The Bull Ring Shopping Centre, Birmingham
"Right, wait until she comes round the corner and then all walk towards her at once."

Joy to the world! ... oh, that's next month.  (Time now to start hyperventilating about that much dreaded event, Christmas Shopping arrrrrrrrrrrgh!).

Monday 1

Went on Birmingham’s Big Wheel at lunchtime.  It’s REALLY BIG, fabulous views of the rooftops (and some of em could do with a good clean!). 

Thought £5 for roughly five revolutions was a bit extortionate though.  Far cheaper to click on the above link and see it all for free.

Tuesday 2

I know I keep going on about this sandwich place that I use for lunch, but the staff are just so … odd!  Here’s today’s conversation:

Me: White baguette with ham salad and mayonnaise please.
Assistant: [Moving like a slug on Valium gets baguette - and its white! Amazing!]  And what would you like on that?
Me:  Ham salad.
Assistant: [Puts ham on baguette]  Anything else with that?
Me:  Yes, salad please.
Assistant: [Puts on cucumber like she’s constructing an atomic bomb]  Anything else?
Me: Er, tomatoes and lettuce.
Assistant: [Puts on tomatoes].  Sorry, what else?
Me: Lettuce.  Iceberg.  The green leafy stuff in front of you.  Just there, see it?  That.  On the baguette.
Assistant:  Anything else?
Me: [Patience of Job} Mayonnaise.
Assistant: [Picks up salad cream bottle … I let her get on with it.]

Lunch should not be this difficult!

Wednesday 3

Lost my boss today.  He had a meeting to attend this morning and I thought it strange that he hadn’t turned up by 9.15am.

By 9.30 he still hadn’t arrived.  By 9.45 I was asking all the secretaries if they’d had a call from him explaining his lateness.  They hadn’t.

10am I again looked at the appointment in his diary.  Definitely a meeting.  Definitely today.  Definitely 11am. 

By 10.15 I was really worried and wondering what the official procedure was for reporting lost bosses.  Again, I looked at his diary appointment.  Meeting.  Today.  11am.  Realised, for the first time, that there wasn’t that all important word included in the appointment, the one that says ‘Birmingham’. 

Seminar was in LONDON!  Duh.

Made appointment to get eyes tested, wondered what the official procedure was to get brains tested.

Thursday 4

Trying to catch us all off guard, the bus came early this morning.  I ran down the road towards it like a right girlie with my arm outstretched and my face a picture of optimistic expectation.  The bus driver glanced at me and grinned.  Great, I thought, grinning back, he’ll stop for me.

Did he Hell!  Despite the fact that I was mere inches from the bus stop and was clearly a potential/desperate wannabe passenger, he sailed on passed, still grinning.  I was well cheesed off.  Cursed him to death, the swine.

So, had to wait for the next bus, which was, surprise surprise, late and crammed with screaming schoolgirls.  I went to sit on the only available seat, assuming the schoolgirl already sitting there would shift over.  She didn’t.  I sat on her leg - it must have really hurt. 

Good.

Friday 5

I am, at this very minute, sitting in the office, at my desk, at lunchtime.  Once again, as I have done every single day for the last two weeks, I'm trying to convince myself to Get Out There And Get Some Christmas Shopping Done.

Except ... I don't want to and nobody can make me [stamps foot petulantly].

So I'm doing this instead, infinitely more interesting.  I'm rather hoping Christmas will just turn up on my doorstep on the appropriate day and everyone will be happy and jolly and red-cheeked with happiness.

But enough, I don't want to think about Christmas any more, its way too early, there's plenty of time to sort all that out.

AN EMAIL:

APPLES

Women are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree.

Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they just take the rotten apples from the grounds that aren't as good, but easy to pick up.......

The apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, the one who's brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree.

Share this with other women who are good apples, even those who have already been picked!

