OCTOBER

Sunday 1

Had barely any sleep last night, what with the fart monster doing what he does best (the noise ricocheting off the walls like dynamite) AND snoring, I also had the weirdest dreams – must have been the Greek food.  A man teaching a penguin to fly and it smashing into the bus shelter I was standing at, and me trying to convince my bosses that someone at work was a spy who was recruited by none other than David Duchovny.  What does all this mean?  Answers on a postcard please.

Anyway, up early, found partner (all farted and snored out) reading on balcony.  Shower, eat, dressed and out.  To the car.  To drive down the island to Prassonissi, the southern most point where one sea meets another sea, or something.  Scenic drive (got lost, of course) and the beach was lovely, both of them (calm one side, huge waves the other), but my God it was windy.  Warm wind though.  Hired deckchairs and raced into sea … look, ma, I’m floating.  Great stuff.

Pinky and Yellowbelly catch some rays on the beach

Needed the loo and wandered barefoot across the sand to the building area, a good 10 minute walk.  No public toilets. Asked in a supermarket and a man vaguely pointed outside.  Wandered out.  No loo.  Getting a bit desperate now.  Asked in another supermarket and finally found one.  Dumped a ton of sand in there, tried to brush it to one side with my foot but looked like kids had tried to make a sandcastle.  10 minute walk back to our sunbeds, where Partner was engrossed in a book.  “How long have I been gone?” I asked him.  “Oh,” he replied, “About 5 minutes.”  I’d been gone a full half hour – I could have been abducted and working as a slave in Turkey before he’d notice I was missing … worrying.

Wind kept us cool in the otherwise baking heat.  I lathered on factor 12 sun cream like it was going out of fashion – the sun had no chance of getting anywhere near my skin.  Partner, on the other hand, the Tough Man Who Needs No Cream was alarmingly lobster red after a few hours – fool.

We left when the wind howling in our ears started to get on our nerves.  Sat in café for a coffee.  Two young thangs wandered in wearing bikinis.  I laughed at the number of eyeballs following them.  “Look at that,” I whispered to partner, “The wife watches the child whilst the husband watches the girls walk by.”  He misunderstood.  “I’m only human,” he said.  Ah, so I watch the wife watching the child whilst the husband and my partner watch the girls.  Tsk.

Bakery in Pefki afterwards.  It’s on a hill and I’d seen the BAKERY sign for days, wondering what was up there and salivating a lot.  Fantastic place, had all this fresh bread and cakes and more cakes and puddings and deserts and more foil covered chocolates than Thorntons.  Bought oodles and toddled off home to …

… sleep.

No going out tonight, oh no.  We had food.  We had a bottle of champagne-type stuff.  We were going to sit romantically on our balcony and eat and drink as the sun went down.  It was lovely.  We yakked.  We got drunk.  We wandered barefoot down the beach below and walked along hand in hand with the waves lapping at our feet, snogging outrageously.  So romantic, until I noticed a tiny crab running passed our feet.  And another.  Then another. 

There were dozens of 'em.

Suddenly it wasn’t romantic any more, it was like a scene from a horror film – “Engaged couple eaten alive by crabs” sprang to mind.  I shot off the beach like something fired from a catapult.  Wimp.

Monday 2

Yay, still have car.  Off we go for a good drive around the island, straight through the middle.  Absolutely, utterly gorgeous.  The real Rhodes, all hairpin bends and trees and deep valleys and magnificent views and olive groves.  So green.  So uncommercialised.  Just the two of us, exploring, alone, together.

Stopped at a tiny little village.  Actually, we drove through it and it looked so nice we turned round and went back.  Had Greek yoghurt and honey with nuts next to the prettiest little church.  The sun shone.  Relaxed just wasn’t the word, we were virtually comatose.

And then two coaches squeezed their way down the tiny road and parked outside our yoghurt place.  About a hundred German tourists got off and invaded the place (not that I have anything against Germans per se, but there were a lot of them).  They kind of raced off in all directions, hunting for stuff to buy.  Most poured into our yoghurt place and manically bought all the glass jars and bottles on display.  We left before the frenzied spending spree was over and drove down the coast.

You have no idea how much I killed myself laughing taking this pic at a stop off point

We got back, slept (the heat is unbearable between midday and 4pm so the best thing to do is loll around, reading and sleeping).  Then, the dreaded deed – we had to take the car back.  Cute little thing.  Quite missed it when we left it.  Our independence was now gone.

Watched sunset from our balcony.  Next to us was a viewing area where people who aren’t lucky enough to have a sea view stand to admire the beach and watch the sun go down.  One bloke came with his wife, and his camera.  He spent ages taking photographs whilst the wife hung around looking hopeful.  I kept thinking, Just kiss her you fool, but he didn’t.  The wife sat down to wait whilst he took more photos.  When it looked as if he’d finished, she stood up expectantly, and he still didn’t take her in his arms and kiss her.  He wandered off, staring at his camera, his wife shuffling along behind.  I immediately latched onto Partner like the hugger in Alien.

Went for meal and did the usual holiday thing – we thought about our lives, our hamster-wheel existence, and wondered if there was maybe another way to enjoy life rather than just endure it. 

Holiday dreams.

Tuesday 3

A discovery!  The beach below our balcony is gorgeous but quite rocky and its difficult to get into the water without breaking a limb, so we haven’t been down there much.  Today, whilst Partner was on the ‘viewing’ platform, he saw that the rocks stopped about halfway down – there was a way into the water.

Dashed down to beach.  As our apartment is right next to it, it was quite liberating not to have to haul beach towels and bags with us like everyone else, we went barefoot, wearing our swimming costumes, nothing else.

And yay, thwimming.  Water warm and unbelievably clear, can see right down to the bottom and all the fish.  Lots of fish.  At one point I looked down and there seemed to be a shoal of thousands, quite freaked me out.  “Argh!” I cried, “Lots of fish, all coming to get me.”  Partner just laughed whilst I fought with the urge to run out of the water screaming my head off.  Get a grip, they’re just fish.  They weren’t in the end, it was a mass of seaweed that looked like a load of fish.

