AUGUST

Monday 31 July

Yep, know this should be in July’s blog, but last month is So Over.

Decided to accept the job I went for on Friday.  It sounds like a challenge, sounds rather interesting, and I was looking for something different.  Also everyone I spoke to about it wailed, “You’re thinking about it!  Go for it, you plonk!”

I’m ‘going in’ as a temp, so if it turns out not to be the job I was born to do, I can leave.  Hopefully not.

Hopefully this is the beginning of a whole new era.

Informed my agency, who were thrilled in an OTT kind of way.  Later they rang to ask me if I was interested in another temping position they’d just had in (Breaking News! Just In! Another Job).  “But I already have a job, at least for the next few weeks,” I told them.

“It doesn’t hurt to keep your options open,” they said.

“But I haven’t even started yet.”

“It might hurry them to take you on permanently if they know you’re going for other jobs.”

What? That wasn't even logical!   “They won’t know I’m going for other jobs because I haven’t started yet.  Let me at least get there!”

“So are you interested in this new position?” they urged.

“No!”

Later, an email, from the agency.  Another job in Five Ways.  I declined.  Later, a voicemail message on my mobile phone, “Can you call us straight away, its very important.”  Thinking it might be about the job I’d accepted, I rang.  “Exciting new opportunity!” they raved.

Jeeeez!

Anyway, once the clearly hyperactive agency had calmed down and gone quiet, I had time to remember that it was Best Mate’s birthday last week when she’d been on holiday.  I needed to get her something, and fast.

“Wanna do lunch?” I emailed her.  “I have something for you.”  I hadn’t.  Not yet anyway.  My mate has half hour for lunch, 1.30 to 2pm.  Which gave me plenty of time to scour the shops looking for a suitable present.

“Definitely meet up if you have something for me,” she emailed back, “But I’m having an early lunch today.  Meet you at 1.15pm.”

Oh.

Bummer!

At 1pm I sprinted from the office building and raced up and down the Great Western Arcade in a wild panic  looking for a present for Best Mate.  Damart.  Rackhams (never find my way out again).  Greggs.

There was only one thing for it, the old ‘back up’ emergency measure.  Thorntons.

Raced in, grabbed a box, said to the woman behind the counter (as I always do), “And I’ll have one of every chocolate in your loose section.”  Ha ha ha.  Struggled to haul purse out of bag, by the time I looked up I saw the woman delicately putting chocolates into a bag.  Apologised (for her not having a sense of humour), paid for box, sloped out.

Card.  Need a card.  Need it within the next 6 minutes.

Papershop.  Scoured the display, found one without flowers or teddies that didn’t contain a verse dripping with vomit-inducing sentiment, bought it, hurried back through the Great Western Arcade figuring I’d write it out on the way.

Searched bag.  No bloody pen.  Not even an eyeliner.

Argh!

I was standing outside a shoe shop, holding a blank card with a pained expression on my face.  Hurried into shop intending to ask assistant at the counter if I could borrow a pen.  Only there was no-one at the counter – the shop was heaving with shoe-fetishists, but no staff.  I politely waited.  And waited.  I now had a minute and a half to race across town to meet my mate on time.  Snatched pen off till, scribbled on the card, put pen back (thinking a till burglar would have a really easy job here).

Ran.

By the time I met my mate, I was puce, sweating and dishevelled.  “Here,” I gasped, handing her the Thorntons bag.  “Thanks,” she said.

Mission accomplished. 

Phew.

Tuesday 1 August

Agency still emailing me details of Other Jobs!  Amazing.

“Can I send them your CV?” they kept asking.

“NO!” I kept shrieking.

Meet another mate for lunch.  I don’t drink coffee (or tea), but every now and again I get a mad urge for a cappuccino, so we went to Druckers.  It was full, nowhere to sit, but they served us anyway.  “Anything else?” the assistant asked.  “Just a table,” I replied.  There wasn’t one (must have been Lunch At Druckers Day or something).  I was on the verge of handing back the coffees since standing and drinking in a jostling crowd isn’t really my thang, when somebody vacated a couple of seats.  My agility to get to the table before someone else nabbed it should have been recorded in slow motion for posterity.

