Children's Day

I woke up on Saturday morning feeling groggy, with a slight headache and feeling dehydrated. The reason for this became clear when my Mum informed me that I had left the heating on overnight by mistake. “No wonder!” said Dad, not doing a great job of hiding his annoyance, “I was really hot last night! Never did I imagine that someone had left the heating on!” OK, OK, ol’ sieve-brain here forgot. My Mum had asked if she should turn the heating off and I thought she had, but because I didn’t give a definitive answer, she had left it on, thinking I would switch it off on my way up. I also realised that my hair had been rather damp when I went to sleep and still was slightly damp when I woke up, meaning my curls were even more mental than usual, but in a good way. Yes, I am that lazy that I let a combination of moisture, air and my sleeping pattern style my hair while I sleep. I also realised that I had gone to sleep without taking my medication, which wasn’t such a good thing.

I rushed to get ready, then realised that although Big Sis had arrived, she was still having a chit-chat with Mum downstairs and wasn’t ready yet. I took my medication and some headache tablets to sort out the migraine that was steadily forming from my night of dehydration, then had some breakfast. It was Children’s Day at church and it was awesome. There are a lot of children at our church, ranging from babies and toddlers to early teens. It was lovely to see them in charge of the entire service. They sang songs like This Little Light Of Mine to start the service, accompanied by various instruments like hand drums and tambourines (which one or two of them played a little too enthusiastically). One boy shared a poem called What If? I can’t remember all of it, but the most pertinent lines to me were: “What if God stopped loving us because we refused to love other people?”, “What if God answered our prayers the way we answered His call to service?” and “What if God took away the Bible tomorrow, because we don’t read it today?” Hmm. Food for thought.

There were a couple of ‘Adult’s Stories,’ in place of the Children’s Story they usually have in place in a normal service. The children asked if we were ‘sitting comfortably’ and kept us amused. There were three little sermonettes of about 10 minutes each, instead of the usual long one. None of the three children who spoke could be any older than 13. They spoke so well and had each done their own PowerPoint presentations to accompany their talks. They were amusing, mature, sincere and above all, each had something very important to say and to teach us. It was such an enjoyable service and me and Big Sis got a little overcome with pride for these beautiful young ones who are the church of tomorrow. I was even more amazed when I was told that they organised the service themselves and decided what they wanted to do. They finished the service with a rendition of Jesus Loves Me in various different languages, following the international nature of the congregation. There was French, Spanish, Indian (I’m not sure which dialect), several African languages (from South Africa, Zambia and maybe Zimbabwe), Tagalog and of course English. There was also a duet of the song on some sort of toy horn instrument and then a rendition with bells. They rocked.

We chatted to some friends and then drove home to drop Dad off, taking 15 minutes to get our stuff ready and have a quick cup of tea. Mum, Big Sis and I then headed off to our friend’s house for another meeting with our small group (which I keep forgetting is called Maranatha) – lunch (or course), followed by a Bible study. We were cutting it a little bit fine, as Big Sis and I both had to leave our house at 6.00pm for our respective evenings out, so really wanted to be home by about 5.00pm so we could get ready. The lunch was yummy, although not so great for Big Sis, since there was a lack of vegetarian options. I couldn’t resist having some of the Filipino beef stew, which I rarely get to eat, and then had some yummy Filipino desserts made of sticky rice and cassava.

We took some time to pray in groups of three, remembering our extended group members and friends who are currently unwell, the people in the Far East who are still recovering from the recent typhoons and floods and everyone in our group, including the couple who are due to get married next month (here and then in April in the Philippines). We then had our Bible study, talking about chapter 11 of the book of Numbers, which describes the Israelites’ journey, led my Moses, in the wilderness to the promised land of Canaan. The journey should have taken 11 days but ended up taking 40 years. We discussed the issue of faith and trust and how when we stop trusting God and try to work things out our own way, when He has already promised to so that for us, we end up making problems for ourselves and taking so much longer to get to where God wants us to be (physically [in health and location], spiritually, emotionally, etc.), missing out on all sorts of blessings on the way. It was a really good discussion and very interesting, raising lots of points that are relevant to our lives in the here and now and lots of suggestions for how to apply these things to our daily lives in a practical way. The discussion ended with a prayer and a song and then we said our goodbyes, talking to our friend V who is getting married and who Big Sis had given a spare wedding dress to (she had bought it on sale then decided it wasn’t for her). She had tried it on and apparently it had fit perfectly and really suits her. We had a feeling it would, especially since she is quite a bit taller than us, so wouldn’t need to chop off so much from the hem as Big Sis would have had to. We exchanged hugs and well wishes, feeling glad that we had joined them. Although we were running late, I wouldn't have missed it for anything.