Had an epiphany whilst in the water.  Saw all these middle aged women tottering down the beach, sucking in, looking uncomfortable amongst all the thin young thangs.  Okay, so we’re not perfect, we’ve seen some life, eaten a few meals, had children, who cares that we’re not Kate Moss incarnate?

“Do I look like Ursula Undress coming out of the sea?” I’d asked my Partner earlier, as I staggered out monstrously water-logged and tripping over rocks.  He’d nodded whilst surreptitiously consulting his Men’s Little Book of Answers (the one that says ‘If she asks if her bum looks big in what she’s wearing, don’t answer the question outright, just tell her she looks gorgeous whatever she’s wears, and a kiss on the cheek at this point wouldn’t go amiss either’).

Anyway, all the young thangs strutting around in their mini-mini bikinis (yeah, come back in twenty years and we’ll see what you look like then), all the older women looking decidedly uncomfortable.  And my brain, as I floated in the water watching all this, said, quite clearly, “Bugger this for a game of soldiers.”  And I strode out of the sea, a size 16, not perfect, bum not pert but quite proud of itself, and strutted right by those young thangs who looked so smugly thin and taut (wanting, so desperately, to say, “Hey, girl, I’ve had three sons, two husbands and a lot of fun, I’m allowed to look like this.”)

Quite liberating.  Felt much more relaxed waddling around after that.

Pool bar for lunch, yummy yummy (they did the best full breakfast in Pefkos ... aware of the irony after what I've written above!).  Bought an airbed because it looked like fun.  Back to apartment for a bit of a read and a kip.  Woke up all excited, felt just like a child.  “Beach! Beach!” I cried, jumping into my costume and shaking the airbed.  I swear to God my Partner couldn’t have moved more slowly (having just woken up), he was like a disorientated zombie.  I stood outside the apartment door jumping up and down with my airbed hissing, “Come! On!”

Oh yeah, airbeds look fun … if you can get on them.  Struggled to get onto the thin plastic and failed rather spectacularly (almost drowning at one point).  It was like trying to mount a bucking bronco.  It just seemed too small.  And then we realised, when we saw other people floating around on air-beds the size of catamarans, that we’d actually bought a child’s bed.  So we threw ourselves across it instead and went floating around, peering down at the fish and just floating.

“Is this the most fun you can have with a bit of plastic?” I asked my partner, still as excited as a small child.

He looked at me, a glint in his eye, a cheeky smile on his face.  Okay, so not the most fun with plastic, but definitely up there in the top three.

We bickered whilst we floated.  It’s what we do, bicker.  Not in a nasty way, just light-hearted banter, like ‘And just like at home, Partner takes up most of the bed’ or ‘Are you kicking at all, only we appear to be going round in a circle'.  We’d be rubbish if Open Water happened to us, we’d bicker the entire time – would make a good comedy film (producers, get in touch).

A man chatted to Partner in the water (as Partner meticulously scoured the sea bed for shiny things as he’d already found 50cents – nothing can make a Yorkshireman look more intense than when he’s scouring the sea bed for money).  “So, where you from then?” the man finally asked.  “Birmingham,” my Partner replied.  I nearly drowned laughing, my Partner’s accent couldn’t sound more Yorkshire if he tried. 

Partner’s ex-wife rang him on his mobile as we got ready to go out for a meal tonight.  “I’m on holiday,” he told her.  “Oh, that’s nice for some, isn’t it,” she said waspishly, “I can’t remember the last time I had a holiday with the children.”  “Didn’t you go on holiday a couple of months ago?” he drawled.  Game, set and match to Partner, methinks.

My dad also sent me a text.  “Are you home yet?”  Nothing else.  Resisted the urge to ring him and ask why (were all the doors and windows open in our house, were there gypsies resident in our driveway, were there police cars parked outside with their blue lights flashing?)  Whatever it was, I didn’t want to know.  [Turned out he just wanted to know if he should water my garden or not].

Wednesday 4

Wah, last day.  What do we want to do?  Boat trip?  Bus ride somewhere? 

Not go home is what we really want to do.

After paying a whopping £23 to keep our room until 6pm (instead of being turfed out at midday) we spent the whole day slobbing on the beach, floating in the sea on the airbed watching fish and people.  Our last day was spent doing Absolutely Nothing, it was great, this is so what I want to do, I'm so good at it. 

As we lay sunbathing, Partner did something I’ve never seen anybody do before, ever.  He finished reading his book on Roman gladiators.  He sat, bereft, for a moment or two, staring out to sea, and then he turned to the front page and started reading it again!  I was gobsmacked.  [We went to reception where people had left some books and scoured the titles, but he’s not into fiction.  I, however, spotted a good book and took it.  His eyes bulged when I put it in the suitcase later.  “You’re taking it home?” he gasped.  “I’m a bibliophile,” I said, “I have to.”]

Back to apartment.  Sullenly tossed our belongings into the suitcase. 

Pinky and Yellowbelly catch the last rays of the holiday on the balcony

Showered.  Final farewell drink on our balcony, then dragged our luggage into reception.  Shuffled miserably down to the viewing area to gaze at the sunset one last time and yakked to people who’d just arrived (lucky buggers).  Just as we got up to leave, I stood at the corner of the viewing area with Partner standing behind me, and threw out my arms – I was Kate Winslet!

Went into Pefkos for our last meal (to be honest, I’d have killed for something simple like beans on toast and doubt I’ll ever eat Moussaka again).  Finished off with a stiff brandy, which immediately rendered me so intoxicated I started slurring and had to sit down on the way back to our resort.  

Back to reception to wait for our midnight transfer to the airport along with a load of other miserable people.  Slept on outside wicker chairs.  Slept on the coach.  Assumed the airport, at 1 o’clock in the morning, would be virtually empty.  Wrong!  It was packed, absolutely heaving with people.  But phew, you could smoke as you waited.

