Wednesday 1

I texted Small Son to say how well he was doing with his finances now, and suggesting he get in touch with his dad.  I get a text back saying, “Ok thanks.”  Monosylabic doesn’t begin to describe …

Minutes later I get another text message from him.  It reads, “Hi how are you are you at work what are you doing”.  I smile broadly at my desk and ring him immediately. 

“Was that last text for me?” I ask excitedly. 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, that’s nice.  I don’t often get messages from you that don’t involve begging for money.  Yes, I’m at work, and I’m doing a bit of typing at the moment - “

“Oh, that text,” Small Son cries.  “I thought I’d sent that to dad.”

“Oh.”  The disappointment.  “Right, okay then.”

I hung up.  I texted him.  “Don’t you want to know what mom’s doing then?”

He texted back, “I know you’re at work and I know what you’re doing.”

So, suddenly I’m boring!

Nice.

Thursday 2

Even yet more Crimbo shopping … does it never end?!  When did Christmas get this commercial?

Had ‘one of those moments’ today, though, which brightened up my lunch hour no end.  I half heartedly wandered into the Bull Ring (as you do) but quickly got bored after 37.5 seconds and came out again.

Walking back up New Street, I finally spotted something I liked.  Roast chestnuts!  I bought a bag and ate them as I walked up through the Frankfurt Christmas Market (that huge Santa on the left is seriously scary!).  Hot chestnuts in my pocket, bright coloured lights all around me, and in the background a busker was playing ‘Can you feel the love tonight’ on a trumpet.

Magical. 

Back at the office I distributed the chestnuts.  Faces lit up, until they realised I wasn’t handing out really massive chocolates.  Recipients were split into four distinct groups:

1. those who loved chestnuts and took loads;
2. those who hated them and dry heaved;
3. those who stared at them strangely, asking if they could eat the whole thing, shell and all; and
3. those who never seen a chestnut before in their life (!) … I had to demonstrate how to get at the edible bit in the middle (tsk).

Friday 3

Friday Friday Friday Friday!!!

But a different Friday night … no curry, no booze, no DVD to watch!  Instead, We Went Out!

I tell ya, it was an effort.  Caught the bus home after a long day at work, collapsed across sofa Absolutely Bloody Knackered and already suffering from curry deprivation (shaking, dribbling, muttering incoherently).  Hauled self back up, changed, mommy came, and we all jumped on a bus back into town again (oh the joy of it all!).  Met brother at Raphael’s, quick drink, and then …

… we watched Bread and Circuses, a comedy sketch show at the Library Theatre.  Pretty good, varied between dross and genius (“How inappropriate” has now entered our everyday conversation, and Birmingham the Musical will one day be a classic).

10.30pm, with my eyes mere slits in my face from exhaustion, waited at a bus stop at the bottom of Broad Street.  After 15 minutes someone took pity on us and said buses didn’t stop there on Friday or Saturday nights any more (not since October 2003 apparently) and we’d have to (blare of trumpets) walk to the top of Broad Street to catch one.

That was an experience.  Mom had never been on Broad Street after dark or witnessed hoards of drunken revellers before.  She clung onto my Partner’s arm, staring wide-eyed at all the semi-nakeds and whispering, “Ooooh, I bet she’s cold!” and “Ooooh, look what she’s wearing!”  I had to poke my Partner’s eyeballs back in his skull a couple of times.

Bus.  Sleep. Got off bus.  Walked mom home (like a sleepwalking Frankenstein: “Yeah, night mom, whatever”) and then …

Bed (yay).

Saturday 4

Decorating the living room (finally!).  Partner said “Now just leave me to get on with it” about 147 times.  Hell, I wasn’t going to argue with that.

He started pasting the wallpaper.  I suggested it might be better if he started on the other wall and he pointed a firm finger at the door and pursed his lips in a really assertive way.  I didn’t see him for the rest of the day - he glared at me every time I walked through the living room to the kitchen, but we opted not to speak (safest thing).

So, I sorted out our videos which are quickly taking over our bedroom, all 400 of them.  We never ask the question “What do you want to watch?”, we ask “Where is something we can find?”  It seemed a good idea to put them in alphabetical order … it seemed like a really stupid idea by the time I’d finished, three hours later.