Drink, yak, outside for a fag.  There were ‘survey people’ in St Philips Square.  “Can I ask you a couple of questions?” one of them asked as we hurried passed.  Gave them the standard “No, sorry, got to rush back to the office” without stopping and without making eye contact (imperative).  “It’s for a newspaper survey,” they said, and I halted dead in my tracks.  A golden opportunity!  Plug Brummie Blogs?  Mention inept management in top law firms?  Say something about – ?

“What most irritates you?” the survey person asked.

“How long you got?” I replied.

I rattled off my hate-hate relationship with bus drivers and my screaming aversion to catatonic shop assistants, and was about to mention survey people stopping you in streets when you’re already late back from lunch when the survey person said, “Some people have mentioned James Blunt.”

“Oh don’t get me started on James Blunt!” I wailed.  “What a misery!  So depressing.  The man really needs to get out more!”

Finally, “Can we just take a head shot for the paper?”

Oooh, a photo.  Fame at last.  Of course I preened, I posed, I fluffed up my hair while my mate looked on laughing her socks off.  I was asked my name and age and as I turned to lie convincingly, frowning and pursing my lips in a ‘forty’ kind of way, they took the photo. 

I didn’t buy the paper (couldn’t remember which one it was, anyway).

Bought Coke on the way back to the office.  Coffee and Coke in a decaffeinated body - you better believe I was bouncing off the walls all afternoon.

Wednesday 2

And talking of bus drivers …

Waited 25 minutes for my bus this morning.  Finally, two arrived at once – obviously shy and didn’t want to be out on their own.  One stopped at my stop while the other sailed by.

The bus I got on was obviously early (whilst the bus that shot passed at the speed of light was late).  So while the ‘late’ bus disappeared into the distance like a heat seeking missile, my bus sauntered, passed the time at traffic junctions and sat waiting for endless minutes at bus stops.  Every single passenger was bouncing up and down in their seats hissing, “For farks sake, we’re gonna be farking late for work!”  While the driver sat in his cab, inspecting his nails and idly glancing at his watch. 

How he didn’t sense the seething animosity and run for his life I’ve no idea.

Sod.

Thursday 3

As regular readers to Brummie Blogs will know, I live with a tall, handsome, funny, verbose and tactile Yorkshireman.  After 6 and a half years, I still think he’s the bees knees – he’s bloody great. 

So I’d like to take a moment here to say thanks to the irresistible Yorkshireman for the ‘little things’ that mean so much.

• When I wake up in the morning after he’s left (at 5.30am!), I always find a glass of cordial by my bedside – it’s my wake-up drink.  He even puts ice in it in summer.

• He’s never too busy or tired to listen or hug.

• He opens doors for me and treats me like a lady (because he’s such a gentleman).

• He (like me) isn’t too grown up to play like a child – chasing each other round the house laughing until we feel sick, play fighting on the living room floor, playing tig in the park on our pushbikes, or indulging in a water fight in the garden with the hosepipe.  I love that.

• He makes me feel 16.

• He cooks food that (because I’m anosmic and my taste-buds are screwed) I can actually taste.

• He gets given an expensive bottle of whisky as a gift and gives it to me.  Star!

So, ‘darling, sweetie, angel-cake, buttercup bread’, thanks – you’re the best.

Friday 4

At 10.30 I receive a phonecall in the office from a client, who says her train is delayed and she’ll be late for an appointment with my boss.  I email my boss to let him know.  I then receive a reply from him saying, “No she isn’t!  She’s here and has been here since 9am!”

I go over to him.  “She’s here?” I say.

“Who?”

“The client who rang about being late.”

“I thought that was you.”

“It was me who sent you the email.”

“So you’re not late, then.”

“No.  The client’s going to be late.”

“But you just said she was here.”

“No, I was asking if she was here because you said she was.”

We both stand facing each other with mirrored expressions of complete and utter confusion for a good few seconds.  Then he asks for the client’s file and disappears.  Five minutes later, my phone rings.  “She’s not here!” says my boss from a meeting room.

“Who?”

“The client.”

“The one who said she was going to be late?”

“But you said she was here.”

“No, you said I was here.”

“But you sent me an email!”

“Yes, to say the client would be late.”

“I thought that was you.”

“It was me.  Sending the email.  To say the client would be late.  I wasn’t late.”

The phone went dead and, a few minutes later, he walks back into the office.  As he passes my desk I look up and say, “Now that’s what I call a breakdown in communication!”

Fortunately, he laughs. 