Slumped over uncomfortable chairs and dozed fitfully.  Squeezed ourselves into tiny seats on the plane, and slept.  Woke to witness other people eating their microscopic breakfasts but didn’t seem worth the effort, so went back to sleep.

Thursday 5

Arrived Birmingham 6am.  Outside for fag.  It’s raining (of course it is) and berluddy cold!  Jumped into black cab and settled back, knackered, miserable.  After a couple of minutes the driver said, “Where to?”  “Home,” I said, barely able to think in a straight line.  “Yep, and where would that be?” the driver asked.  I actually struggled to remember where we lived.

Home 7.30am.  Collapsed on soft furnishings (bliss), exhausted but unwilling to go to bed.  I had a dentist appointment at 11am.

The female dentist was so rough I almost asked her if she’d based her chair-side manner on Steve Martin’s character in the Little Shop of Horrors.  She plunged a six inch needle into my gum and wriggled it around viciously.  Then she did it again.  Cow.  Nearly broke my neck forcing the filling down.  I was shaking by the time I left, and couldn’t feel a thing down my entire left side for a good few hours afterwards.

Small Son came round from next door.  “How’s work?” he asked me. 

“I don’t know,” I replied, “I haven’t been for a while.” 

“How come?”

I looked at my Partner, sitting next to me as brown as a conker.  I glanced at the open suitcase and the mountain of washing on the kitchen floor.   “We’ve been on holiday for a week!” I said.

“Oh, I wondered why I didn’t see any lights on at night,” said Small Son.

Good job we weren’t murdered in our beds or anything, they wouldn’t discover our bodies for months.

Friday 6

And so, it’s over.  Our holiday.  It was utterly perfect in every way.  Partner’s face has lost that strained look.  But the rat race beckons once more, and we’re heavy with misery.  Back to enduring the days instead of grasping them with both hands and sucking the life out of it.

Sigh.

I’m thinking of maybe doing a three (probably four) day week and writing again.  Partner wants to cut back his overtime and maybe paint (or compiling his Men’s Little Book of Safe Answers).

We have post-holiday blues, no doubt about it.

Barely moved all day.

Saturday 7

The sobbing started.

Monday 9

Argh! Wah! NO!  I can’t do it, I just can’t.  Don’t make me do it!!!

Work.

I thought I’d have a job getting out of bed this morning.  The alarm went off at 6.30am and I groaned a bit, cried a bit, then miserably reached out to turn on the bedside lamp.

I lifted my head and saw, on the duvet, running straight towards me, the biggest bloody spider on the planet.  I say spider, I mean some type of hybrid monster.  This thing was huge.   I kid you not, this spider had tattoos on its bulging leg muscles and chains around its neck.  And it moved fast.

As did I.  I leapt out of bed before it got me in a neck hold, screaming and throwing back the duvet.  The spider/monster/creature from another planet must have ricocheted off the wardrobe doors because as I stood there, screaming, it thundered passed my feet and crawled under the bed (lifting up the bedframe before squeezing underneath, that’s how big it was).

Partner was at work so I couldn’t do the girly thing and ask him to deal with it.  So I left it.  In my bedroom.  Probably lounging on my pillows watching tv all day.

So, no problem getting out of bed this morning at all.

Tuesday 10

This tickled me.  Three young thangs were standing at my bus stop tonight, all twittering away like a flock of starlings.  A mobile phone rang and one of them answered it.  The conversation went something like this:

“Hello?  Oh, hello, Christine.”  Turns to others and says, “It’s Christine, from that employment agency I told you I’d joined.”  The others all shriek in excitement. 

The girl puts the mobile to her ear and listens for a moment before saying, “Oh no, I can’t work the weekend, I’m so sorry.”  Looks at others with a sorry expression, they all make suitably sympathetic noises.  “I’m busy this weekend, I think I’d prefer not to work weekends really, sorry, really sorry … Monday?  Oh no, sorry, I can’t do Monday, I’m doing something on Monday, so sorry … Thursday?  No, sorry, I can’t do Thursday either, I’m really sorry … No, Fridays are no good to me, sorry.  I’m at college during the week and I’d love to work during the week, I really would, and I’m really sorry, but I can’t work during the week because I’m at college.  Sorry … Okay. Bye.”  Turns to others and says, “They haven’t got anything for me yet.”

I’m still trying to work that one out.

Wednesday 11

I’ve only been at my new company a couple of months (and really enjoying it).  As its completely different to anything I’ve done before, its been a steep learning curve.  But, today, a result.  Proof that my brain is not yet catatonic (although it’s close).

Staff conference.  Usual corporate stuff, much saying of “That’s so interesting” to people you’ve never met before, much small talk .. and a quiz.  Heads or tales (you stand with your hands on your bum or your head to signify your answer).  I won!  Yay!  My prize?   A Mars bar.  I was thrilled.

“Come up to collect your prize,” they said.

I was ready to do my elegant Oscar-Collecting walk to the front, sashaying and nodding to the people shouting their congratulations.  I was ready to valiantly hold back the tears as I stood in front of everyone to thank my bosses, my work colleagues, my family and friends, my employment agency for finding me this job and anyone else who knew me, whilst shakily clutching the Mars bar to my chest. 

I was ready to do Halle Berry.

This was my chance.  This was my big moment.

But I couldn’t get passed all the chairs around me.  I couldn’t get to the front and start sobbing my gratitude.

My prize was brought to me, and all I managed was a weak cry of, “Oh thanks, I’m really touched.”

Thursday 12

Must have been the excitement of winning the Mars bar, or eating the Mars bar.  Most likely it was because I was out in the garden last night, stroking plants and stuff, and didn’t wash my hands properly afterwards (did you know that most garden plants are poisonous?  Especially the Angels Trumpets I was meticulously inspecting for any signs of flowers yet, the wimps). 

Anyway, sick.  Hot.  Cold.  Psychedelic nightmares.  Dreadfully, utterly boring day at home, too tired to do anything, determined not to resort to watching daytime tv, falling asleep every time I tried to read a book.