Moving On, Up and Out

Two weeks ago, on the day I found out about the internal ‘promotion’, before I had even found out about it, I had emailed Lolly and asked if she was thinking about moving out of home any time soon. I know it’s something she would probably be quite keen to do, but I wasn’t sure if it would be feasible for her in the near future, or how tied up she was financially. I have been wanting to do so for a while, even though the initial teething problems we experienced when Big Sis and I first started living together are all now resolved and I love living with her and Bro-in-Law. I am conscious that they need their own space as a married couple, I need my own space, more independence and responsibility as an individual, and they might want to have babies soon! Either way, it seems like the right thing to do sometime in the near future. I am not financially able to do so just yet, but I have been playing around with the figures in my head and know that it could be a feasible possibility in the next 12-18 months. I mentioned this to Lolly and asked if moving out in that time frame was something she would consider. If so, would she like to live somewhere with me? I think that either way, I will aim to make it happen, but there are infinitely better and more affordable options when there are two of you sharing, as opposed to trying to find a one-bedroom place or a studio.

Thankfully, Lolly was up for the idea and so we have decided to make that a medium-term plan and look to making it actually start to happen by this time next year. I probably shouldn’t even have mentioned it here, I don’t like talking about ideas and plans before they have really happened, but looking forward and having a time scale to work to and plan for is really helping me to keep positive and be focused on improving the things in my life that I have control over. I can’t control how other people behave but I can make changes to my living arrangements and my surroundings and that will hopefully improve my overall outlook. I am looking forward to having more freedom and opportunities to be sociable and widening my social circle by actually being able to go out more!

I am feeling more positive and excited at the prospect of finally making some much-needed changes. I know I have a long way still to go and that there will no doubt be more low points and challenges along the way, but at least I will be better equipped to meet them head-on, knowing that all things work together for good. It’s going to take some time, but I am starting the ball rolling so that I can build up enough momentum to push me through the less positive moments. I’m taking tiny steps, making one little change at a time, but at the moment each little movement along the path is progress.

Exes and Whys

Earlier this week, The Mrs informed me that she was having a mini crisis of insecurity. I probably shouldn’t explain in detail here as it wouldn’t really be right, but I can relate to it. She often feels insecure or threatened by her boyfriend’s past. Specifically, his relationship past. When I was with NY Guy, I felt a similar way. Not all the time, but occasionally, if I was in a particular mood, or he said something that hit a nerve, or he joked about something relating to it, my insecurity would raise its ugly head. I don’t think this is even solely applicable when you are with someone who has a colourful past. It can be equally as daunting when the person you are with has just one, hugely significant, long-term past relationship. Why is it that we naturally compare ourselves to the people that have previously held our beloved’s affections? Why is it that women seem to be more open about this insecurity and in my experience, men don’t seem to mention it as much (but probably mull over it just as much in secret)? Why does it make us feel so threatened to know that we are not the first person they have been attracted to, or slept with, or lived with, or loved?

NY Guy told me I was the only girl he’d ever really been in love with. Now, I know he’s not a person whose word I should hold as absolute truth, lol, but even knowing that he hadn’t felt as strongly for anyone else, even without meeting me, didn’t completely erase the insecurity I felt about his previous relationships. It wasn’t even an insecurity that he’d cheat on me, because I felt quite secure that he wouldn’t. It was more about the fact that others had held his affection before me, that they would have set his expectations at a certain level, that I might not match up to whatever his experience in relationships was before. Why I used to think this, I’ve no idea. I’m not a person who usually compares myself to other girls, or feels threatened by someone who is prettier or more attractive than me, or sees other women as ‘the enemy’ the way I get the feeling some women do. But when it comes to a guy that I am with, I can’t help but feel insecure about the women they have loved or even liked before.

When I briefly got back with The Ex, he told me very little about the girl he went out with after me. He told me enough, but my insecurity and compulsive sense of curiosity meant I found out a few things anyway. But after that initial weirdness, I realised I didn’t care that much after all. Perhaps it was because I knew that he had compared her to me. I’ve realised that for my own sanity, it’s often best not to know all the details, especially details about someone who isn’t even in their life any more.

I want to reassure The Mrs, to help her to feel secure, knowing that she is the one he has chosen to be with, she is the one that he loves, she is the one he can see himself settling down with. But it’s not enough. A real sense of security is not something that an external party can impart to someone else. If anyone was going to be able to make her feel more secure in the relationship, it would be him, but even then there are limits. The problem with feeling secure is that often, the fundamental work has to come from within the insecure person themselves. Luckily for The Mrs, her Mr seems to be doing a good job of being patient, understanding and reassuring about the fears and insecurities she is trying to shake off. And that, for now, seems to be the best possible thing he can do.

Meeting Of The Sisterhood

My evening out with The Sisterhood was cool. I rushed to the tube station and was greeted by hordes of people, totally forgetting it was half term and so loads of families were on their way home from the surrounding museums. I met Lolly at the other end and we giggled at how hysterical we both already were, both well in need of an evening of fun after a long week.