Covered in paste and, oddly, splatters of paint, Partner made a massive curry, and put masses of curry powder in too.  Delicious, but the spices so did not agree with my brain, I hardly slept a wink all night - I’d never had such spectacularly awful nightmares before and kept waking up in a hot sweat, absolutely terrified, adrenaline making my body pulsate.  Partner must have been suffering too because when I touched his arm he screamed, “Leave me alone!  I’m so tired!  Let me sleep!”

Conveniently, he didn't remember bawling his lungs out the next morning - but I bet the neighbours did.

Sunday 5

Banished to the upstairs rooms again, I wrapped Crimbo pressies and finally got round to picking 50 digital photo’s from the zillions on the computer to be printed at Jessops for £4.99 (can't find a link).  Well, it started off as fifty, but I managed to find 150 that I simply couldn’t live without.  Oh the memories!

Partner finished decorating and then cooked a Sunday meal - is there no end to this man’s talents?

And oops, we didn't have time to do The Bloody Ironing - my bosses are going to love me turning up for work in my dressing gown next week ... its that, or a bikini.

Here's something that will push you to the edge of insanity (a place I’m more than familiar with). 

Tuesday 7

The office has gone all festive and put up their Christmas decorations ... except my department which, now its been split from everyone else (abandoned, alone and forgotten in the middle of the office), doesn’t have any decorations of its own.  So I dashed to the Pound Shop at lunch to get some so no-one thinks we’re sitting there muttering Bah Humbug all day.

On the subject of Christmas festivities, here’s a seriously good Crimbo card.

Wednesday 8

Had lunch with colleagues I used to work with.  I thought it would be interesting to catch up on all the gossip from my old company, but it wasn’t.  I was ‘out of the loop’, so to speak, so didn’t know who or what they were talking about half the time.  And it was difficult to get a word in edgeways with one ex-colleague going on and on about her ‘new man’ (15 years younger, doesn’t like her going out on her own, we can all see where its leading except her … heard it all before) and her daughter (unmarried, two children by two different fathers, now with someone who’s just gone through an arranged marriage and wants her to have his child!).  It was like listening to a really bad soap opera.

I think I’m giving up lunching with old colleagues … it’ll be my first New Year’s Resolution.

This girl ain’t for lunching no more.

Thursday 9

Hectic day, and its still only 9.50am!

First off, two mothers sat behind me on the bus into work today talking about their offspring, who just happen to be teenagers.  How I empathised with their desperation, they were obviously at their wits end (I so wanted to round and join in the conversation).  Parents out there are suffering!  How come this hasn’t made the news yet?  [For tips on how to cope with your monster I mean teenager, see here].

Then there was the road rage.  Oh, the road rage!  A car was trying to do a U-turn in the middle of Broad Street (which only the very brave or the very stupid would attempt).  A car coming in the opposite direction took exception to this and pulled up in front of the U-turn car, blocking him.  As my bus drove passed, both drivers were shaking fists and screaming at each other through their windows whilst 200 cars backed up behind each of them were furiously honking their horns.

Got off bus, waited to cross a busy crossroads.  The changing of the lights had caught two cars in the middle of the road, effectively blocking traffic.  The cars couldn’t move because the pedestrians were claiming the road (hey, the green man was on, this was our territory).  Again, the honking of a multitude of horns escorted me into work.

There’s a lot of anger out there!

By comparison, the office was a haven of serenity.  As I took off my coat, a woman I’d never seen before came over to me and said she didn’t know where she was supposed to be or what she was supposed to be doing (I know that feeling well).  Told me she’d been off work for a while: “You know what its like when you come back,” she said, “Everything seems so strange.”  I nodded in agreement (every day’s like that for me).  “How long you been off for?” I asked, thinking perhaps maternity leave or a long illness. 

“A week,” she said.

A REVELATION

I am passing this on to you because it has definitely worked for me and at this time of year we all could use a little calm!!!
    
By following the simple advice I read in a magazine article, I have finally found inner peace
    
"The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you've started."
    
So I looked around the house to see all the things I started and hadn't finished … and before leaving the house this morning I finished:
    
- a bottle of red wine
- a bottle of white
- the Bailey's
- Jack Daniels
- the Prozac
- some valium
- some cheesecake
- and a box of chocolates.
    