Just boring.

Friday 13

Ooooh, a letter for me delivered to work.  Middle Son’s graduation photos.  Oh my God is this child of mine drop-dead gorgeous or what!  I’m not the slightest bit biased just because I made him.

I couldn’t help myself.  I saw myself doing it, heard myself saying it, and Simply Could Not Stop.  I went round the office clutching this graduation photo, saying to everyone, “Do you want to see my son?”  Because they’ve never seen a son this handsome or this clever before.

“What did he study?” some of the brave ones asked.

“Astrophysics,” I preened.  “Masters.  A first.”

Middle Son also sent a DVD of the graduation ceremony.  Fortunately for my work colleagues, there was nowhere in the office to play it, so I had to wait until I got home.  Where a strange thing happened.

Obviously fast forwarded to the bit where Middle Son collects his degree, and my heart immediately swelled.  I actually felt it grow in my chest and push all my other internal organs to one side.  It went back to normal size when I skipped back, and swelled when I watched it again.  Over and over.  Balloon and normal, balloon and normal.  It was like heart massage.  Did this about 37 times.  Partner was marvellously patient.

The camera then skimmed over the audience.  “Oh look, there’s me!” I cried.

“Where?” said partner, scanning the hundred or so faces on screen.

“There!”

“Where?  I can’t see you.”

“You can’t see me?”

Now I can spot Partner’s face in a crowd with no problem.  If you put all the world’s inhabitants in one place, I’d be able to point straight at him.  Stick partner’s face on Where’s Wally picture and I’d have not the slightest hesitation.

“There, look!” I cried, pointing.  “There!  Can’t you see me?”

I was, at this point, clearly over-excited, overwhelmed by the heart massage and probably having a major sugar-rush from the Mars bar I’d eaten 3 days before.  Partner was silent for a moment, the air around us expectant and heavy (while he surreptitiously consulted the Little Book of Men’s Right Answers).  Then he said, “Oh yeah, there you are.”

“You can’t see me, can you?” I said.

“No.”

“There.”

“Where?”

“Bloody there!  Next to the bloke I used to be married to.  There!”

“Oh yeah,” he finally said, “I didn’t recognise you with your hair up.”

A poor excuse if ever I heard one.

My partner bought a new car last week (forgot to mention - its not like a BIG thing or anything!).  He drove it home all excited and dragged me outside to look at it.

"What do you think?" he beamed.

I beamed back.  Glanced at our old car (still on the driveway), and at the new car.  Same colour.  Same kind of shape.

"It's ... shiny," I said.

"Yes, but do you like it?" he persisted, still beaming like a toddler at Christmas.

I looked at both cars and thought they looked pretty identical.  The new one was, well, 'newer', apparently.  It had a bigger engine, a plusher interior, air conditioning.  But, to be honest, to me, a mere woman who's interest in cars stretches to recognising a Mini at a push, the new one looked the same as our old one.  Only shinier.

"It's great," I said (consulting my Women's Book of Answers When Confronted With Men's Stuff), "I really like it."

He seemed happy with that.  And I was happy that he was happy. 

Our new car is actually quite nice.  Much comfier.  And the G-force is stronger when you put your foot down on the accelerator.

But it does have one thing I'm not very keen on.  In our old car you'd pull down the sun visor and there was a little mirror on the passenger side.  This mirror displayed a close approximation of what my face should look like, which was fine.  The sun visor in the new car has a mirror, only when you pull it down lights come on and highlight your face.  It illuminates all the mistakes you've made with your makeup and floodlights every imperfection.

I've been scouring the manual trying to work out how to remove the bulb.

Sunday 15

I miss swimming in the sea!

A ride out in the 'new car' today.  A drive in the countryside?  A visit to a stately home perhaps?

We considered the options and opted for ... (and get this, we're such sad b****rds) ... we went to a Garden Centre.  Oh yeah, we know how to live life on the cutting edge.

We did get a drive through the countryside too because Partner, using his 'in-built navigation system' (he guesses the way), couldn't find the Big Nursery and we ended up doing a two-hour scenic drive around Kidderminster, Bromsgrove (twice), Belbroughton (passed several times) and Clent.  We made ourselves sick eating Fruit Jellies from one nursery we stumbled across during our epic journey, and made ourselves sicker eating (vastly expensive) gateau in the original nursery we eventually found purely by chance.

Lovely day. 

Orgasmic Cuisine - you have to try this, it's to die for

DA BRUMMIE CODE - Dan Brown eat yer heart out

Found a new place at work to have a smoke where I’m not accosted by lost souls, souls wondering about Birmingham artwork or asking about flu jabs.

Right where the smokers stand (puffing away),are huge floodlights that light up the whole building at night.

How much fun are us smokers going to have in winter when the lights come on …

All up the side of this enormous building for the whole of Birmingham to see.

We’ll be blind within a week.

Tuesday 17

And the excitement of the daily commute just keeps on getting better.

Bus was late arriving this morning.  Pulled up at our bus stop, where quite a congregation had gathered, and promptly broke down.  Started up again, bounced down road to next bus stop, broke down.

This happened quite a few times, at bus stops, at crossroads, in traffic jams.  Every time the engine stopped running and all the lights went off, the driver would yell, “It’s okay, this happened yesterday, I know what to do” as he started up again and revved the hell out of it.

Then we hit the traffic pre-Five Ways Island and the bus came to a sudden halt (we’d quite got used to it by now so barely flinched).  It stopped for a long time, so long that passengers stirred from their comas and started to get off, started running down the road (I’m more than willing to turn up for work, but I’m certainly not sprinting there). 

I sat on the top deck, mildly wondering if I should stir myself or not.  I’m a seasoned traveller, I know it doesn’t do to panic or follow the crowds.

So I sat there, watching all these ex-passengers fair galloping down the road, and pondered a bit whilst the driver tried to get the engine to work.  The lights went off.  The lights came on.   Off.  On.  Judderjudderjudder.