Now Men.... Men are like a fine wine. They begin as grapes, and it's up to women to stomp the s**t out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

ONCE MORE, WITH COMMENTS (mine):

APPLES

Women are like apples on trees [some are shaped like apples, some are shaped like pears]. The best ones are at the top of the tree [yo, look at us, we're at top of tree, yay].

Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are [arseholes, idle, not fussy?] afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they just take the rotten apples from the grounds that aren't as good, but easy to pick up....... [yep, sounds about right]

The apples at the top think something is wrong with them [er, do we?], when in
reality, they're amazing [we know! we know!]. They just have to wait for the right man to come along [oh, and then our world will be complete will it?], the one who's brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree [while the 'amazing' women at the top lob apples and large boulders at them].

Share this with other women who are good apples [I don't want to be an apple any more, I want to be Catherine Zeta Jones], even those who have already been picked! [picked? lay one finger on me, mate, and you die!]

Only kidding.

Saturday 6

Languished lazily in bed until gone 11am, then wondered why the day passed so quickly! 

Sister and mother visited and we pithered over where to go at Christmas (family tradition to go to something Christmassy together). Three women trying to make a decision, it took hours!  Finally decided on the 'White Christmas' concert at the Symphony Hall, with an additional Comedy Act at the beginning of December (only a fiver).  Partner and I going to indulge in Mozart by Candlelight on our own.

We have a squirrel in our garden which came after the giant sunflower head I left to dry out on the barbeque.  Nothing remains of the seeds except the husks, but I don't mind.  Started putting nuts out for it.  Meanwhile, my dad chases his squirrel out of his garden with alarming regularily - it ate all the corn-on-the-cob he'd grown so he's not best pleased with it.

Sunday 7

So I've cleaned and scrubbed and re-covered the kitchen stools and glittered some Crimbo decorations while my Partner scraped some plaster on our bare walls, and now I'm sitting here laptopping and Partner is next to me watching some god-awful black and white movie (In Which We Serve - no idea how Noel Coward and Celia Johnson can talk with all those marbles in their mouths).  I know for a fact that I'm having to endure the soundtrack nearly two hours simply because my Partner likes the ending, where they all say 'Hip Hip Hoorrar' (Hoorrar = marbled version of Horray). 

Watched Troy last night - Gladiator, but longer and nowhere near as good!  Massive battle scenes interspersed by endless yakking, and Brad Pitt's acting was more wooden than the Trojan Horse.  "The greatest sword and sandle epic every made" ... I don't think so.  Partner now expresses an interest in watching The Passion of the Christ, which is apparently all in Latin - I don't think I can take much more!!!  I just wanna watch Love Actually over and over again!

Aaaanyway, film critique spasm over and onto more interesting things.  This is good: Strip Britney Spears! - make sure your sound is on (I take no responsibility for anyone viewing this).

This is seriously odd, but very funny.

Now that my whole two hours of Me Time is over, I'm off to do the much-loathed ironing - its a case of iron, or turn up at work wearing my dressing gown which, whilst comfortable, would not earn me any brownie points with my bosses.

Monday 8

Monday.  Grey.  Cold.  Drizzling.  The people at the bus stop this morning all thoroughly fed up.

And what does the bus company send us?  A single decker!  At rush hour!

So it pulls up and this little school kid jumps in front of the woman at the front of the queue (us passengers are very fussy about keeping our places in the queue, this in an unwritten rule and probably a Terribly British thing to do).  We get on.  There’s one seat left.  The school kid throws himself into it.  The woman who was at the front of the queue approaches him.  She tips her head quickly (translation: “Get yer arse out of there, boy.”)  The kid moves pretty swiftly and, quite honestly, faced with the same evil look, I’d have shifted pretty quickly too.

It’s a jungle out there!

Wednesday 10

Almost a year after we first met, my Partner and I took a holiday in Fuerteventura to celebrate our ‘zero’ birthdays (my very first holiday abroad).  Whilst there, we sat on a sandy beach in Corralejo, surrounded by dunes and camels, and swapped rings, said a few heartfelt words.  This was our alternative to Getting Married … we Got Committed instead (and boy, do we need committing).

