• More crap weather

• Mothers Day (6th - forget it at your peril)

• Easter (yes! legitimate time off work and a legitimate reason to eat chocolate!)

Oh this is absolutely hysterical, a total killer. Those who have ploughed their way through the Great Divorce Fiasco will know that I fought the ex-husband long and hard for five years before my divorce and ‘financial settlement’ were finally sorted. Ex eventually ended up with a large cash sum and a couple of lucrative endowment policies.

Ex rang me last night. "I need a favour," he said. Oh yes. "I’m doing stuff to the house and I need to cash the endowments in to pay for all the improvements." And this is my concern because … ?.

Apparently the building society won’t give him a disclaimer form to say that the endowments are no longer attached to a mortgage, which he needs in order to cash the endowments. He’s been battling with them for four months! He wants me to ring them up and get them to send a form so that he can get the money. He wants me to do it asap.

But, d’ya know, I’ve had such a frantic day and, if the ex can spend three years arguing the toss over every little thing via expensive solicitors and happily delay a house valuation by seven months because he insists on being present, then I’m pretty sure I’m going to be frantic for quite some time.

What goes around comes around.

Middle son emailed me at work at 4.50, bearing in mind I leave at 5.00pm. His subject heading was "ARGH!" so I knew he hadn’t discovered how to split the atom using a plastic knife and rolling pin. He’d attached a PDF - warrant for his arrest for non-payment of tv licence. 10 seconds later, my phone rang.

"Mom! Warrant! Arrest! £160 fine!" After Small Son’s endless fines for endless motoring offences I almost said, ‘Is that all?’ but managed to bite my tongue in time. In a house of 12 students, he’d managed to get nabbed at the door by a licence detector man for not been able to show a tv licence (because his housemate had it in his room and the housemate was out). He was forced to buy another one on the spot. He’d moved since then and he was being ‘done’ for not having a tv licence at his old address, despite the warrant being sent to his new address. All terribly complicated.

There was a court date. I told him to go along and show his tv licence and all would be well with the world again.

Later, when I’d told Small Son about the arrest warrant and he’d stopped laughing, he sent Middle Son a text: "Police are at the door asking for you." Small Son promptly left, just as the phone rang and Middle Son screamed, "WHAT?"

Never a dull moment.

Mothers Day!

Lunch at The French Hen in Bromsgrove with a random selection of family, namely mom, sis, sis’s son (17, 6 foot 2"), sis’s daughter (7), me, my Partner and Small Son (Small Son came! a first!). Had a pretty good time. Mom’s eccentrically mad in an amusing/attractive way, kept getting things out of her shopping bag like Mary Poppins - we were all waiting for the standard lamp to appear. "Would anyone like an Alpen bar?" she asked, when we were all sitting there stuffed from our main course and awaiting our pudding. Next, a huge slab of Bournville chocolate. "There you go," she said to me, "It’ll make you feel better." Better in what way I’m still not sure as I don’t have a sweet tooth and I, like my mother, get migraine from the mere sight of a Bournville wrapper.

Next out of the bag, Cheerios. I kid you not. A bag of Cheerios. "Would anyone like some?" she asked, and we all gave each other "What!" looks. Finally, photographs. Old photographs. I asked for a copy of one of my mother when she was 14, next thing I know there’s a photo thrust in my face of mom’s two cats. "Would you like a copy of this one?" she asked enthusiastically. "Why?" I asked, desperately wanting to add ‘for dart practice?’ but restraining magnificently.

Sis offered to do the grocery shopping for us because we hate it so much.  "But I'll have to borrow your car while mine is being repaired," she added casually.

My Partner's whole face crashed to the floor in unmitigated horror.  "You've got more chance of winning the lottery than ever sitting behind the wheel of my car!" he cried (being a blunt Yorkshireman).

Sis looked offended.  "I haven't had that many accidents," she said, while we all suddenly engaged in deep conversation with one another.

Massive Monday morning miseries. What with the hyperactive schoolkids, Snot Man, a woman next to me who would Not Stop Fidgeting and the prospect of Another Long Day At Work, I nearly got off the bus and went home again.