Oh the fun, the fun.

Suddenly, the engine burst into life and the driver revved the bollocks off it.  Some people jumped back on the now moving bus as it hauled its heavy carcass away from the kerb.  As the bus went down the road, roaring to buggery, it pulled up next to all the sprinting people and the driver shouted, “Come on, get on, I got it working again.”

Late for work, but worth it for the entertainment value.

Wednesday 18

Lunch with mom and sister.  I was starving as I met them outside my workplace.  “Food!” I cried, “Need food!  Feed me, mommy!”

Sister, ignoring these subtle hints, decided that she knew a restaurant down New Street she’d been to a decade or so ago.  So off we wandered, me clinging onto mom’s arm for support, sis leading the way.

“You go into an office building,” Sis explained with a frown, “And then there’s a garden, and upstairs there’s the restaurant.”

“Into an office building?” I said.  “You don’t mean a company canteen, do you?”

She insisted it was a proper restaurant, despite my having no knowledge of such a place (and I’ve worked in the city centre for years), and despite there being absolutely no signs or advertisements for said restaurant anywhere.

She asked a man.  “Restaurant … office building … second floor?”

He looked at her strangely and then, by association, looked at us strangely – as if we might ask him for his wallet next or something.  Of course he’d never heard of such a place.

I was, by this time, flopping with hunger.   “Pizza Hut,” I gasped, “Let’s just go to Pizza Hut.”  But Sis didn’t fancy it (argh!).  In the end I dragged them both into Bella Italia because it was closest and I wasn’t sure how much further I could walk without sustenance of some sort.  Massively expensive but the food was rather nice.

“I’ve got you a present,” mom said, “Here.”

And she handed me a tin of … body spray.  ‘Fruity’ flavour (who wants to smell like an orange?).

“Are you trying to tell me something?” I asked, a bit nervous as I have no sense of smell and these kind of things could signify a problem.

“No,” she said (phew, relief), “Look at what it’s called?”

I looked.

How funny is that?  (FCUK should do one called FCUK Off – “Oooh, you smell nice, what’s that you’re wearing?” “FCUK Off.”  “Hey, I only asked!”)

Took it back to the office to show some colleagues.  They cracked a smile for a millisecond but, really, I think they were disappointed that mom didn’t bring chocolate misshapes again.

Thursday 19

Things you may not have known about me … totally nicked from Bike Blog

Four jobs I have had in my life:
1.Mother
2.Freelance writer
3.Leading Railwoman at British Rail (in me youff – they had pretty snazzy uniforms back then, which is what attracted me)
4.Secretary / PA

Four Movies I would watch over and over.
1. Close Encounters of the Third Kind
2. Four Weddings and a Funeral
3. Kinky Boots (I lurve Kinky Boots)
4. Shirley Valentine

Four Places I have lived
1. Birmingham
2. Birmingham
3. Birmingham
4. Birmingham

Four TV shows I love to watch
1. Have I Got News For You (best thing on tv – I want Ian Hislop’s babies!)
2. Gardener’s World (definite sign of impending old age when you shriek, “Ooooh, Monty Don’s on tele)
3. The News
4. Afterlife (Lesley Sharp is brilliant and Andrew Lincoln is pretty cute too)

Four places I've been to
1. South of France
2. The Canaries (most of them)
3. Rhodes (bloody gorgeous)
4. Wales

Four Web sites I visit regularly
1. Google
2. Yahoo email
3. Loads of blogs (see side list above)
4. Online bank account (pure masochism)

Four favourite foods
1. Partner’s To-Die-For curry (pictorial recipe here)
2. Partner’s fabulous chilli concarne
3. Anything I haven’t had to cook myself (so that’s pretty much everything!)
4. Nuts

Four Places I'd rather be right now
1. Currently at work so … at home
2. With my partner
3. Lounging on a hot foreign beach
4. Lounging in a deep bubblebath reading a book with a glass of whisky (which is what I’ll be doing later)

Four friends
1. My Partner
2. My sister
3. Sue (fabulously funny woman)
4. All the girlies I lunch with

What are yours?

Friday 20

I rode motorbikes for 25 years (see here).  As a biker’s place is ‘at the front’ in any kind of traffic, I’m not used to sitting in gridlocks – in fact, I have an almost pathological loathing of road congestion.  Consequently, I like to travel to work early and leave early in order to miss the ‘rush hours’.

At my last company (see here for the gory details of this terrible place) they made the most extraordinary fuss when I asked if I could start work half an hour early and leave half an hour early.  Discussions were had.  I had to fill out a form requesting a change of hours.  One of my bosses was fine about it, the other wasn’t, so when the ‘other’ boss was at work (3 days a week) I did normal 9 to 5 and early hours for the other 2.  This would be reviewed regularly to make sure my work wasn’t being affected in any way.  Honestly, it was red tape gone mad.

At my new workplace, I asked my boss last week if I could have half an hour lunch break that day and leave half an hour early because I had an appointment.  She said, “Do that all the time if you want?”

No discussions, no form filling, no reviews, just, “Yeah, fine, no problem.”

I love this job!

Not only that, but (and get this) there is absolutely no filing!  None whatsoever.  Everything is scanned.  I haven’t touched a physical file for weeks.  I tell this to my lunch buddies (legal secretaries) and they hate me.

And … there’s more.  No filing, a flexible approach to working hours, AND the phone hardly ever rings.

PLUS the pay is eye-bulgingly great.  AND my work title is pretty impressive.

This is the perfect job.  And I want it.  I want it so bad.

I’m still a temp at the moment (half the company are on temporary contracts because they’re restructuring), but you better believe I’m trying to become indispensable. 

How?  By doing my job exceptionally well (and having worked for an aggressive, oppressive and demanding legal company, this isn’t difficult).  And by using humour – make ‘em laugh and they’re yours is my motto.

I think its working.