You have no idea how bloody great I feel!
    
You may pass this on to those you feel are in need of Inner Peace...

Friday 10

3pm

I’ve been abandoned!  Well almost.  I’m sitting here in my office, at my desk, and there’s Not A Single Person in sight.  Its very eerie.  Even the sound of my keyboard is echoing in the creepy silence.

They’ve all gone and buggered off to the AGM at the NEC (National Exhibition Centre), the entire office.  The theme this year is Grease, so there’s been lots of pink accessorising (and the women too).

“You’re not going?” everyone kept asking me, utterly utterly astonished.

I just put up my hand and said, “I don’t do AGM’s.”

I mean, its Friday!  Was there even a decision to make?  Go to AGM, talk to people I barely know (there’s seating arrangement to force us to mingle), drink wine which I don’t particularly like, and maybe get drunk (not good for future employment prospects!).  OR … work in peace until five o’clock, go home, pour large whisky, have luxurious bath, and watch a good movie on tv all curled up in front of the fire with a really handsome man.

Yeah, it was a tough choice.

ADDITION: So I'm virtually all alone in the office apart from a secretary sitting behind me, who ups and leaves at 4pm.  4.30, pitch black outside, I turn in my seat.  Because the lights are motion activated, THE ENTIRE OFFICE BEHIND ME HAS BEEN PLUNGED INTO DARKNESS.  Absolutely scared the living daylights out of me.  I managed to venture a couple of desks back into the darkness to turn the lights back on, but didn't make it into the pitch black corner.

Wimp.

I was pretty glad to leave at 5pm and rejoin the human race.

Saturday 11

Oh my God, the chaos, the carnage!  Still getting the living room finished for Crimbo … all the decorating’s done, just putting everything back now - simple 10 minute job? Nooooooo.  Getting the stereo speakers back on the wall took nearly all afternoon, and the curtain rail is nothing short of a miracle of sheer bloody minded determination. 

On top of that, I’m having to clear out Middle Son’s bedroom (which we appear to be using as a storage area tut tut) so that he can come home from uni next Monday.

Plus organising Christmas.

I’m knackered!

Sunday 12

My partner’s birthday.  Offered to take him out for lunch, but we were still busy putting the house back together (both of us screaming “I’ve had enough, this has to stop!"), so offered to cook lunch instead.  He gave me the look that meant, “Oh really?”  “I can do this!” I told him, and promptly burnt the pork chops.  Partner took one look at the chop-shaped carbon lumps smoking in the oven and ordered a takeaway curry.  Which kept us awake All Night!   Suspect that, after years of abuse, our bodies have actually become allergic to spices.

Which is worrying.

Monday 13

We dashed out yesterday to buy a ‘nice tablecloth’ and came home with a sewing machine … not quite sure how that happened, but we have plans to start our own sewing empire (watch out Stella McCartney). 

Means I might finally be able to get rid of the safety pins out of my suit trousers and take them in properly!

Tuesday 14

The Office Party!  There was a time (admittedly many many years ago) when I could party until the cows came home.  These days, I just can’t hack it.  I’m getting very anti-social in my old age.

There was a temp on our table who was boxed in by Partners.  Poor girl, I thought, but after two glasses of wine she was loudly declaring, “All solicitors are wankers, you know.”  Hysterical.

4.45pm, outta there, on the bus, slightly tiddled, actually got home early!  Found Partner in loft, trying to hide boxes of stuff we weren’t putting back in the living room … just what you fancy doing after an office Crimbo party, haul boxes into the roof cavity!

9pm, bed.  Definitely getting old.

Wednesday 15

Met partner at pub after work, as is our habit on Wednesday (mid week drink to see us through to the end - whatever it takes, I say!).  I said, “We have to get a Christmas tree.”

“Why do we need a Christmas tree?” he asked.

“Because its Christmas!”

“What’s wrong with the old tree?”

“The 20 year old tree that we took to the tip, that one?”

“Ah.”

So, pint downed, we trundled off to B&Q, who were completely sold out of Christmas trees apart from an artificial one that looked like it had been run over by a lorry, and another one in an incredibly lurid purple colour.

Panic stricken, we raced into Homebase next door, where the selection of Christmas trees was worse and eye-bulgingly expensive.  But hark, what’s this?  A sale!  Third off all Crimbo decs … fabulous.