I think I might be suffering a mid-life crisis of some sort. I feel the urge to backpack around the world or go save the elephants in Africa, something worthwhile.

Something interesting!

If the blogging suddenly stops, you know me and my backpack have disappeared into the sunset screaming "Watch out, world, I'm coming!"

As I found myself walking passed my building society at lunch, I though I might as well get it over and done with and ask about this disclaimer form for Ex so he can cash endowments in.  I explained it all very clearly to the girl on the desk, and she said, "We don't do endowment mortgages any more." 

I knew then it was a lost cause. 

"My ex-husband just wants a disclaimer form from you to say the endowments are no longer attached to my old mortgage so that he can surrender the endowment policies." 

There was a long pause.  "We don't do endowment mortgages," she said again.  I felt like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day.

I tried. 

Something seriously weird happened to me at work today.  Totally freaked me out.

Went to disabled toilet.  The motion-activated 'bin' next to me opened and closed several times.  Sensor obviously buggered. 

Later, I went to the 'communal' loo.  Walked into cubicle.  The 'bin' suddenly opened and closed, opened and closed.   

What are the odds on two screwed sensors?

Bit spooked, I went into next cubicle, and the first cubicle door suddenly slammed against the partition.

You better believe I got out of there real fast!

Red Nose Day! We could dress casual at work, so no suit for me. I actually had to choose something from my wardrobe at 7am – the eyeballs can’t even focus at 7am and the brain’s still scratching its frontal lobe and muttering, "What? Decisions? Now?"   Eventually decided on sensible jeans and jumper, exposing my posterior for the first time in years – would my work colleagues cope?

Checked out loos. Toilet bins seemed to have calmed down now, thankfully, although I’ll be encouraging girlie toilet breaks en masse from now on.

Interesting phonecall in the afternoon. A woman told me she was a headhunter from another legal company and I’d been recommended to her! Talk about ego boost. She wouldn’t give me any details, but we agreed to talk about ‘a very interesting position’ on Monday evening. Most intriguing.

A couple of funny emails at work recently made me laugh:

Oh, and you must try this Tart Test and leave your score in Comments ... then I might tell you what my score was.

Daddy the Gardener came and pointed with a big stick at our enormous apple tree in the back garden whilst my Partner swung from branch to branch wildly hacking them off.  Within minutes the tree was reduced from a sprawling mass to a lollipop stick and the garden has light again.  Hopefully we won't have 17,948 apples strewn across the lawn come autumn. 

The headhunter rang, offering a eye-wateringly huge salary.  She ranted on excitedly for 20 minutes explaining the duties of the job, all of which I could do.  Then, at the end, she said, "They expect some flexibility in working hours," which roughly translates to working huge amounts of overtime, hence the massive salary.

Not for me then.

The phone rang again.  On the other end I could hear sounds of movement, but nobody spoke.  At first I thought it was a salesman pausing before launching into his spiel, but then I heard kitchen noises - obviously someone had dialled by mistake and was now wasting their credit.  Tried hanging up, but they remained on the line.

While my Partner started yelling "Hello?" louder and louder, I rang Small Son's mobile.  He answered.  "Just checking," I said, and hung up. 

I rang Middle Son.  Mobile engaged.  Sussed.

We started screaming Middle Son's name down the receiver.  And then the line suddenly went dead.  10 seconds later, the house phone rang again.

"Nearly had heart attack," said Middle Son.  "I was cooking in the kitchen and heard this voice calling out my name in my pocket."

Best laugh I've had in ages. 
 

Interactive Buns! (wiggle your mouse, oh yeah, wiggle your mouse)

My Partner went to Spain on a business trip for two days this morning, won't be back until Thursday .  Last night a few things suddenly occurred to me.

"I don't know how to work the alarm clock!" I said, alarmed.  So he showed me.

"I don't know how to use the electric can opener either!"  So he showed me.

"What about this?" he asked, pointing to a white blob on the kitchen counter.

"What about it?"

"Do you know how to use it?"

"Use it?  I don't even know what it is."

There was a long pause.  "It's a deep fat fryer," he said.

"Didn't know we had one of those," I said, impressed.

"Where do you think the chips come from?"