We went to this wine bar which was underground; the stairs down to the bar were incredibly steep, which I wouldn’t have thought was a good combination with the effects of drinking wine, but perhaps the precarious exit route helped to encourage punters to stay in the bar longer before attempting to leave. Downstairs it was like a crypt, with low, curved ceilings made of stone and old wooden furniture, including random wooden dining chairs with arms, that made me feel a bit like I was sitting on a throne. We met Nats (which I have nick-named her as she looks like Natalie Imbruglia) on her way to get food and had a three-way hug, before she directed us to the rest of the gang who were sat around a tiny table in the far corner. Head Sister was there and Mr. Coffee (who I never worked with, but have met a few times out with the gang because he does the job I used to do - he is a sweetheart and very likeable), so we exchanged hugs and hellos and sat down in the cosy corner.

The fact that it was a wine bar and I don’t drink wine wasn’t such a big deal, lol, they also served good old rustic food – you could get a plate of two huge hunks of cheese of your choice (there were roughly 20 on offer), a huge hunk of crusty white bread (pretty much half a baguette) with butter and pickles of your choice (we got pickled onions, mini gherkins and Branston-style pickle) for £7. I shared a plate with Lolly (brie and mature cheddar, we didn’t go too adventurous). It was yummy. It also helped that the bar staff were nearly all male, Hispanic/Latino and rather good-looking, but ranging between surly, sexy or friendly in demeanour.

We chatted and laughed over our drinks and nibbles, and they hailed Lolly as the Second Renegade of The Sisterhood (me being the first defector), asking how her new job was and teasing her poor excuse for a new office. Head Sister has visited it and likened it to the set of budget soap operas Prisoner Cell Block H or Crossroads, in which the notoriously shaky sets often visibly moved on camera. We were (or still are) all spoiled by working at that place. It’s not often that administrators or PA’s get their own enclosed office in a relatively newly-built building that isn’t part of the private sector. *Sigh* Those were the days. Although, it is nice having colleagues around to talk to, like I do now. I just sometimes wish we had our own smaller office in which to do it!

We laughed at old anecdotes of the professors who work in the Centre, including Mr. Coffee asking me if Prof. Fuzzy von Forgetful used to come to my office at random intervals to ask for random bits of stationary, even though I wasn’t his PA or even worked on his team. “Yes! Yes he did,” I assured him, “All the time. ‘Hi, have you got an envelope? Hi, would you have any Blu-Tack? Hi, what’s the fax number?’” We laughed at how everything is exactly the same and the annoying professors are still annoying and the lovely ones are still lovely. There was a bizarre survey that Nats was taking, where your predicament was that you had to pick one professor (either Prof. Fuzzy von Forgetful or Prof. Podgy von Balding) to sleep with, in order to save the world. Mr. Coffee had chosen Fuzzy von Forgetful, because of his fuzziness, which induced involuntary shudders down my spine. “He’s all cuddly,” he said, gamely playing along despite the fact he is very happily married. Head Sister agreed with him, much to my despair. Nats plumped for Podgy von Balding. Lolly sensibly remained rather silent on the issue.

“So this is to save the world?” I asked, trying to play along through my disgust (lol).

“Yes,” said Nats emphatically, “You have to pick one, or every single person on earth will die.”

I thought for a second. “Well…goodbye, world.” We laughed.

“Hang on,” said Mr. Coffee, “How exactly does this act save the world?”

“Well…,” said Nats, stalling momentarily, “There’s a madman and he is going to kill everyone unless you sleep with one of the professors.”

“I’ll take the madman,” I offered, thinking that couldn’t be any worse than the crusty old professors. We laughed at the stupidity and utter pointlessness of this conversation, while Nats said that in her survey of eight people so far, Fuzzy was inexplicably winning.

A little while later, The Duke arrived (he’s Head Sister’s bloke, but he’s not a Sister, so just like the Queen’s husband, I’ve named him The Duke). His arrival coincided nicely with a group at the big table next to us leaving. This also coincided nicely with two lovely middle-aged ladies looking for a table, so we played musical chairs briefly while everyone swapped round. We chit-chatted and laughed and ordered more drinks and food, then Mr. Coffee had to go, but we promised to see each other again soon (I think I’ve only actually met him three times). It was quite noisy in that confined space, so we sometimes struggled to hear each other, fighting against background noise and sore throats from all the laughing. Mid-way through the evening I started to feel restless, knowing that NY Guy was, as far as I know, five minutes down the road. I spoke to Lolly about it and came to the conclusion that calling him and not getting a response would bother me less, than not calling at all and then wondering later whether I should have done. I had to climb up the stairs to get phone reception and got no answer, which I sort of expected. I ended up leaving a message on the second try, feeling that I always have to go through the same motions of this cat-and-mouse game, before I can let it rest. This was my last try, so that there was no way he could blame us not meeting on me. Once I knew I had done what I could, I felt more relaxed, even though it still disappointed me to know that he will always disappoint.