Oddly, although ‘viewing figures’ for Brummie Blogs have gone through the stratosphere in recent months, nobody seems to be leaving as many comments (leave a comment!).  My emails have increased, though, and I’d like to say Hello to Tom, who sent me a rather funny one.  Hi also to Bill in Canada who I know looks in from time to time, Roddy from Milton Keynes, Lynne, Lil, Victoria, Zoe, Emma, Jeannick from South Africa, and all the regular visitors from America (fancy a house-swap holiday?).  The place names on my site meter are fabulous:
 

Sakarya, Turkey
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Kingfisher, Oklahoma
Memphis, Tennessee (Elvis, perhaps?)
Chattanooga, Tennessee (I love that name)
Oceanside, New York
Budapest, Hungary
Moncton, New Bruswick, Canada (lurve that Canadian accent)
Rodenbek, Schleswig-Holstein, Germany (where they have much bigger houses!)
Apo, Armed Forces Pacific (email me!)
Framingham, Massachusetts
Curitiba, Parana, Brazil
Mount Pearl Park, Newfoundland
White Haven, Pennsylvania

… to name but a few.  All these people from around the world reading Brummie Blogs, its so fab.

Saturday 21

My partner works Saturday mornings so he’s not there when I get up.

This morning I shuffled into the kitchen and froze.  It looked like a bomb had gone off.  Everything from one cupboard was strewn across the surfaces – plates, ovenware, a glass jug I didn’t know we had.

My first thought was rodent infestation – partner had discovered a mouse or a rat and had been chasing it through the cupboard.  Hence me not moving … I didn’t want to see some furry thing running across my feet before I’d had my first Wake!Up! coffee.  Only I couldn’t get to the kettle because it was above the empty cupboard, which was a bit of a dilemma.

Second thought, a flood perhaps – a water pipe had broke and drenched everything.  Only there was no water, everything was dry.  Maybe partner had had a mad fit and suddenly had the urge to empty a kitchen cupboard.

I rang him.  “You okay?”

“Fine,” he said, sounding fine.

“Why have you emptied a cupboard?”

“Oh, well, you know that new 30 piece dinner service we bought last week?”

“The one you piled into the cupboard despite me saying it was too heavy for the shelf?”

“Yeah, well the shelf broke.”

“Told ya!”

Now it looks as if we’ll be reorganising the kitchen cupboards for the rest of the day … I can’t tell you how excited I am about that!

[On the subject of my partner, something terrible is happening to him.  He’s a Yorkshireman and I lurve his Yorkshire accent.  But recently he’s been talking rather strangely.  He works with Black Country blokes, and he’s started saying things like “Terrar in a bit” (argh!) and uttering certain words with a Brummie accent!  He’s turning (blare of trumpets) into Brummie Man!!! 

This has got to stop.  I’m sending him back to Bradford next week to realign his dialect.  I’ve told him to stop talking to the people he works with only converse with Northern people.  I’ve taken to saying, “I’m working 8.30 while 4 next week” to try and encourage him, and suspect my Yorkshire impersonation sounds rather better than his real one.  I may buy a flat cloth cap and leave it lying around to remind him of his roots, and am desperately searching the internet for a Yorkshire radio station to play day and night.

I’ll keep you posted on this tragic development.]

I'm sitting here at 10.40 on a Sunday morning, playing on the laptop when I should be doing the Dreaded Ironing.  Bugger it.

I've just discovered YouTube (oh yeah, got my finger on the pulse of new technology, me).  It has some Birmingham stuff on it, like this, and the magnificent Brummie Baywatch.

But, more importantly, my partner has just uploaded a clip of us in Yorkshire.  It's a place I call YeeHaa Hill, where you just tip the car over the summit and let it roll down like a spaceship on re-entry... you can tell how much fun I'm having by the pitch of my hysterical laughter (my innards were all over the place after this)!

Monday 23

GOSSIP: I’m not saying the last company I worked for was bad (well, actually, I am, diabolical in fact), but since I left, four other secretaries have also debunked, including the main troublemaker (which I’m quite pleased about, the cow) .  Two secretaries left just before I did, and one is about to go on maternity leave and may not come back.  So there’s not a lot of people left in that department, and I can well understand why.

Corporate crap, don’t do it, it so ain’t worth it.

HALF TERM:  Bliss!  The bus isn’t packed, the roads are empty, and I don’t have to travel into work listening to “Yo mamma! Ya f**king hoe” being played at full blast on some adolescent’s phone.

AMBITION:  I’m trying to beat last month’s visitor figures, so tell yer friends about Brummie Blogs, email everyone you know, phone yer local radio station, streak around your office/works naked shouting, “Brummie Blogs!  Read Brummie Blogs” (don’t forget to wait for the media to turn up, and it might be quite good to have ‘www.brummieblogs.com’ tattooed somewhere on your person too).  I thank you.

Tuesday 24

We watched Wife Swap on tv last night - always amusing how they put two complete opposites together and film the ensuing anarchy for our entertainment (predictable though it may be).

While we were watching the anarchy, my mind wandered, got lost, asked for directions and came back again with some kind of vague notion for a new reality tv show.

“How about Ex-Husband swap?” I gasped, horrifying even myself.

“No chance!” said partner with a finality that could crumble buildings, “I’m not going back there again.”

My mind wandered off again (will be sending it to obedience training at the earliest opportunity).  I could just imagine me getting home from work and my ex asking, “What’s for tea?” and me saying, “I don’t know, amaze me,” and him saying, “No, I was asking what you’re doing for tea.”  And I’d be all What? And gasp!  And, “Me!  Cook!”  Pah.

Or I’d open the freezer and say, “There’s no ice cubes in here for my whisky.”  And ex would just shrug.  And I’d get all indignant because partner always makes sure there’s enough ice cubes for me in the freezer.

Or I’d wake up in the morning and there’d be no fruit juice on the bedside table for me and I’d have to bang on the ceiling to get ex’s attention and he’d just tell me to get it myself.

Maybe not so much Ex Swap as Get Him Outta Here, I Want My Partner Back! 