Later, when the client finally arrives, I go over to him and said, very clearly, enunciating each and every vowel, “The client is most definitely here.”

Again, he laughs.  I can work for people with a sense of humour no problem.

Unfortunately, it’s my last day.  I didn’t like the assignment at first but its amazing how quickly you can get used to frantic chaos when the people you work with are genuinely nice.

In the afternoon, the Big Boss came over to me, pulled up a chair, and sat down.  He said they were all sad to see me go, that I’d been brilliant, to come back if the other job didn't work out, that everyone really liked me and it felt like I’d been there for years. 

I was really touched.

Proof, once again, that I can work absolutely anywhere, except with people who are shite.

Fortunately, there aren’t many of them around (they all work at my old place – wah ha couldn’t resist!).

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, time to move on … again. 

Maybe for the last time. 

We shall see.

Monday 7

So, another week, another job, this one hopefully permanent. 

The office I walked into this morning is HUGE, absolutely ENORMOUS, and all of it brand spanking new (like most of the personnel, which is nice as everyone’s in the same ‘oh my god I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going’ boat).  One side of the office is full of people, then you turn a corner to go down the other side of the office, which is totally empty.

Guess where I’m sitting.  Yep, on the empty side, completely and utterly alone except when my boss comes out of meetings (boss sits next to me, not sure how I feel about this yet, but boss in a lot of meetings so maybe it won’t matter).   I kid you not, I’m surrounded by at least 80 vacant desks and I’m sitting smack in the middle like some contagious social pariah.  I wander off for a chat when I start losing the will to live, but it doesn’t look good for a temp not to be at her desk for any length of time.

But fear not, first day enthusiasm abounds.  I skip enthusiastically to a kitchen area to deposit my home-made sandwiches in the fridge.  At lunch time, verging on starvation because we’re not allowed to eat at our brand new desks, I go back to kitchen.  Only it’s a different kitchen.  There are,  apparently, THREE separate kitchens in this office, THAT’S how big it is.  I was suffering malnutrition and hallucinating by the time I was reunited with my sarnies again.

But think I might like it.

Tuesday 8

I didn’t catch the bus to work this morning, I boarded a racing car cunningly disguised as a bus.  I thought I’d never get off alive, we were doing at least 70mph down residential roads, almost deafened by the screeching of emergency braking.  I was sitting at the back of the bus and watched as, one by one, every passengers reached out to grip onto the seat in front.  Really tightly

Fortunately (miraculously) we didn’t crash, run anybody over or die – which is nice

Anyway, got to work in one piece, saw my boss for maybe 10 minutes, then spent the rest of the day on my own.

All alone.

Sigh.

Wednesday 9

Middle Son flew out to Europe with his backpack for a month.  Trying to keep my panic/worry/wailing in check – I think I’m doing quite well AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!           

Another day, another dollar.  At least it’s not Monday, The First Day.  I hate first days.  I was so disorientated I walked into the men’s toilets by mistake (and was HE surprised!) and everyone is a stranger.  I just smile and say Hi and Hello a lot – at least they respond here (nothing worse than a job where nobody acknowledges your existence on the planet – and when you’re sitting all on your own anyway its imperative you get this acknowledgement just for the sake of your own sanity).   I just wing it and pretend I’m super confident, whilst inside I’m screaming ‘Oh bugger I can’t find my desk and I don’t understand the work and I’ll never in a million years remember all these names and faces and I want my mom!”

So no, at least it’s not Monday.

Thursday 10

Lunch with a friend.  Walked passed the Town Hall, which they’re just unveiling after extensive scrubbing of the outer walls or something.  I absolutely could not resist shouting up at the workmen, “You've missed a bit!”

Well I thought it was funny.

Friday 11

Survived the week - always good when you reach Friday and haven’t turned into a gibbering wreck or lost your remaining marbles along the way  Quite enjoyed it actually, there’s a certain excitement in learning a new job and meeting new people, excitement and soul crunching panic.

Going home on the bus tonight, the top deck was empty (it’s the school holidays) except for two mothers and their various children.  One family sat in front of me, the mother clearly harassed by her just-about-to-hit-adolescent daughters.  One of the daughters pointed out of the window and said, “Is that where daddy lives?  Oh no, not my daddy, I meant Kylie’s daddy, Pete.”  The other daughter, obviously Kylie, said, “No, that’s not where my daddy lives, it’s where Britney’s dad, Steve, lives.”  When they got up to get off at their stop, the tattoo on the mother’s back read Mike.  Must get very confusing in their family.