I was starting to feel quite tired by now and the combined effects of the lack of ventilation downstairs, the noise bouncing off the low ceilings and close walls and the small glass of dessert wine I had been given by Head Sister, had resulted in a banging headache. When I returned downstairs, stumble-free, we chit-chatted some more about the latest series of America’s Next Top Model, which Head Sister and The Duke are experts on (which I never would have expected before I got to know her). In response, we all practised ‘smiling with our eyes,’ and pouting and posing, to very little success. They filled me in on what Tyra had described as the “most un-beautiful thing I have seen in this competition,” which I had heard about, but missed. Later, I was slumped back in my throne-chair and Head Sister said “Look, she just falls into model poses!” to which I burst out laughing, finding the thought that my lethargic physical frame, barely able to pull itself out of a slouch, could count as a ‘model pose’ as precisely the reason I could never comfortably work in fashion.

Before we left, The Duke reminded us that we had forgotten to ask Head Sister about the GNOME, which we had been told in an email to do this evening. "Oh, yeah!" we remembered, then bombarded her with enthusiastic requests of ,"What's the GNOME??? Tell us! Tell us about the GNOME!!!" Head Sis and The Duke have always had a core group of good friends that they have regularly met up with, taking it in turns to each pick a venue at which to meet, or an activity to engage in, for their evening of fun together. Most of their friends now have children, so the evenings out have dwindled somewhat, or have morphed into days out, or perhaps more accurately, afternoons or hours out. Since we all meet up now and then but not as regularly as we would perhaps like to, they wondered if we, with their other childless friend (lol) would be part of the group that would engage in Great Nights Of Mysterious Entertainment (GNOME). The 'mysterious' element was simply that we would each take it in turns to arrange the evening's venue or proceedings as a surprise, so that it was a mystery to the others who were attending. We decided that would be a fun idea and a good way to ensure we would get to see each other regularly. "Don't tell them it's really a cult!" said The Duke in hushed tones, giving us a comedy expression of innocence when we looked at him in alarm.

Soon it was time to leave, which felt awkward, as a lady who had been standing with a male companion next to our table realised her bag had been nicked. There had been signs on the way in warning people to watch out for bag thieves and even little notes on each table, but there were obviously pros who targeted the place. A member of the bar staff checked the CCTV and indeed, a man was seen on camera nabbing her bag, who had apparently been in a few days before doing the exact same thing. Luckily the video evidence proved that none of our party were responsible, as it felt a little bit suspicious her announcing the bag theft and then all five of us getting up to make a swift exit, moments later. We managed to clamber up the stairs unhurt, and Lolly and I waited outside while the others had a loo break for the road. The Duke was the first out, seeing as he didn’t have to wait in the obligatory queue for the ladies’. As we waited, he got barged from behind by a lady dressed prematurely (for Halloween) as a witch in a floor-length purple cloak and holding a black pointy hat. She was otherwise completely inconspicuous, with no theatrical make-up, pointy shoes or stripey tights, which made it even more bizarre. She had stumbled up the stairs leading up from the outdoor seating section of the wine bar, talking on her phone and sort of bumping into one of the bar staff. He apologised and steadied her, which she ignored, while saying loudly on her phone, “Sorry, someone just barged into me.” I caught the bar man’s eye and he looked a bit confused at her reaction but gave an awkward smile and I gave him a sympathetic shrug and a smile back.

While waiting for Head Sister and Nats, The Duke suggested we should each make up one rule for the GNOME. He made this suggestion after I had mentioned the GNOME and he had randomly punctuated it with a high-pitched "woo hoo!" noise. "You should have to do that every time someone says 'GNOME'," I jokingly suggested. "Yes, I think we should each be allowed to pick one rule for the GNOME - that can be your rule." Feeling that if I'd known this flippant comment of mine was going to be set in stone, I might have picked a better rule, I tried to rack my brains for a different suggestion that didn't make me sound like I had a mental age of five. Lolly came up with a sterling one. "No violencing," she said. We of course had to take this to the next level and say this is a Mexican accent (no idea why Mexican, especially, it just seemed to fit). "No violencing! No violencing on the gnomés!" Head Sister and Nats eventually joined us and Head Sister came to give me a hug, grabbing me around the neck and almost choking me by putting slightly too much pressure on my trachea than she probably intended. We explained that we were selecting rules for our new society, which Nats embraced with aplomb, giving an impressive "Woo hoo!" complete with hand gestures, every time someone mentioned 'GNOME'. We were still acting well below our ages when we got to the tube station (admittedly only about two minutes' walk away), which is where we parted ways. We exchanged hugs and goodbyes, blew kisses and lamented "I'm missing you already," as we walked in our different directions - Lolly and me to get the tube, Head Sister and The Duke to get the bus and Nats to talk a walk over across the bridge over the river towards the other tube station.