We scoured the limp offerings (purple must definitely be ‘in’ this year), trying to pick the best of a bad bunch.  And then we found a box containing a tree that wasn’t on display.  It looked okay, it looked like a proper Christmas tree. 

“Can we open this?” we said, taking the box to the counter.  “There isn’t one on display and we want to see what it looks like.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” this 12 year old said, shaking his head at the box that was already glistening with layers of sellotape.  “Once I open it, nobody will want to buy it.”

“Looks like its already been opened,” I said, “Several times.  I’m not buying it unless I see it first.”

He huffed and puffed and eventually opened it up.  We peered inside.  My partner saw a look of slight indecision waft across my face and snatched the box up, shouting, “We’ll take it!”  Being a Yorkshireman (and old habits die hard) he quickly added, “Third off the price, is it?”

It was.

Got it home, unwrapped it.  Hmmm, not sure, looks a bit dull.  But what’s this?   A plug?  And a heavy base?

It’s only a fibre optic tree!  Turn it on.  Absolutely fantastic, looks great in our newly decorated living room.

We’ve gone all posh!

Thursday 16

Reception rang me at my desk.  “Your sister’s here.”

Really?  News to me.  Went down to say hello and found both sis and mom in the visitors toilet liberally rubbing the expensive moisturiser into their hands.  “We didn’t tell you we were coming in case we were late and you flipped again,” sis said.  Fair enough.

Dashed back upstairs, mumbled to boss that I was having an early lunch and legged it.  Mom wanted to go somewhere where smoking wasn’t allowed - I wracked my brains trying to think of somewhere, anywhere, in Birmingham city centre, and we ended up at ‘how much?!’ Starbucks.  Mom said she’d pay, I told her she wouldn’t have enough.  “I will,” she insisted, pulling out a £10 note (in yer dreams, mom).

I had a cappuccino.  As I rarely drink coffee, the caffeine sent me over the edge and I was vibrating at my desk all afternoon.  Got loads of work done.

Last day at work for 17 days tomorrow yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Friday 17

Last day last day last day.

After all the Christmas shopping I’m pretty much destitute.  When someone asked me out to lunch I had to decline (for poverty reasons, although I didn’t like to admit this so said I’d already arranged to meet someone).

Only one problem.  The person who asked me to lunch didn’t go out at lunch and would see me if I didn’t go out for lunch either.  It was blowing a gale and pouring down with rain, but I now had to go out.  So I aimlessly wandered through town and spent a full 35 minutes browsing every single book in The Works … I now know their stock better than the staff do. 

And, of course, I had to actually buy something so I could return to the office with at least one bag of shopping.  I had 75p on me, which limited my buying potential somewhat.  I bought a telephone book for 50p.   I asked for a bigger carrier bag to put it in to make it look more substantial, but the assistant refused to fill said bag with ‘any waste you have behind the counter, you know, cardboard boxes, stuff like that’. 

5pm, that’s it, over.  I was outta there like a bat out of hell to celebrate the longest break from work I’d ever had.

17 whole days.

Fan-tas-tic.

Saturday 18

Oh how I slobbed.  Lie in, bit of a wander round the house, fell asleep on living room floor on top of a newspaper which left print all down the left side of my face but soaked up the dribble.

I love holidays.  Especially 17 day ones.

On the night, my partner’s works do at The Hawthornes (West Bromwich football club).  Started at 7pm.  Got there at 7pm NOT A SOUL IN SIGHT (I hate being the first, always makes you look desperate, like you have nothing better to do except turn up early – much better, I always think, to burst in at 10pm, roaring drunk and shouting about the fab party you’ve just been to … but that Hardly Ever Happens).

Enter EMPTY room.  Empty apart from a waiter who promptly crashes quite spectacularly at our feet.  Scared the living daylights out of me, but turns out he’s the comedy act.  Quite good.  Didn’t do a stand up routine, just kept falling on the floor, shouting for people to take their hands out of their pockets and generally being annoying.  As there were around 600 big, burly Black Country blokes in the room, I’m surprised one of them didn’t punch him.