That was four years ago and I still think he’s a fantastic human being and a fabulous partner.  So, Happy Anniversary, I love you loads.  And this is specially for you.

Sloppy bit over.

Thursday 11

Company network problems for the last week means the whole office can’t print - it keeps crashing the computers.  There’s never a dull moment in the high-tech corporate world! 

To top it all, both photocopiers go down.  Us secretary-types email our bosses with this pertinent information - “We can’t print anything, anywhere, anytime.”  After the email had been sent, several secretaries tell me that their bosses (not mine) asked them to print documents because “I can’t seem to print from my computer.”

Click this.

Saturday 13

My dad's been hunting for a 'specialist' (i.e. WW2) video for ages but couldn't find it in any shops, so I rang him for details to get it for him on the internet.  We'd been talking for a few minutes when he said, "I'll just get those catalogue numbers I was telling you about."  It was the first I'd heard of catalogue numbers.  "Right," he said, rustling papers, "First, [MY NAME]’s birthday present, could you get ... " 

"Dad," I hastily interrupted, "You know this is [MY NAME], don't you?" 

There was a long pause.  "Ah," he said, "No, I thought you were [MY SISTER]."

Excited now, I cried, "So what you getting me for my birthday then, dad? Eh?  Eh?"

Obviously flummoxed, dad said, "I don't trust myself to speak now, I'll phone you back when I've found out where I've left my brain."

And he promptly hung up.

Sunday 14

My partner and I were chatting and I told him I was named after an old film star.  "Isn't she the one that married some bloke from the South of France?" he said.

I looked at him.  "You mean Grace Kelly?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"And 'some bloke from the South of France' was actually Prince Rainier of Monaco."

"Yeah," he said, totally unimpressed, "That's the fella."

Gives a whole new meaning to the song, One Day My Bloke-from-the-South-of-France Will Come.

The squirrel in our garden has become brave (or else very hungry).  We spotted him this morning on our bird table, which is about four feet from our kitchen window.  He didn't seem the least bit phased by us staring at him, gasping 'oh isn't he handsome' and snapping pics like professional wildlife photographers.  Fussy bugger too, sorting through the pile of bird seed for the best bits.  The family of Great Tits waiting in the hedge were not amused.

Monday 15

Reasons Why You Should Go To Work Naked - (except in my office, where the bloody heating system has broken Yet Again and I'm actually sitting here at my desk wearing my overcoat!)

Tuesday 16

My partner and I are both pretty laid back and easy going and rarely fall out, so when we do its a Really Big Thing.  And we're usually desperate to make up again and have everything back to normal, so the conversation usually goes: "I'm sorry," "No, I'm sorry," "No, I'm sorrier," "Really, it was my fault entirely,"  "Honestly, it was me," "I apologise," "No, I apologise" et al.

Wednesday 17

My boss was presenting a seminar and rang me at my desk to ask for some leaflets.  I took them down, entered the meeting room, discovered to my horror 30 people all facing me in utter silence. 

It was like a scene from a slow motion movie as I turned my head, desperately looking for my boss, who was (Sods Law) on the Other Side of the Room. 

I forgot how to walk?  My legs became inanimate objects that bore no relationship to the rest of my body whatsoever.  Under the watchful gaze of 30 people (wide-eyed and enthralled by this stunned-looking secretary), I wobbled my way passed the audience trying to be elegant but looking like a puppet with decidedly dodgy strings. 

I held out the papers.  They visibly trembled in my hand.  Days seem to pass before my boss  looked up and took them.  Then came the delicate manoeuvre of turning on the spot and staggering back out of the room without tripping over my own feet.

It was only afterwards I thought maybe I should have made the most of the situation and somersaulted my way in and out, perhaps with a bit of a tap dance at the end.

But, of course, you never think of these things at the time.

