about my bed? Yes, it was a single, but with a touch more room than a normal single. The bed was so comfortable it was like sleeping in a hug. The duvet and pillows were feather, but I didn't have any problems with allergies at all. It was only the realisation that I'd forgotten to ask what time breakfast finished and when we had to vacate the room, that actually got me out of bed by 10.00. I just didn't want to risk having to pay full price for the room (that would have set me back £175) for the Sunday.
It was just as well I had a good time Saturday night, the journey back was horrendous. Fortunately, I had a Viking meet me at the Norwich station which soothed and eased my very tired, ruffled feathers.
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