It had been a fun evening, which Lolly and I rounded off by going on a mission to buy iced tea for me at the station (we failed; I randomly got Capri Sun instead) and then having a quick chat while I waited for my train platform to come up. It had been really nice to see them all again, but I hoped that next time Crispy Parsnips would be able to join us (our other male honorary sister who was off work for Halloween, but isn't too well at the moment). The GNOME should be a laugh. I don't think it really matters where we end up, to be honest. The company is always guaranteed to be fabulous and that's the most important thing.

Dreams, Dinner Plans and Doing Laundry

Lolly told me she just changed her Facebook status to:

Lolly thinks NYG should be worried about the sisterhood being in his area...drunk, a brawl is inevitable.

Haha! She’s not wrong. That sort of amusing update almost makes me want to join Facebook. Almost.

The countdown to my evening of fun begins. I can’t wait to get out of here! I am also really looking forward to seeing The Sisterhood (and its four associated honorary members who will also be in attendance, three of which are male). I hope my endurance skills kick in, though; I woke up unexpectedly at 6.30am this morning, wide awake with no hope of returning to dreamland. Actually, I didn’t really want to return to dreamland, mainly because that is part of the reason I had woken up.

I was dreaming that I was chatting on IM with NY Guy, while watching from my window a traffic accident unfold which involved Tom Cruise and a seemingly vindictive member of the public, both driving vintage cars, the random man purposely running into and destroying the passenger’s side of Tom Cruise’s car. The man then tried to get me to be a witness for his car insurance, until I started saying, “But I saw you run into his car. On purpose!” At which point he realised that me being a witness was probably not in his best interest and started shouting abuse. Meanwhile, NY Guy was IM-ing me, “Hello? Are you still there?” to which I answered “Sorry, just been a witness to a car accident involving Tom Cruise.” We were then all of a sudden speaking on the phone and I asked, “So, are we not going to see each other before you go back to New York for good?” His reply? “No, we probably won’t.” My reaction was a little over-stated and I started shouting at him and going crazy, at which point I woke up in a cold sweat, partly because I fell asleep without the extra coverage of my blanket and with my window open, which meant I wasn’t as warm as I normally am.

In understand the part about NY Guy because it is still bothering me, as much as I am trying to forget about it. But the car accident is weird. I’ve no idea where Tom Cruise comes into all this, but the accident part may be a reference to the fact that when I got on the bus last night after work, a blonde, Page-3-looking lady in a black jeep started shouting at the bus driver and then parked at an angle in front of the bus, blocking him from moving. I had just got on and was standing near the front of the bus.

“You hit my car!” she was shouting, even though no-one on the bus had noticed such a thing and the driver protested that she had cut him up and had in fact hit the bus herself. The driver had a French accent and kept very calm while she shouted and effed and blinded at him, giving her his driver number and registration with no complaints and not rising to her provocation. She was still shouting and screaming and took her time in moving the car, while the other passengers muttered to themselves in confusion about what was going on.

“Don’t use the ‘f’ word,” the driver said in response to her rant, which I assume meant she had sworn at him and not referred to the fact he was French, lol. “What do you want me to do, my dear?” he asked calmly in his melodic French tone, “I can’t do anything more for you right now. You have my driver number, that’s all you need. You speak to your insurance, good luck.”

Three older ladies sitting down in front of me were speculating back and forth about what was going on. When the lady (I use the term loosely) finally moved her car, the bus driver was finally able to pull away from the stop. “She was saying the bus hit her car,” I explained to the ladies, “So she parked in front of the bus to block him, so we couldn’t move. But the driver said he didn’t hit her.” They were ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ in response, in the sweet way that older ladies do, commenting that London traffic is bad, etc. “You shouldn’t get into an argument with a bus,” I agreed, “You probably won’t win.”

The driver heard me explaining it and said from his cab, “You know darling, she was saying I hit her, but I was ahead of her. She could see me indicating, she tried to cut into my lane, so if she damaged her car, it’s because she ran into me. I couldn’t even see any damage there. She was just speaking to me with arrogance for no reason.”

“It’s because she was driving a flash car,” I said, giving the driver a bit of back-up, knowing how much abuse bus drivers take (and admittedly sometimes give, but I’m not surprised if I’m honest). When I was about to get off the bus, I walked up to the front and said, “You did well, not losing your temper,” and we chit-chatted, while he explained that the journey had been manic because Oxford Street had been temporarily closed and his was the first bus on his route to go down it after it had re-opened. I offered sympathetic replies and then wished him a good evening as I got off at my stop, thinking that it only takes one nasty person to ruin your day, but sometimes one kind person can have the opposite effect.