Meanwhile, sprawled across the back seats was a mother and three small sons.  She was talking into her mobile phone, in a very loud voice, saying, “I don’t give an effing shit about the b*****d, as long as me kids are alroight he can rot in ‘ell for all I care.”  Presumably about the boys father.

Who needs Eastenders?

View of Birmingham – just because … it’s pretty impressive.

Monday 14

I get off the bus at Broad Street and walk passed the library to Victoria Square some mornings.  This morning I was sitting next to Joseph Priestley outside the museum having a faaaaaaaaag, when I turned my head, saw something, and nearly collapsed with a heart attack.

There, over on the right, on top of one of the buildings, was the Grim Reaper.  I kid you not, it was the Grim Reaper, complete with hood and scythe, robes blowing in the wind, staring straight at me. 

I did have a split second of wondering if I should (a) run screaming back to the bus stop, never to return; or (b) stand on the flyover bridge warning everyone that the Grim Reaper was in Town; or (c) call the police in a fit of hysterics.

I didn’t do any of those because, basically, I’m pretty idle in the mornings and I hadn’t finished my fag.  So I just sat staring at it.

Can you see it yet? (click for bigger pic)

Can you see it now?

Weird, isn't it!  An albino Grim Reaper clutching his robes above Birmingham city centre!

So, what is it?

Tuesday 15

I sent two of my bosses an email today to say they had too many emails (as in hundreds) in their inbox and did they want me to do something about it before the System Administrator came chasing after them with a club.  One said yes.  The other just deleted them.  All of them.

Like his style!

As an aside, I see so many people walking around with earplugs, all listening to MP3 players.  And out of all these people, I never see one with a spring in their step or smiling or even nodding their head along to the beat.

What are they listening to?

I have upbeat music on my MP3 player because, first thing in the morning, I don't particularly want to listen to Mozart's Requiem or (God forbid) James Blunt.  So it's usually Bodyrockers or Daniel Powter (lurve Daniel Powter).  Full blast.  I strut into work, swinging my arms, (probably humming), just generally feeling uplifted.

So uplifted, in fact, that I often stand outside my office building, finishing my faaaaaaaaaaaag and struggling not to dance on the spot.

So if you're ever in Birmingham city centre and see a woman loaded down with bags, wearing a slightly scruffy suit, fag in mouth, grinning inanely, humming and doing a bit of a Tiger Feet dance in front of a building, that'll be me.

Wednesday 16

I’ve had numerous calls from my building society lately saying I need to change my mortgage plan because they’re phasing out the one I’m on, swines.

“We’ll be able to save you money,” they promised.

Incentive enough methinks to give up my lunch hour to sit in a tiny office discussing mortgage plans - honestly, I can’t begin to tell you how exciting that was.  Fortunately, I wasn’t confused by all the percentage rates and plethora of plans because I was given the choice of … one.  “I want a fixed mortgage so I know what I’ll be paying every month,” I’d told them.  “You can only go onto variable,” they declared.

Oh.  Right.  Okay then.

But (fanfare) good news!  They did manage to save me money.  My mortgage is now a couple of quid less – the woman told me this like it was a three figure sum.  “You’re already saving £2 on the variable rate mortgage!” she trilled.

So, well worth giving up a lunchbreak for then.

Thursday 17

What! A! Day!

I’m sitting at my work desk this morning, happily messing with diaries and appointments, when one of my bosses comes up to me.

“Are you busy?” he asked.

“Why?” said I, “Do you want me to fit something in for you?”

He said, “Can you sit in on this three hour meeting I’ve got and take minutes.”

All calmness and professionalism fell out of me like an upturned bucket of water.   I was a vision of raw panic.  “What?” I screeched, throwing myself back into my chair, “Me?  Meeting?  Minutes?  Now?  Now?  But – but – but.”

“Just take brief notes,” said the boss.

So, in a state of abject stunnedness, I picked up my pad and pen and followed him like a condemned woman into a meeting room full of people. 

It was the longest three hours of my life.  Because I’m new to this job, I didn’t know what was important, so I wrote down everything.  They all spoke fast, they spoke over each other, I couldn’t remember their names, but it all got scribbled down on my pad in a frantic, abbreviated, unfinished-sentence kind of way.  I filled 20 pages, could barely read a single word.