Thursday 18

Lunch.  Girlies.  Indian restaurant.  Huge meal.  WINE!  Fab time. 

4pm, virtually comatose at my desk.

Must not drink at lunch must not drink at lunch must not ......

And oh ... OH! ... birthday tomorrow! ...

Must drink more to forget ageing decrepitude must drink more to forget  ...

Friday 19

My birthday! My birthday!  Decided that I really can’t carry on being 37 any more or people are gonna get suspicious that the same figure is mentioned every year.  So settled on being 39, which means I can have a big 40th birthday next year … again.

Left work 12.30.  Shopped til I dropped, complete bloody nightmare.  Bought perfume in one shop, £15.60, discovered it in next shop for £9.99 so bought that and took the first one back.  “We don’t normally give refunds,” they said.  “I work with lawyers,” I told them, “I know my rights”.  The manager was called and, as I signed the refund slip, I put my bags of shopping on the counter, including a bright red 'Perfume Shop' bag.  All the staff glared at me accusingly, I grabbed my money and made a run for it.

Whizzed down New Street armed with my list.  Then got to Borders bookshop in the Bull Ring.  BIG mistake.  Needed one book.  Came out with six plus two calendars and an empty purse. 

Heavily laden with carrier bags, I was on the bus home by 2.30. 

Dad called me into his house as I plodded passed.  He kept giving me things … card, small pressie, big pressie, little birthday cake, biscuits, coffee (offered alcohol but I thought 3pm was a bit early to start).  “Oh, I feel really special,” I said, swamped in gifts.  “But you are special,” he said.  Thanks dad.

Got home, threw food in mouth, settled down with laptop, mom came.  Yakked.  She went.  Partner came home.  Yakked.  Small Son came with card (he'd written “To the best mom,” and I almost cried).   Partner started cooking, I sat with Small Son expecting to yak some more.  He was on the laptop picking CDs for his Crimbo pressies, chatting on house phone to his girlfriend next door, and text messaging his friends on his mobile all at the same time – talk about multi-tasking!  When he’d finished doing all that, he went.  Nice talking to ya, kid.

Ate, drank, watched Shrek 1 & 2 that Middle Son had sent me (brilliantly funny) – perfect, absolutely perfect. 

Saturday 20

Oh, I’m old.  Woe is me.

Slept like a coma victim until 9.20am (sign of old age?).  Partner came home from work at 10, we yakked for a bit and then we both Went Back To Bed and slept until 2pm!  I think human beans still have the urge to hibernate in winter – I’m willing to be tested for this theory if any scientists want to pay me a salary until April.

Smoking.  I gave up in April to much smugness (easy, best thing I ever did, feel great etc etc).  Lasted five months.  Then Small Son tipped me over the edge and it was nicotine, alcoholism or senility – couldn’t decide, so opted for all three.  Now the Government / Big Brother / Nanny State want to ban smoking in all public places.  That will affect us nicotine addicts how, exactly?  Can we smoke on buses these days?  No.  Can we smoke at work?  No.  Can we smoke in pubs without someone coughing and giving us dirty looks?  No.  And I don’t like smoking in restaurants.  And I never smoke in other people’s houses.  And I can’t smoke whilst I walk the streets because I obviously don’t have the co-ordination for it (burn holes in all my suits and jackets bear testament to this).  There are two places where I smoke – at home and in some god-forsaken, wind-swept, rain-soaked basement area under my office building.  So go ahead, ban it, see if I care.

Wonder how many people will think, “Ooooh, the Government doesn’t want us to smoke any more, better give it up then.”

Yeah, right.

Sunday 21

As my partner was diligently painting the living room ceiling, I offered to start dinner.  This entailed putting chicken portions into a tin and throwing them into the oven.  Easy, you might think, but hey, this is me we’re talking about.

Turn oven on, walk away.  Return a few minutes later to see if oven’s hot enough.  It’s cold.  But the grill is going full blaze.