I stopped off to buy some supplies in Superdrug and Boots (yes, I’ll admit, more than was probably necessary) and then headed home, resisting the urge to get KFC again. I got home, had a quick chat with Big Sis, put some laundry on, ate some dinner, had a nice hot bath using some of the products I had bought (bath foam, hot oil treatment for my hair, intense conditioner), sorted out some of my laundry, took tea and biccies upstairs and then eventually settled down in bed to watch True Blood at 10.00pm. I got through to the end before I started feeling sleepy, but tried to fight it, as some of my washing still needed hanging up. I woke up a few hours later with the light on and realised it wasn’t going to happen. I then didn’t wake again until my dream and ended up hanging up my laundry and putting on a new load to wash and then getting myself some breakfast, all before 7am. I took my time getting ready and although I was the first to rise, I was still the last to leave the house, hanging up the second load of laundry to dry before I left.

What a thrilling life I lead! Lol. It’s a few less things to worry about on Sunday, at least. Which is probably just as well, because I don’t see myself getting up at 6.30am then, after Saturday night’s excitement! Only four hours to go before I’m outta here. Roll on, 5 o'clock!

Don't Spell My Checks!

Microsoft Office Outlook 2007 does not a clever person make. I am becoming a lazy-ass typer. In the past couple of years, my typing speed has really improved and I can touch-type (not by the strictly technical sense of the term) a lot more than I used to. Sort of. Anyway, consequently my accuracy was also getting better. That is, until Outlook 2007 came along. At work, they recently switched us over to all Office 2007 products. In all honesty, I rather like the 2007 batch. There are lots of little handy buttons and the layout isn’t too bad. I quite like the 2007 version of Outlook. But one thing I’m not sure about is the spell-check function. Correction. The automatic spell-check function. If I type a word wrongly, say I transpose a couple of letters, it automatically corrects it as I type. That's good, you may say. Yes, I suppose it is, from a professional point of view, although spelling isn't usually one of my weak points. Not such a good thing from the point of view of improving my typing accuracy. Nor is it good from another point of view...

I quite often compose draft blog posts in Outlook as email messages, which I either send to myself or just copy and paste into Blogger, because it is more discreet than having the Blogger website open in my browser. Lolly and I have a running joke about every single email we send to each other from work taking an extra 2 minutes to send, while spell-check flags up all our made-up words and phrases, or continentalised (<-- see?) versions of words. It used to give me a chuckle seeing just how many words in our emails would be underscored with the tell-tale squiggly red line. But now, Outlook 2007, you have taken it too far. In an email I just sent, it automatically changed hystericle to hysterical. I meant to spell it the first way! Maybe I should have actually typed it properly: hystericlé. Oh my goodness, even that didn’t work, it just tried to change it again, even with the accent! Lolly and I routinely change the suffix of words by adding an accent to either change the pronunciation or add an extra syllable (or syllablé, lol, which it also just tried to change). [A classic example is Lisacles. No, it doesn’t rhyme with icicles. It is pronounced Lisacleese, OK?]

You’ve crossed a line, spell-check! I don’t mind you underlining our made-up (or inventificated) words in red, but don’t change them without my permission, dammit! I’m being creative here! Damn the man and his stifling ways!

Behind On Blog Posts

I have approximately six blog posts drafted and counting...

I have had lots of thoughts swimming in my mind, a fair few mini happenings to relay and just general tat to get off my chest (that combination of words was probably not the best choice), but I haven't had the time/energy/inclination/brain power/creativity to actually edit the posts to a standard I'm happy to post. So much for my BlackCurrant making this easier for me. Since the missing-my-stop incident, I'm too wary to get too engrossed in using it on the train any more. Oh wait, I didn't post that blog yet, did I? Hmm, figures.

I have randomly taken to drinking coffee over the past couple of days. Not much and not often, but seeing as I can pretty much count the number of cups of coffee I have had in my life on one hand, this is an odd development. I’ve just had a random taste for it. Goodness knows why, I don’t really need any more caffeine in my diet and it doesn’t really mix well with my medication. I already get occasional subtle shakes or feel a little bit jittery on my meds; the last thing I need is to turn into a shaking, twitching, jittery mess.

I am actually really looking forward to the next few days. Tomorrow night I am meeting my old work mates for drinks, at a venue that they chose, but don’t know is about 5 minutes’ walk from NY Guy’s hotel. I would love to bump into him with my gang of workmates, lol. He really wouldn’t want to see them after they’ve had a few drinks. Muhahahahaha.