Meeting ended late, 10 minutes into lunchtime, and I had a busy lunchtime.  Raced to desk, snatched up bag, legged it.

Stepped outside the building and was drenched within seconds.  Lightning, thunder, torrential downpour, people fighting with flimsy brollies and a general feeling of wetness.  Swam to Thorntons (partner wanted choccies for his mom’s birthday tomorrow), dripped into shop, handed over a sodden note, braced myself to wade across to other side of town to meet mate in pub.

Talked really fast, left pub, got drenched.

Tried to decipher scribbled minutes all afternoon.  Brief notes turned into novel of Stephen King type proportions (ending was rubbish).

Hometime.  More rain.  Splashed to bus stop.  Got home.  Got into car.  Went to country pub for meal.  Almost fell asleep over steak and ale pie.

Home.  Upstairs.  Changed out of work clothes.  Me and partner fell onto bed for quick rest, promptly fell into a deep coma.

Slept.  8.20pm to 6.20am the following morning.

Think we were knackered. 

Friday 18

Where I stand outside my office building having a cigarette is on a main street.  Every single day since I’ve been working here, with every single cigarette I have, I get people coming up to me asking for directions.  One bloke asked me what the Iron Man meant (told him it meant the person who put it there should have brought a spirit level).

At first I was polite and helpful.  Two weeks later I’m struggling to resort to physical abuse.  Today was the final end of straw moment.

“Excuse me,” said a lost-looking person, “Can you tell me where the train station is?”

“Down that road, mate.”

“I want to get to Selly Oak.”

“Yep, straight down that road is where the trains are.”

“How long will it take to get to Selly Oak?”

Okay, patience wearing just a little thin now.  “Er, about 10 minutes.”

“How often do the trains to Selly Oak run?”

Patience leapt onto the pavement and did a lot of fist waving and fur pulling right about then.  “Do I look like Information Services?” I wailed, “Why would I know train timetables, I’m just standing here trying to have a fag.”

The person sloped off looking wounded.  I felt bad for a whole 3 seconds, which is the time it took for someone else to come up to me and ask where the Sealife Centre was.

Lunchtime.  Another heavy rainstorm.  As I’ve been soaked to the skin 15 times this week (swear I’m developing webbed fingers), I have a theory about lunchtime weather.  I reckon God is up there with his paint pots, staining clouds a dark grey, thinking to himself, “Hmmmm, this is rather good, need a good big to appreciate it.  I know, I’ll wait until lunchtime.”  Swine.

Made it to the Pallasades without drowning and did the dreaded deed – bought a much needed pair of trousers.  I shop quick – see it, grab it, pay for it, gone.  With trousers, I have to try them on because I couldn’t stand the additional agony of having to take them back if they don’t fit.  So shuffled into the fitting room, stripped, took trousers off hanger, realised I’d picked up the wrong size.

Bummer.

As the single molecule of enthusiasm had long since evaporated, I thought I might as well try them on anyway, despite the fact they would be too small.

Except … they weren’t!!!!  They fitted!!!!!  I’M THIN!!!!

I was so thrilled by this I rang my partner visiting his mother in Bradford.  “I’m a size 14!” I screeched.

“Oh. Good.”  That was all.  Nothing else.

Not the response I required.  This was a momentous event.  I rang a girlfriend and we shrieked excitedly down the phone for a bit.

I think I’m dissolving in the deluge of rainwater.

Bring it on, God!

This is so funny (contains nudity so nsfw).

This is just fun.

This is just amazing – me and my partner out on our pushbikes (phnar phnar) and the music’s pretty snazzy too (anyone know what it is?).

And this is a really good website (where I nicked all these from).

Sunday 20

Okay, time to bite the bullet.  It has to be done.  We can’t put it off any longer.  The washing machine has stopped spinning, stopped drying, and makes a rather nasty noise when the drum actually turns.

And worse, the fan in the fridge freezer is now so noisy I’m surprised the neighbours haven’t complained (I’m sure they must think we’re having building work done).  Sometimes the rattling and the metal-screeching crunching is so loud we can barely hold a conversation above the cacophony of kitchen equipment.