Drink.  Drink.  First course.  Drink.  Second course.  Drink.  Pudding.  Drink.  Bit of a dance (jivving with partner is not a good idea when you’re both somewhat the worse for wear … Grab hold of hand? What hand? Where’s he gone?  What’s that concrete column doing crashing into my body?).

I don’t remember much after that.

Sunday 19

Hangover.

Oh God.

You know that moment when you wake up and think, “Am I okay?”  And you’re frightened to move in case you’re not?  So you prise open your eyes and don’t throw up (good sign).  Then you turn your head and the mush that is your brain slides heavily to the side of your skull.  And you slowly, oh so slowly, ease yourself out of bed and find that the room isn’t spinning too bad, but all your internal organs appear to have dropped by about 18 inches.

I’ve drank about 9 pints of water so far and its only 11.30am.  I feel like a bloody huge water balloon.  I’ve yet to pee.  Or get rid of the metalic fur in my mouth.  And I'm bruised from the drunken sprawl on the dancefloor.

Partner has abandoned me.  He’s gone to visit family in Yorkshire.  HE’LL BE GONE ALL DAY, ALL NIGHT, AND ALL TOMORROW.

So I’m on my own, fending for myself!  Scary.  Have looked on the internet for information on how to use a gas cooker, how to detect kitchen fires if you have no sense of smell and how best to treat food poisoning.  I’ve locked all the doors, dug out the infamous baseball bat and have programmed 999 into my mobile phone.  Just in case.

And just to get me in the mood, I’m listening to Celine Dion’s All By Myself.

Sniff. 

What to do to your work colleague's desk whilst they're away:

Monday 20

Tonsilitus.

Couldn’t happen in work time could it, oh no, the bloody crappy useless tonsils had to wait until I WAS ON HOLIDAY before inflating to the size of melons.

Hardly slept a wink last night.  Every time I swallowed, the pain woke me up.  Every time someone slammed a car door outside, I was awake.  Every time the house creaked (and I mean, this house – when you’re on your own, all alone, in the dark at 3am in the morning – creaks like some ancient galleon in a storm) I was Wide Awake, heart pounding, adrenaline making my eyes bulge. 

By 4am I was convinced the house was being used as a B&B for every lost soul and shivering spirit within the West AND East Midlands, and that grey aliens with big eyeballs were waiting for the right moment to abduct me for their evil experiments.

Bloody knackered this morning.

Tuesday 21

Didn’t go to Crimbo Carol concert at the Symphony Hall last night because of the crappoid (technical term) tonsils.  Sister whinged when I called to tell her, mom just said (for the 104th time) that she’d asked my brother - who’s now been asked to attend this flaming concert so often I’m sure he must be having nightmares about it. 

A bit of sympathy wouldn’t have gone amiss.

So anyway, at least I was home when my two weary men returned from Yorkshire, Partner back from visiting family and Middle Son home for Crimbo.

I have men in the house again!

Today we went shopping at Asda, the three of us racing round like children let loose in a sweet shop, lobbing goodies into the trolley with wild abandonment.

Total came to just over £100.  Partner (ever the Yorkshireman) said, “Oooooh, that’s good value f’money,” and the till operator (wowed by his million watt smile!) said, “Yes, you can pat your bum and say ‘That’s Asda price’ now.”  She said this whilst looking at his bum.  I waited to be noticed.

I’m still waiting.

Wednesday 22

Tried to get an appointment with my doctors yesterday.  Despite sounding like Marlon Brando in The Godfather, they said they were fully booked and I should ring again at 8.30 this morning.  Which I did, and they rather grudgingly gave me an appointment.  Sadistic doctor stuck a board the size of a canoe paddle in my gob, ignored my gagging, and said my tonsils were infected.

Genius!

£6.40 for a prescription!!!  Like, since when??!!  Who can afford to be ill with prices like that!

Still in shock, took the 15 tonnes of wet washing (the stuff that’s been festering in Small Son’s room for weeks and the black body bag Middle Son brought home from uni) to the laundrette to dry it - just what you feel like doing when Death is using both tonsils as punch bags.  We loaded up two dryers and I swear you could have cut the animosity in there with a knife.  We were most definitely ‘outsiders’, not regulars, and horror of horrors we’d actually brought our own washing from home!

The looks we got could have killed a charging Bull Elephant dead in its tracks, but I was too ill to care.