Turn grill off, turn oven on high to warm it up quickly, put in chicken.

Promptly forget all about them.  Two hours later, remember to check on their progress.

They’re carbon.

I tried, I failed, I’m not doing it again.

Monday 22

Some Monday’s are just worse than others.  Take today, for instance.

I’m standing at my bus stop in a freezing gale force wind at 7.50am.  I’m still standing at my bus stop at 8.20am, with hair that would put a candyfloss to shame.  Finally a single decker trundles up the road - packed, of course, but I manage to find an empty place next to a Very Large Lady and perch precariously on the edge of the seat.  This bus is so old every time it pulls up at a stop, the driver has to get out of his cabin to kick the doors shut!

Arrive at work late.  There’s a card from the Post Office on my desk.  The items I ordered off the internet 13 days ago for my Partner’s birthday and Christmas presents have arrived, but I have to go and collect them personally (on the other side of town) because I have to pay £8.90 customs charge!  Ouch!

And there’s more.  The specialist video’s I ordered for my dad’s Crimbo pressies finally arrived too, only one of the cases is smashed.

Internet shopping has suddenly lost its appeal.

And to add to the general Monday Morning Miseries, the heating system in the office has packed up again so we’re all sitting here in our overcoats.  An email from the building manager tells us the air conditioning isn’t pulling in fresh air so its going to get very stuffy later … so we’re either going to freeze or suffocate.

Nice.

Tuesday 23

A shopping expedition.

Leave building.  Spend five minutes looking for my lighter in bag so I can have a cigarette, but I’ve left it on my desk.  Walk across town, looking for someone with a fag I can bum a light off … not a soul (has the whole world given up?)  Eventually, I spot a frail old lady smoking.  When I say, “Excuse me … “ she glares at me with eyes as big as dinner plates clearly thinking I’m going to mug her or something, but I eventually get a light.

Stand outside Bull Ring puffing for 10 minutes.  It starts to rain.

Inside, PACKED!  Zillions of people ambling towards me (always towards me!) carrying dozens of bags and moving as if they have All The Time In The World.  I have 30 minutes left of my lunchbreak, and about 15 minutes worth of patience

Push through crowds, buy Christmas pressies - 10 minutes.  Race back to office - 20 minutes.  Number of times hit by someone else’s bloody enormous shopping bags - 42.  Number of times bashed on head by someone’s bloody enormous umbrella - 97. 

Number of times I cursed under my breath - 1,352.

Wednesday 24

Seething!  Absolutely spitting bullets.

Yesterday I had to finish some work for another secretary, who said her computer wasn't working properly - this was all last minute stuff for a meeting tomorrow, but I did it (and earned about a million brownie points from my boss in the process).

This morning I was supposed to be ‘helping’ this secretary with the meeting.  Only she didn’t turn up until 9.30 (when I’d already been there half an hour, meeting and greeting on my own).  When she did eventually arrive, she rearranged all the badges I’d laid out and interrupted me when I was greeting people, making me look a right mong.  I nearly swung for her.  In the end I had to walk off and leave her to it or blood would have been shed.

Young ‘uns today, tsk.

Thursday 25

Winter is getting to me.  Going to work in the dark and coming home in the dark with only one hour of grey light at lunchtime - I feel like a Vampire.  Getting up in pitch black is like getting up in the middle of the night, and my brain can't cope.  Consequently, when I leap (okay, crawl, crying) from bed, my brain continues to slumber on the pillow, all warm and cosy.  Lobotomised, I stand in the middle of the room thinking, "What do I do first?"  Like I haven't been doing this for years!

So, anyway, by some miracle, I manage to get myself dressed (always a worry that I'll leave the house wearing my dressing gown) and even manage the interminable wait for the bus without lying on the ground and going back to sleep.

I get to work.  I can't get in the door.  I swipe the security monitor several times whingeing "It doesn't work," as a queue of overkeen office staff forms behind me.  One bloke eventually leans forward and nods towards my hand.  "You won't open it with that," he says.  I look.  I'm not holding my security pass.  It's my bus pass.