Saturday is Bro-in-Law’s parents’ golden wedding anniversary! A sad indication of the lack of longevity in marriage nowadays was the fact that I didn’t find much to choose from by way of 50th anniversary cards. I suppose not many people stick it out for that long nowadays. Their family are all going out to dinner and Bro-in-Law’s dad was apparently quite concerned that I would feel left out and went out of his way to try and include me, which was very sweet. I feel bad I have to decline, but for a change, I have plans on a Saturday night….going to see the lovely Maxwell in concert, with the lovely Miss BG! Woo hooski, baby! We are apparently going out dancing afterwards for her friend’s birthday, which will hopefully be fun, although I think the whole evening I will be with Miss BG and her boyfriend. It’s not usually my favourite situation, playing gooseberry, but I do at least know him, which helps. Plus, it means I will also be out of the house on Halloween, so won’t have to open the door to trick-or-treaters, or ignore them and then sit anxiously, wondering what they are doing to the front of my house in protest.

They mentioned on GMTV this morning that there are 58 days until Christmas. Why does the media feel the need to do this pointless countdown at random intervals every year? Aside from the fact that the only reason people seem to do this is a commercial one, to scare people into the idea that they need to shop for their presents now because there aren't many shopping days left, who needs to be told when Christmas is? If you actually care about getting presents and suchlike 58 days before, you're probably one of those people who has everything taken care of for Christmas in September anyway. If you need reminding a week before that Christmas is approaching, then you're probably one of those people who ignore the 58-day reminders anyway, as I do. Whatevski, dude! Speak to me in December!

I will post those drafts back-dated, eventually, sometime, soon...before Christmas, at least. :o)

Mondays Just Get Better

It’s Monday, I’m shattered, but as you know, I actually had a really lovely weekend. Today has been odd. Mood-wise, I have actually felt OK, but have felt completely demotivated and lacking in focus (newsflash). As soon as I got in (after about fifteen minutes of silence because I still wasn’t quite awake and I think everyone was feeling a bit Monday), Miss T asked where we wanted to order Payday Pizza from, which I had completely forgotten we had agreed to do. I had bought three slices of toast for brekkie, which she reminded me probably wasn’t the best idea when we were having pizza for lunch. “You’re gonna be bloated,” she warned and she was probably right. “Is it home time yet?” she asked, about ten minutes later.

Later on, BlankFace came over to speak to Boss Lady in muttered tones. After she had left, Boss Lady said to us, “12 o’clock, all of us, BlankFace’s office.”

Miss T gave her a look. “It’s not gonna be good news,” she said, ominously.

Boss Lady looked over at me, eyebrow raised, not sure if it was just a negative, Monday sort of comment, or based in truth, which is quite often the case with Miss T. “Why’d you say that?” quizzed Boss Lady, looking puzzled, “What do you know, Miss T?!”

“It’s not good news, that’s all I’m gonna say,” Miss T continued, then after expectant looks from us, said in a low tone, “If the rumours are right, there may be more redundancies.”

We all looked at each other in disbelief, partly at the possibility that this could be true and partly at how Miss T always seems to be in the know about these things.

“How do you know that?!” said Boss Lady, trying to keep her tone low also, despite her surprise.

“I talk to people and they talk to me,” said Miss T, doing her usual straight answer with a hint of intrigue. “I’ve had to keep it a secret for ages, but now that we’ve been summoned, I can say, because that’s what this meeting’s gonna be about.”

Boss Lady looked on at her, slightly open-mouthed.

“It’s not us,” Miss T assured her, noticing her expression, “It’s C Team,” she said very quietly, considering they are the team of four that sit right next to us. Luckily, most of them weren’t at their desks just then. I was shocked. One of that team is a rather senior member of staff. “I think it’s well out of order,” she continued, “right before Christmas and everything.”

It seemed a little bit wrong ordering Payday Pizza, knowing that it might look inappropriately jovial to do so, right next to a team who were allegedly up for the chop. But we still did it, trying to be discreet, which isn’t always Miss T’s strong point, lol. At 12, we got up to walk down to BlankFace’s office. “Ooh,” said Miss T, as she was about to leave her desk, “I better put my glasses on so that I can see her bitchy face when she gives us the news.” We filed in and indeed, Miss T was right. Only one of the four team members (one of whom is a temp in any case) is going to remain. Further to that, they are going to get rid of all the temporary staff. That includes Mini Me. I felt terrible. What were they thinking?

Luckily, the team who are being made redundant had already been informed about the plans for some time. What a way to make your Monday worse, if not. They had requested that the management team tell all staff in the department on their behalf, so all the other teams were meeting with their respective team leaders. I was still in shock. One of the people who is going is the man who sits directly in my line of vision, the one who likes to pick his nose enthusiastically while at his desk. I know I won't miss that sight, lol, but I'd never wish this on him! I've also heard he's just taken on a mortgage, which must be even more stressful for him. I can't believe they are doing this again. This department just gets better and better. I am once again feeling extremely blessed to have a job.