"The kitchen."

Another long pause.  "Shall I show you how to use it?" he asked.

"As a woman on her own who can't cook and can't smell, probably best to leave the thing alone."

My Partner nodded.

Spent most of the night waking with a start and peering over the edge of the bed dreaming my Partner had fallen out.

Lunch: A work colleague wanted to come to the rag market with me.  Being slim and young with boundless energy, she shot off through the crowds like a heat seeking missile, yakking the entire time.  I struggled to keep up with her pace and her conversation (its hard to talk when you're gasping for breath).  By the time we got back to the office I felt I'd done a three hour workout at the gym and barely had the strength to make it to my desk. 

Afternoon:  A female boss from another office came to say hello to me as we've spoken on the phone a lot but never met.  As we shook hands, we both clearly checked out each others bling rings, then glanced up at each other and laughed. 

Evening: My Partner came home!  Yes!

My sister rang from my mother's house at 12.30.  "We're coming to meet you for lunch," she said.

I groaned.  My sister's incessant lateness is a source of much angst.  At 1pm I rang her mobile to wearily ask if she was anywhere near the city centre yet.  Her tone was smug.  "We're in reception," she said.  My gasp of amazement was heard across the entire office.

We sat outside a cafe on New Street in the spring sunshine indulging in cappuccino and gossip.  A lone man sat on the next table, ostensibly reading a book but clearly listening to our every word.  When we left he glanced up at us and smiled, either thinking 'Lovely ladies' or 'Complete nutters!' ... most likely the latter

As I don't normally drink coffee, the caffeine rush hit me with a vengeance an hour after I got back to the office.  I suddenly felt faint and staggered to my chair, throwing my spinning head between my jelly legs.  Just at that moment a boss-type walked passed.  He obviously didn't think it the least bit unusual to see a secretary hanging upsidedown off her chair and walked straight on. 

My Partner brought Middle Son home from university for Easter.  Middle Son had been in the house a whole five minutes before the fridge was opened for the first time (of many!).  We're thinking of putting one of those counters in there to see exactly how much wear and tear this fridge is enduring.

Gruff office person: "Is [head secretary] in today?"

Me: "I don't know."

GOF: "Well, do you know where she is?"

Me: "No."

GOF: "Do you know when she'll be back?"

Me: "No!"

GOF: "Well look in her diary and find out!"

Me: "I don't have access to her diary!"

GOF: "Why not?"

Me: "Because I'm not her secretary!"

GOF: "But she has a collection for so-and-so in her drawer?"

Me: "And?"

GOF: "When she comes back tell her I need the collection back?"

20 minutes later, gruff office person rings me: "Have you asked [head secretary] about the collection yet?"

Me (gritting teeth and repeatedly stabbing letter opener into stress ball): "No!!!"

GOF: "Oh, thanks a lot!"

And they hang up on me!  I jump up to peer over the top of my cubicle at gruff office person's head on the other side of the office, and contemplate knife-throwing the letter opener into their back.  There's four secretaries and three boss-types between me and my target - I reluctantly decide it isn't worth the risk.

I search the internet for a cheap crossbow.

Despite vowing not to 'lunch' or socialise any more because, frankly, it's getting expensive, I ask a colleague out for a coffee.  She's young and energetic and hasn't had all hope and joy sucked out of her by husbands or offspring yet - a joy to behold.

We sit outside a cafe on New Street in the glorious spring sunshine and gossip over cakes and cappuccino.  Another young colleague walks passed and we urge her to join us, and suddenly I'm 19 again.

Bloody great.

.

I’ve never seen the Crown Jewels and booked a couple of seats to London on the Megabus, a 3 hour journey but its cheap. Splashed out on a new paperback specially for the event, spent days looking at the pristine cover but resisted reading it. Finally, we were on the coach and I opened it up with a sense of great expectation. Read the first line. Horror. Not only had I read it before, but I had an identical copy at home. Miserably ate the home-made sandwiches instead (no expense spared when we travel).