So, this morning, when I was screaming, “WHAT’S THE PLAN FOR TODAY?” and my partner was yelling, “WHAT DID YOU SAY?” for the third time, we realised it was time to do the dreaded deed and fork out an arm and a leg for domestic appliances.

Wah!

Curry’s website had a special offer on the washer-dryer we wanted, £50 cheaper if we bought it online.  Only I’m of the old fashioned view that I part with my hard-earned cash on face to face basis, so I know what face to moan at if anything goes wrong.  So off we toddled to the Currys shop.

“I’d like this fridge-freezer,” I told the assistant, pointing at a tall white rectangle, “And I’d like this washer-dryer at the price quoted on your website.”

“Oh no,” said the girl, horrified that I should even dare suggest such a thing, “That’s the internet price, we can’t sell it for that price here.”

“But I need both appliances,” I persisted, “I don’t want to buy one here then go home and buy the other one online.”

After a bit more whinging on my part, a manager-type came over.  “It’s just not convenient for me to buy two items two different ways,” I whined, like a genuinely disgruntled customer (whilst inside I was thinking They’ll never in a million years agree to this).

But wait.  What’s this?  The manager-type actually agrees with us.  And, of course, he has his profit margin to consider at the end of the day and we’re two customers about to walk out of his shop without buying anything.

So we get it for the cheaper price.

Go me!

We then sit in a small room while an assistant who’s only been there a few weeks and so doesn’t know the system very well goes through the motions of selling it to us on an interest free basis.  Name.  Address.  Telephone number.  Bank details.  Work details.

Ah, work details, got me there.  Only been with this company for two weeks.  Don’t actually know the address (embarrassed laugh).  The building’s in an odd place, it could be on any of the many streets on either side.  Ah, and phone number?  Ah ha ha cringe, haven’t actually taken note of my dust-covered work phone - yep, that’s how efficient I am. 

There followed an interminable amount of time whilst we all tried to figure out where I actually worked with the aid of Yellow Pages and Google!

Finally, the agony ended and our brand new silent items will be delivered next week.

Our neighbours will be pleased.

Wednesday 23

Woke up this morning to find I’d been lying on both my arms all night.  Tried to move them but they were totally numb, bereft of any feeling. 

Hmmm, interesting, and poses the rather urgent question, How do I get out of bed without the use of arms?

Rolling seemed to be the answer, and I didn’t crack my head on the bedside table as I fell to the floor either, so that was good.  Staggered to my feet and stood there, in the middle of the bedroom, waiting for some kind of arm sensation to return.

It didn’t. 

I twisted my body a bit, swinging my arms from side to side in the hope that centrifugal force might fill my arms with blood again.

It didn’t.

Okay, getting a bit worried now.  Maybe it was the altitude.  Went downstairs, which is more difficult than you think when you have unresponsive arms and a steep staircase (which looks like the north face of the Eiger when you can’t cling onto the banister).

Stood in middle of living room, twisted my body a bit, swung my numb appendages a bit, wondered vaguely how I’d be able to telephone for help if this turned out to be permanent.  Surely blood flow shouldn’t be restricted for this long?

Panic was just about to come out of its little box and start making a fuss when, like a dam bursting open, blood started to flow again.  It gushed into my arms and every molecule started tingling.  Tingling a bit more.  Pins and needles.  Really strong pins and needles, more like pickaxes and saw blades.  Felt like my arms were on fire and roughly the size of barrage balloons.

Now I’m standing in the middle of the living room staring at myself in the mirror above the fireplace, holding out my arms like they were about to explode, and hissing, “Berluddy ‘ell!”

I couldn’t move for a full five minutes as feeling returned to my arms with a vengeance.

Was late for work.

Thursday 24

Another bed story – what is going on?!  Is this the time of year bodies tie themselves up in knots during the night or is it just me?  Suspect its me.

Woke up this morning and I couldn’t see.  I must have slept face down with the pillows pushing into my eyeballs.  Eyeballs were now concave, like when you push a finger into a ping pong ball.  The world was decidedly fuzzy as I waited for my eyeballs to ping back out again.

Not too much of a problem in the shower or making sarnies (probably a bonus with regard to the sarnies).  But putting makeup on when I could barely focus on my face in the mirror wasn’t easy.  I did a close approximation of my daily makeup routine and went to work probably looking like Cocoa the Clown.

Eyeballs pinged back into focus around midday.  And yep, definitive proof that you need eyesight to apply makeup.