Got home, took a profusion of tablets (not sure what they were, but hell, I was willing to try anything).  Then searched the internet for a do-it-yourself-tonsillectomy scalpel?

Friday 24

I have mere seconds to wish you all a very Cheery Crimbo.  Have fun, drink loads, eat loads, enjoy!

Tuesday 28

A pictorial glimpse of our Crimbo ... photos and dinner prepared by my fabulous partner.

Meanwhile, I'm still ill (could it BE more BORING!) - I've actually lost weight!  Who loses weight over Christmas???

Thursday 30

And now its over (sniff) and the festive frolics are at an end (wah!) and normality is just waiting to clasp us to its smelly bosom again (NO!). 

But at least we have normality, unlike those poor people in Asia who were devastated by the tsunami – how terrible was that!  We couldn’t stop watching the news for days, the death toll was astronomical.  Our thoughts are with them, but its nice to see how the world has come together to send aid (Britain’s public raised £25million in a matter of days, which put the Government’s £15million donation to shame – they promptly raised it).

So, highlights of Crimbo 2004:

1. No work for 17 whole days!  That’s SEVENTEEN WHOLE DAYS (yes!).

2. Getting tonsillitis on the first day (snarl mutter bugger).  Waited three days for doctor’s appointment, given medication that literally pushed me into the arms of Death so stopped taking them, and the tonsils ballooned again.  I tell ya, the buggers swell One More Time I’m taking them out myself.

3. Took Middle Son’s ‘stocking’ into his room at 9am Christmas morning.  He was in a coma.  Went back at 9.30am, he was still comatosed, so took his stocking downstairs to encourage him to Get Up!  Didn’t work.

4. Small Son arriving (from his girlfriend’s) all excited at 10am.  “Can’t start opening presents until the coma victim is up,” I told him, and he dashed upstairs to physically drag Middle Son out of bed – MS croaked, “Where’s my stocking?”  He’s 20!

5. Meticulous Middle Son discarding wrapping paper and pressies all over the room in wild abandon, whilst Slobby Small Son neatly bagged and piled – I needed smelling salts.

6. Having time, lots and lots of lovely time.

7. The absolute bliss of having someone else (my brilliant partner) cooking Crimbo dinner (and enjoying doing it – he’s not normal!).

8. Small Son asking for a ‘small’ Christmas dinner.  We all looked at him.  “What?” he laughed.  “You can’t fool us,” I told him, “You’ve already had Christmas dinner at your girlfriend’s, haven’t you.”  He just grinned.

9. The tradition of The Sprout.  The boys don’t eat them, but every year we put one on their plates anyway just in case they want to live dangerously and improve their taste buds.  And every year the plate is cleared apart from this One Lone Sprout.

10. The ex picking the boys up on Boxing Day and Not Saying a Single Word about our beautiful, newly decorated living room – no criticisms, no sarky comments, just blissful silence (nah nah nah nah nah).

11. Finally being able to take the safety pins out of my work trousers and taking them in properly with the new sewing machine – I have fitted trousers (posh bird).  And a tablecloth.  And a new pouffe cover.  And plans to make covers for every item of furniture in the house!  Material, must have material, need more material!!!!

Now, of course, the misery of Going Back to Work is starting to set in.  We don’t want to go.  I mean we REALLY don’t want to go. 

So now we’re trying to figure out how we can live in abject poverty and still be happy.

It’s not looking good.

Friday 31

New Year’s Eve.  Another year almost gone!  It’s like being on H.G.Wells’ Time Machine, just watching my life flash passed at the speed of light, scraping my nails along the walls trying to slow it down a bit, to no avail.

So, we thought, what should we do to celebrate this momentous event?  We deliberated all day.  Nearest decent pub (a bus ride away) for a few pints and a yak?  A meal? 

“What do you really want to do?” my partner asked. 

Took me 10 seconds to decide.  “What I’d really like to do,” I said, as he hung on my every word, not breathing, “I’d like to have a really long bath, eat one of your curries, and watch a good film.”

He exhaled.  Exactly what he wanted to do, too.  Phew.

Bath fab.  Meal excellent.  Film (Starsky & Hutch) rubbish!  But the fireworks at midnight were magnificent – from the upstairs bedrooms we could see them exploding all over the city centre.

Happy New Year.