Finally arrive at Victoria Coach Station and sit amongst the crowds on the tube desperately trying not to look like tourists – the lights go out and the tube stops but we maintain a bored composure (whilst the Londoners are probably all thinking, ‘Christ! This never happens! We’re all going to die! And those two tourists don’t seem to care!’). A man gets on and starts playing the banjo, which makes for a very surreal journey – you don’t get this kind of thing in Birmingham.

We go straight to Madame Tussauds. We’ve got 5½ hours until the coach journey back, but there's no rush, plenty of time to see waxworks first. There's a short queue outside the Tussauds building. We stand in it. The queue slowly inches inside, down some stairs, zigzags across a room, goes behind a partition, zigzags back across the room again, up some stairs, zigzags across another room, and finally, an hour and a half later, we reach the two-manned counter.  Pre-booking would have taken five minutes.

Aren’t famous people tiny. Mel Gibson is shorter than me, and a magnifying glass was required to see Kylie Minogue (what is she doing on that piano!). Was photographed with my arm around Steven Speilberg, chatting casually to Robin Williams, sharing a joke with Whoopi Goldberg, and saying an emphatic no to George Clooney’s marriage proposal (in yer dreams, mate). Fab.

By the time we leave, there’s no time to go to the Tower of London. What a shame, we’ll have to do it all again another time.

In the (eternal) quest for two black dining chairs, we go to Cousins furniture store, almost the only place we haven’t looked. We look. We glance at each other with our jaws dragging on the floor, our brains screaming in unison. How much?

We ask a salesman about black dining chairs below four figures. He didn’t exactly look us up and down and curl up his nose, but you could tell he wanted to (hey, mate, you’re a shop assistant!). He guides us to a ‘seconds’ area where furniture is ‘cheaper’ because it’s been on display. He points at things which aren’t black dining chairs and mentions figures roughly in the region of my monthly salary.

We beat a hasty exit, laughing at the extraordinary pretentiousness of furniture.

With a burst of spring energy I decide to wake up the garden. My Partner opens the back window and yells, "Wakey wakey!" but I tell him that’s not the way to do it. He goes outside and shakes a plant (which will surely stunt its growth) and I push a yard brush into his hand.

We clean, sweep, weed, primp up the plants and stand back to admire the emerging buds. I have a strong urge to rush out and buy plants and scatter seeds, but compromise with a mad splurge on ebay instead – I find and win the perfect dining chairs plus a matching table at a bargain price from someone who lives round the corner.

Ex-husband comes to collect sons for the weekend. All terribly civil.

Ex brings the sons back. Both sons look for their for Easter Eggs … they’re 19 and 20!  I tell them its time they started buying me one, and they both beat a hasty retreat.

I come down with some dreaded lurgy that’s been plaguing the office for weeks – now I get it!! Whilst on holiday! Again!! My Partner claims I must be allergic to home, or him. My theory is the germs can’t wait to escape the bug-infested office and hitch a lift out on me – word has obviously spread that I have the best holiday destination.

I drink hot toddies. I eventually dispense with the toddy bit and just drink the whisky.

Oh woe, oh great sadness, last day of the holiday. I wander round groaning a lot, washing and ironing work clothes (which I always leave until the last minute) and feeling yukky.

As Beth said in War of the Worlds: "There must be more to life."

Alas, its corporate slavery, or poverty, and I've already done the poverty bit (still practising it, in fact).

Return to work (oh joy of joys) to discover a desk heaving with work. In between coughing and sneezing and typing, I manage to nab a break and go for fag.

Discover the basement area is filled with those motion-sensor bins from the ladies loos, at least fifty of the buggers. It's like a scene from a horror film.  I press myself against the far wall and slither my way passed. A lid slides open and slams shut. I tell myself they’re being taken away because they’re all defective, just as another lid opens and closes. I lose my nerve dash back into the building. Just before the door closes behind me, I hear at least three bin lids slamming shut.

Is it me?

Get up, feeling dreadful. Get ready, feeling awful. Catch bus to work and almost fall asleep. Get to desk, have to restrain myself from putting my head down on it and drifting off. Can barely keep my eyes open. Struggle to get through the mountain of work .

It’s all too much. I tell a colleague I’m going home. She tells me there’s Yet Another Bug going round the office and people are dropping like flies.

I think we have a ‘sick office’.