Went to sleep lying on my back with all appendages splayed out like a starfish, just in case.

Partner was pleased!

Saturday 26

Rollercoaster of a day.

First, new fridge freezer and washing machine arrived.  Partner fitted both without any hassle and without any intervention from me at all, which was fab.  Fridge freezer ‘breathes’ like Darth Vader – “I am your freeeeezer.”  Very odd.

Then, off out, to a ‘grown up’ shop someone had told us about (nudge nudge wink wink).  We thought it would be quite interesting/informative/fun to go and have a look, just out of curiosity you understand.  ‘Superstore’ it was called, so I had visions of a PC World style layout filled with, well, ‘grown up’ stuff.

Wrong!  Superstore my bum (no pun intended, I don’t think, but maybe I’ve been corrupted).  It was a tiny, squalid shop full of rather squalid looking men.  I didn’t dare bend down to look at the bottom shelves (not that I was sure I wanted to see what was down there)!  I tried to act blasé and casual, but Partner asking the man behind the counter for something ‘specific’ in his normal bellowing voice just enforced the view that I should make a run for the nearest shower and try to forget some of the stuff I’d seen (maybe see a therapist).  Who knew there were that many fetishes – I must have led a very sheltered life, that’s all I can say.

Next stop, the Jewellery Quarter.  Partner (trying with little success to be subtle) said he wanted to ‘browse’ at rings for some unknown reason.  Suspected he wanted to see what kind of ring I liked so he could save up like a fiend for the far distant future, hopefully before we drew our pensions.  I had a look at the sparkly diamonds, had a bit of a drool, a bit of a try on, a bit of a ‘oh my god this one is just gorgeousI’ and then out again.  Window shopping.  No probs.

“Did you like that ring?” asked Partner, all nonchalant (or as nonchalant as a blunt Yorkshireman gets).

“Yeah,” said I.

“Let’s go and buy it then.”

Well, you could have knocked me over with a 10 tonne truck and I probably wouldn’t have noticed.  My jaw hit the ground and dribbled a bit.

“What are you saying?” I managed to splutter.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, “Yet.  Let’s just buy the ring.”

So he did.

Oooooh, exciting.

“Can’t have it yet,” he told me as we walked back to the car, me bouncing up and down with unrestrained delirium.

Tsk.

Home.  No sign of ring all night. 

What could it all mean? J

Sunday 27

More shopping, this time at Asda.  But behold, we don’t actually need any proper (aka boring) stuff, so we fill the trolley with goodies instead.  Cakes.  Books.  DVDs.   A watch.  I could easily get used to shopping like this, maybe we should just give up eating altogether.

A bit of house cleaning followed, since installing new appliances tends to remind you that you’re not doing as good a job of it as you’d imagined.  And then …

Out for dindins.  Oh yeah, we were Going Out.  We both dressed up to the nines, Partner in a new suit which made him look like a film star, me in my Knock Em Dead fruit-pastel shoes with the Big Heels.  Strutted like Catherine Zeta Jones to the taxi.  We were bloody gorgeous.

The Chinese Quarter.  I had suggested the newly opened Wokmania, but Partner was strangely reticent about this.  Instead, we headed for our usual favourite restaurant which we love because they do spare ribs to die for. 

Yak yak yak.  AND THEN …

CUE DRAMATIC MUSIC!

Partner did the deed!  After almost 7 years and 1,769 faux proposals (as in “Would you?” to save himself the expense of a rejected engagement ring), my Partner proposed properly.  Across the table.  Telling me the most wonderful things which brought tears to my eyes.

Of course I said yes.  I’d seen the ring, there was no way I was turning that down.

WE’RE ENGAGED!!!

It was quite an emotional moment, just as it should be.  I felt all teary, Partner looked a bit stunned, I stared at my new diamond ring, he ordered champagne as a surprise (and boy was I surprised!).

It was all so lovely and perfect.  A really really nice night.

I’ve never been proposed to before (ex-husband said we’d get a tax break if we got married).

I’ve never had real diamonds before.

I’ve never had champagne in an ice bucket at a restaurant table before.

And I’ve never been this happy before.

Monday 28

BANK HOLIDAY – yay!  But (as a temp) not getting paid – BOOOO!

Champagne’s pretty strong, isn’t it.  We both woke up with “Oh God” hangovers.