Oh the embarrassment!

Roll on Spring.

Friday 26

The managing partner of the company receives a smiley face mug in the post from a client.  As most people know I'm 'into' smiley faces in a big way, the managing partner's secretary (a mate) tells me of this momentous event.  Later, my mate comes over and puts said mug on my desk.  "It's yours," she said, "I put in a good word for you."

Fabulous!

I email the managing partner my thanks.  Later, I get a reply from the managing partner.  The email contains one word.  "Creep."

THE MANAGING PARTNER OF THE WHOLE COMPANY THINKS I'M A CREEP!

I'm mortified.  I turn in my seat to stare miserably at my mate on the other side of the office.

And see her head bobbing up and down hysterically.  I wander over to her desk and poke her.  "Cow!" I hiss, "You nearly gave me heart attack!".  "I couldn't resist," she said.

Saturday 27

I offered (yeah, willingly volunteered!) to paint the living room while my partner spent the day visiting family in Yorkshire.  We have to split decorating up like this because, together, in the same room, doing the same thing, we tend to bicker horrendously (each of us firmly believing that we know the right way to do it).  So I paint, my partner puts up the wallpaper, and never the twain shall meet … it works for us.

Partner said it would only take half an hour to rub down all the skirting boards and door frames, I confidently predicted it would take me less than that.  He left, I got started with the sandpaper.

An HOUR AND A HALF later, my arms are like led!  Afterwards (lying on the floor, gasping, all the windows wide open because I’m burning with exertion) I notice the woodwork is now covered in a fine dust (along with everything else in the room).  With a primeval scream, I realise I’m going to have to wash it all down before I paint it!  Which takes an hour and gives me bulging biceps that Sylvester Stalone would be proud of.

Started 10am, finished painting at flipping 3.30pm.  By now, with all the windows open, the house is like an icebox.  Can’t put gas fire on because all the furniture is piled up in front of it, so I rush upstairs and huddle over a plug-in radiator.

I’m just getting warm by the time partner gets back from Yorkshire at 8pmish.

The new paintwork - in the frozen wasteland downstairs - doesn’t dry until the early hours of the morning.

I dream about penguins.

Sunday 28

Put furniture back, TURN FIRE ON FULL BLAST.  Shop, pick wallpaper (yay, at last), clean, wash and (most dreaded of all) The Bloody Ironing.

The excitement of Sundays.

Monday 29

Friday’s lunchtime shopping spree was a bit of a wash-out - walked all the way to the other side of town to discover one shop had sold out of the item I wanted, I couldn’t find another shop at all, and WOOLWORTHS NO LONGER SELL CHRISTMAS TREES! (like, since when?).

Today, I was a woman with a mission.  Instead of bolting from the building like a bat out of hell, pushing pedestrians out of the way and rugby tackling customers in queues, I Took My Time.  Seemed to work.  Got back to the office laden down with carrier bags.  My boss also returned laden and put her bags down next to mine.  No chance of getting them mixed up, mine were Argos, The Pound Store and so-cheap-it-doesn’t-have-a-logo plastic bags whilst my boss’s were cream cardboard carriers with proper handles from GAP.

I don’t think they’re paying me enough.

Tuesday 30

During my interminable journey into work this morning, my left arm started to tingle.  Strange, I thought.  After a while it went completely dead.  By now I was getting worried.  When it started to throb with pain, I was convinced I was having a heart attack (my howling brain vowed to cut down on food, alcohol, cigarettes and sex … not much incentive to stay alive then).  I scrambled for my mobile phone as I got off the bus, desperate to tell someone I was dying (partner, my boys, then, if I still had time and enough credit left, my mom and dad).  As soon as I lifted my shoulder bag from my shoulder, the pain stopped, the blood rushed back into my arm, and all was well again with the world.

Silly cow.