Wednesday 25

Looked in my wardrobe this morning and vaguely thought I needed a couple of jumpers as the two I have are definitely for garden-wear/decorating purposes only, unless I particularly want to look like a bag lady (some would say I already do).

At lunchtime, I vaguely thought I’d wander down New Street and maybe wander into Bhs for said jumpers.

Wasn’t thinking at all when, on the way to Bhs, I found myself pushing through the crowds into Primark instead.

Primark is MAD!  Completely insane.  You enter, and its like joining a massive rugby scrum.  Women with pushchairs ram into you.  Arms rudely and quite violently push you out of the way as you try to look at things.  Clothes are strewn all over the floor, and the staff look like rabbits caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.  After 5 minutes I always feel slightly hysterical.  After 10 minutes I’m shoving people out of the way to get at clothes just like everyone else (its every man for himself in Primark).

Saw a nice red jumper and thought that'll do, then saw a nice grey one that I could wear for work, then there was this petrol blue one I couldn't resist, then I stumbled  (literally) across the polo neck jumpers and just had to get a black one and a grey one.  So I now have five new jumpers!  Oh, and a necklace I grabbed completely on impulse whilst waiting in the mile-long queue. 

Next time I go in Primark I'm taking a cattle prod with me and wearing an American football kit.  I feared for my life a couple of times.

Primark – where you take your life into your own hands for a £1 pack of 36 knickers

But the skirmish didn’t end there, oh no.  Coming back up New Street it started bucketing down and everyone opened up umbrellas.  The heaving crowds on New Street are life-threateningly dangerous at the best of times, open umbrellas significantly reduce your chances of survival.  I was head prodded at least 37 times and am only surprised my eyeballs didn’t end up on a couple of prongs.

Got back to office, hot, sweaty, dripping wet, with several head wounds, a large carrier bag, and an overwhelming sense of relief that I was still alive.

That’s me all shopped out for another month or two.

Thursday 26

Had a bloke come to do my Last Will and Testament last night.  Feel as if I’m tempting fate now – I’m being very careful not to walk under buses or fall down stairs or anything.  Nice bloke, from Barbados.  I just kept saying, “Middle Son will sort it” and he kept calling MS by his middle name, which is his dad’s name, so keeping fingers crossed that the whole of my ‘estate’ (such as it is) doesn’t go to my ex-husband. 

Only took 45 minutes but cost a whopping £80 - he tried to charge me all sorts of extra’s (storage, summat about my instructions should I become incapacitated), but I was firm, just had The Will done.

The bloke kept referring to my death as “When the big day comes.”  Would you describe death as a ‘big day’?  I’d say it was likely to be a bit of a let down as days go, it being your last and all.

Middle Son, when I asked him to be executor  (don’t you think it rather sinister that ‘executor’ is very similar ‘executer’, as in to put to death) sent me an email:   “I promise I won't get a dodgy doctor to declare you mentally unfit,” he put.  “Probably wouldn't need a dodgy one, I'm sure a normal doctor would declare that without hesitation...lol.”  Isn’t is great to have the respect of your children!

So yeah, now that I’ve done it, I sense danger everywhere.

Friday 27

My favourite day, Friday.  Got to work early, half hour lunch, left early to go home and wallow in the glory that is Friday.

Stood excitedly at bus stop.  Waited.  Buses came, buses went.  Not mine.  Crowds formed, embarked and disappeared.  Not me.  I stood there.  And waited. 

Endlessly.  Interminably.  Perpetually.

For 45 bloody minutes.

I swear, in that time, I went through every emotion known to man.  I went through …

… the five stages of commuting

Denial:  Oh, it’ll come in a minute, I’m sure it will.  Just have a bit of patience.

Anger: What the f**k is going on?  Where’s my b*****d bus?  Have the c***ts stopped farking running it and not bloody bothered bloody telling bloody us?  God Damn It!

Bargaining:  Okay, if the next bus that comes round the corner is mine, I swear I won’t throw a fit in the middle of town and tear my clothes off and rake my nails down my face screaming about the farking unfairness of it all.

Depression:  It’s never going to come.  It isn’t.  I’ll be stuck here until the end of time.  They’ll just sweep up my rotting carcass and nobody will ever know that I was here.

Acceptance:  Oddly, I didn’t get to this one (it’s where you lie down on the floor, face up, staring wide eyed and unblinking at the sky, hoping the next bus that comes will run you over and put you out of your misery).  I went back to anger again and formed whole sentences in my head that consisted entirely of expletives.

Of course, when the smegging bus finally turned up, it was heaving with irate people.  I squeezed through the crowds on the lower deck, trod on the feet of every person standing in the stairway, and managed to perch one buttock next to a large person taking up most of the only available seat.

And then we hit rush hour traffic.

By the time I got home, an hour and a half after leaving work, I was suffering from an acute attack of Commuter Rage (not helped by the fact that, when I got off my bus, there were no less than four other buses right behind it).  Lots of fist shaking was involved.  Lots of shouting and swearing (West Midlands Travel didn’t come off very well), much cushion bashing and shoe tossing.

Partner handed me a stiff drink, and I collapsed in an exhausted heap, dribbling a bit.

Commuting … love it, lurve it!

WE DID IT!  Visitor statistics for Brummie Blogs last month was way good, but I wanted to beat it.  And guess what, thanks to your help, it's done even better!  Almost two thousand visitors every month from all over the world read the Brummie Blogs pages, how good is that!

My new ambition is to reach the two thou mark.  You up for it?  Ah, come on, purlease, pretty pleeeeeese.  I've done a handy little leaflet for you to print out and pin on your office/works notice board , to hand out at lunchtime, to give to give to your friends and relatives and the people next door, and to send to your local radio and television stations .  And then we'll have a party to celebrate. 

Here's some encouraging incentives ...

I can so relate to this.

And this.