But, hungover or not, it was time to break the thrilling news to family and friends.  Texted Middle Son, currently backpacking in Prague (where the beer is, apparently, 50p a pint).  He actually rang at great expense to congratulate us.  Texted Middle Son, no response.  Big Son was well pleased.  Sis was chuffed.  Best mate wants to be bridesmaid.  Mom got all hyperventilated, and dad, when partner formally asked for my hand, said, “Yeah, take her.”

Partner still looks a bit stunned (at the expense of it all) but can’t stop smiling.

“Won’t change us, will it?” I keep asking.

“Nah,” says he, “But I will expect a cup of coffee at my bedside when I wake at 4.45, and my sandwiches made, and a meal on the table when I get home at night.”

Yeah, dream on babes.

Spent the day recovering and sorting out all the paperwork in the study that I’ve been promising to do for eons.  Quite gratifying, actually, getting rid of all those household bills and bank statements dating back to 1999 – a perfect way to celebrate!  Trouble is, can’t throw them out because of identity theft, so I now have a bin liner full of papers.

I also have a very nice engagement ring (have I mentioned that?)

Tuesday 29

And back to real life again.

Sigh.

Took pile of papers into work to get rid of them in the industrial shredder – problem sorted, but almost dislocated a shoulder getting them on and off the bus.  Only have to do it another 22 times and they’ll all be gone.

Came across the most obnoxious woman at the Tesco’s checkout queue today.  Young mother with big pushchair.  As she moved along the queue she meticulously and quite deliberately positioned the pushchair so that it blocked the aisle and nobody could get passed – she did this over and over again.  She also pushed her basket along the floor with her foot, knocking the heels of the bloke standing in front of her.  By the time she was called to a checkout and slowly pushed the basket along the floor (holding up everyone behind her) I was ready to rugby tackle her to the ground, I really was.  And, of course, as she stood at the checkout, she made sure the pushchair was strategically placed to block the aisle.

Cow.

Wednesday 30

A Seriously Not With It day.  Should definitely have stayed in bed, or at least plucked my brain out of the pillow and made it come to work with me. 

Left security pass at home.  Spilled water all over my desk.  Tried to figure out how to work a computer whilst wearing a “Duh!” expression.

My boss was in a meeting all morning so I answered her phone when it rang.  Urgent enquiry, could I get my boss out of the meeting straight away, the caller would hold.

So off I ran to the meeting room.  Only it was empty.  Raced around the entire office (and it’s a big office) searching all the other meeting rooms but couldn’t find my boss anywhere.  Ran back to phone and, gasping for breath, informed the caller. 

“Oh!  Could you put me through to so-and-so then?” said the caller, urgently.

“I’ll just transfer you,” I said.

And then I looked at the phone and thought, I can’t remember how to transfer the call.  I’ve done it millions of times!  I sat there struggling to figure out which buttons to press, but my brain was obviously in a meeting of its own, huddled together in a corner of my skull I had no access to (which was most of it!).

Okay, I admit it, I panicked.  Urgent call, missing boss, couldn’t transfer.  Just shoot me now and put me out of my misery.

Told the caller to hold while I transferred them, then made a complete fool of myself by running down the middle of the office like the hounds of hell were after me.  Skidded to a halt in front of the reception desk and hissed, “Help!  Me!”

The receptionist sauntered back down the middle of the office with me trying to hurry her along and picked up my boss’s phone.  “I’ll just transfer you,” she said, calmly and professionally.

“I’m a total waste of air space,” I told her.

She smiled competently and went back to reception.

I sat at my desk for the rest of the day praying the phone wouldn’t ring again and hoping nobody would ask me anything difficult, like my name.

Thursday 31

Thanks to everyone who sent me emails and left comments about The Engagement, we’re still smiling like maniacs and saying things like, “Would you like a drink, fiancée?” and “Could you pass the salt, betrothed one.”  All seems very strange, but very nice.  And, fortunately, it doesn’t seem to have changed us in any way. 

Here’s a pic of the ring (and the shoes).

Real diamonds!

Real fruit pastel shoes!

On a completely different note, I’ve had an abusive comment (my first!) from someone who took the time to read my Top Temping Tips and then made the effort to call me ‘ill-educated, bad mannered and lazy’.  I’m apparently giving Brummies a bad name!  I can only hope the poor woman locates her sense of humour in the very near future.

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