And this confused me.  I travel down Broad Street every day and couldn't figure out what was wrong with this video.  It just seemed odd.  Something I couldn't quite put my finger on.  And then it struck me.  There's no nose-to-tail traffic, no background screaming or snoring or Yo! Momma! music, and the bus this person is on is actually moving.  Not something I've ever personally experienced.

Stress Management Technique

Just in case you're having a rough day, here's a stress management technique recommended in all the latest psychological texts. The funny thing is that it really works.

1. Picture yourself near a stream.

2. Birds are softly chirping in the cool mountain air.

3. No one but you knows your secret place.

4. You are in total seclusion from the hectic place called "the world"!

5. The soothing sound of a gentle waterfall fills the air with a cascade of serenity.

6. The water is crystal clear.

7. You can easily make out the face of the person you're holding underwater.

8. See! You're smiling already.

LAYDEES: has had some extra stuff added if you want to take a look - I'll be updating periodically so do keep going back for a look and (hopefully, if I haven't gone too far) a laugh.  GENTLEMEN: send your sex discrimination complaints here.

Oh you are good!  Visitor stats for Brummie Blogs shot right up for October – if the stats graph was a company profits forecast, board members would all be jumping up and down for joy in anticipation of spectacular bonuses.  There’s no bonus involved, unfortunately, but I am a bit chuffed that so many people read the blogs every month [preen].

Particular thanks go to three secretaries in Cardiff who apparently streaked naked around their office chanting “Brummie Blogs cha cha cha” last Wednesday (though suspect they might do this on a regular basis – office life gets to you after a while), and the person who wrote 'www.brummieblogs.com' on the steamed up windows of the No.11 bus last week (there was also some rude graffiti, but that was probably done by illiterate schoolkids who clearly haven’t been anywhere near an English lesson for quite a while tsk).  Thanks also to Middle Son, who was so bored at his temping job he dropped by to catch up on The Life Of Mom a few times (took me ages to take out all the bad language).

Monday 30

I! Don’t! Bloody! Believe! It!

Raced out of work tonight and sprinted to my bus stop in the hope that I’d miss all the rush hour traffic and get home in time to do a bit of 'something else' before slipping into an exhausted coma (as was my Great Holiday Plan).

Stood at bus stop.  It was bitterly cold, at least minus 2 degrees or something stoopid.  And the streets in Birmingham city centre, lined by tall buildings, act as very efficient wind tunnels.

The wind howled.  My core body temperature dropped like a rock.  My ears stung with the cold and I started to shiver uncontrollably.  Even my teeth chattered.

Buses came and went, but not mine – something you’d think I’d be used to by now, but hope clearly springs eternal despite all the odds.

I was blisteringly cold as I stood there, watching the crowds come and go.  I lost all feeling in my hands and feet as the frozen gales blasted me from all sides.  I developed an ice headache of epic proportions.  My ears were perishing balls of agony at the sides of my throbbing head.

And I just wanted to cry.  Like you did when you were a child and got so utterly cold, I just wanted to sob with the misery of it all.  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so cold in my entire life.

The bus came 30 minutes after I arrived at the bus stop.  It wasn’t heated.  In summer buses are like blast furnaces on wheels, but in winter they don’t bother turning the heating on.  So, already hypothermic, I sat on a cold bus for 45 minutes in the heavy traffic.

Fortunately my partner got home before me and put all the heating on, so at least it was warm when I toppled like a falling glacier into the house.  I stood in the middle of the living room, wailing, “I’M SO COLD WAH!  I’VE BEEN STANDING THERE FOR 30 MINUTES WAH! AND SITTING ON A FREEZING COLD BUS FOR 45 MINUTES WAH! AND I’M JUST SO COOOOOOOOOOOOLD”

The gas fire couldn’t penetrate the frozen layer of my skin and defrost my bones, so I was forced to jump into a really hot bath – I swear the water hissed as I stepped in it.  Even then, it took 30 minutes lying there, topping up the hot water, until I fully defrosted.

From now on I’m catching the first bus out of town – I don’t care where it goes, I don’t care how far I have to walk home, I just need to get out of the city before I completely and utterly lose the will to live.

Tuesday 31

Ooooh, Halloween.

Usual bunch of kids at the door tonight pestering for sweets or money or they’d throw paint thinners over the car or something (tsk).  Where were they 2 years ago when we made huge efforts to dress up and had half a ton of sweeties waiting in the hallway next to the pumpkin and the plastic spiders, eh?    We reverted to ‘bloody kids at the door’ mode instead, a definite sign that old age is creeping up on us rather faster than we’d like.

Granddaugher came round (not on her own, obviously, she’s only 9 months old).  They’d dressed her up in the cutest little Halloween outfit you’ve ever seen, complete with miniature witch’s hat. Sooooooooooooo gorgeous.  Took a photo but I was laughing too much and being all Hysterical Granny Doesn’t She Look Great and it didn’t turn out.

Watched the original Amityville Horror DVD.  Oh yeah, old film, bit scary, lets turn the lights out and watch it in the dark, be quite fun, we’re not scared of a bit of dark or a bit of a horror film, oh no, we’re tough, us.

Well, partner is.  I obviously have the mentality of a 7 years old when it comes to horror films.  I actually watched parts of it through slitted fingers (with my partner killing himself laughing).  When a cat jumps up at the window I swear every inch of my skin detached from my body in shock.

Went to bed in the dark (because I have hitherto unknown masochistic tendencies).  Thought partner had gone into the bedroom, but no, he has hitherto unknown sadistic tendencies and leapt out at me from the spare room.  Not sure what the neighbours thought of the ensuing screams (mostly his).

people have been here (spooky!)

DISCLAIMER: This is a personal weblog.  The opinions expressed here represent my own and not those of my employer(s), work colleagues or family.  My experiences are written purely from my point of view and are intended to be a humorous depiction of my somewhat chaotic life.  No malice is intended in any way, it's not in my nature. The names of real people and companies have not been used.
 

This page and all of its contents are copyrighted (c) Brummie Blogs 2006.  All rights reserved - that's all of 'em so don't even think about nicking anything unless you ask first.