Sunday: Good Friends, Good Food, Good Music

This morning, I woke and knew it was early, because my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet (it was set for 8.45am). I lay there for a while and felt wide awake. I had things on my mind, so I decided to pray about them and then remembered that I also needed to pray for the many people I know at the moment that are experiencing tough times: like my uncle who has been suffering from on-going health problems that the hospital can’t seem to get to the root of; the mother-in-law of one of our small-group friends, who has just been diagnosed with liver cancer, so our friend has flown out to Pakistan with her husband and their daughter so that they can be with her; the various people looking for permanent work or experiencing financial difficulties, and so on.

After praying, it was still only just after 7am and I felt too awake to go back to sleep. I got up and cleaned my teeth, then went to get some cereal and tea for breakfast (cereal with a cup of tea on the side, not cereal with tea), returning to bed to try and write a blog post and see if my cousin was online to have a chat to, as I had promised to do (he is 8 hours ahead). He was online but didn’t reply, so I decided to catch the infamous recent episode of Question Time on BBC iPlayer (more on that in a separate post). I probably should have had a shower and got dressed early so I didn’t have to rush later on, but I was too comfy in my pyjamas and it wasn’t even 9am yet. Feeling a little bit restless, but possessing neither the desire to go back to sleep, or the energy to any anything particularly productive (like put some laundry on, or tidy some of my room), I randomly decided to clear out my email inbox. This might sound like a minor task, but this is the email address I use for virtually everything other than my blog and I am on a vast number of mailing lists. I had been putting this very task off for months, because my latest count of unread items was approximately 1500 (disgraceful, I know), most of them being mail outs from companies I buy from, or eBay reminders, or job and holiday alerts that I signed up to when I was looking for work and looking for cheap flights to NYC respectively and haven’t yet unsubscribed from. I’ve just been particularly lazy lately with actually opening the ones I want to look at and deleting the ones I have no interest in.

Perhaps an hour later, I had downsized my inbox to 6 pages (which is a reduction by 90+%) and only had one unread item, which I actually had read, but wanted to mark out so that I remembered to reply relatively soon. Feeling rather pleased with myself, although there was nothing to show for this productivity other than the inbox that only I see, I thought I should probably have a nice soak in the bath. That is, until I heard Bro-in-Law get up and beat me to it. While waiting for him to finish, my cousin eventually showed up after having an afternoon nap (his time). We chatted for a while, but by now it was nearly 10.30am and I was probably going to have to get the 11.30am train to make my lunch date on time. However, while chatting to my cuz, Big Sis made it into the bathroom ahead of me. I chatted to my cuz until she had finished, by which time it was virtually 11.00am and there was virtually no hot water left. Great. I tried not to snap at Big Sis when she told me this, knowing that for one thing, I had been awake for four hours already and could have had a bath ages ago and also that I am feeling rather hormonal and snappy. I had a lukewarm shower, which probably helped me to keep it brief, got dressed in a rush and legged it to the train station without having time to even stick some concealer on my blemishes.

Feeling in an increasingly irritable mood, I sat scowling on the train, listening to music and changing half-way to get the tube the fifteen stops to my final destination. I put mascara on while on the tube, which I prefer to avoid doing, but felt a little bit naked without. For a change, I arrived about twenty minutes earlier than our agreed 12.30, so popped into a couple of shops, resisting the urge to buy things I can’t afford in a bid to cheer up my foul mood. I was feeling unsociable, hormonal and low, which physically had me feeling extremely lethargic and seemingly unable to summon enough energy to walk down the street at a decent pace, never mind hold a conversation over a long lunch. At about 12.25, I meandered down to the restaurant and bagged an armchair by the window, texting my friends as such and knowing they would probably wonder if I had forgotten about the clocks changing and got here early by mistake.

S arrived not long after me, expressing jokingly that she was impressed with my timekeeping. We moved tables after realising that the one we were at was more suited in size to coffee, than plates of food. We had a chat while waiting for N. She updated me on what was happening and I felt concerned as she explained some relationship difficulties and suchlike. I responded, asking questions and expressing my perspective, but although I was engaging mentally and emotionally in the moment, I felt almost inanimate physically.

“Are you OK, Em?” S asked, seeming concerned.

“Yeah, I’m OK,” I answered, unable to summon up the acting skills which aren’t that great even on a good day.

“You don’t seem OK.”

I explained that I had been going through a low patch because of a few things that had happened and was finding it draining, both emotionally and physically, which made it quite difficult to function normally and put up my usual front that I am required to show at work. She was understanding and sympathetic.

“It is hard keeping up that professional façade, when you don’t feel like that inside. But when you’re with friends who know and accept you as you are, you can just be yourself. You don’t have to do that with us.”

It was actually nice to have someone ask, who cared about the answer and who knew how to deal with it. I felt relieved and more relaxed. My friends know about my depression, so I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable telling them, but I don’t like the feeling that I almost have to make the announcement that “I’m feeling low today.” I don’t want to be made a fuss over, but I do sometimes feel it is necessary to explain what could be perceived by others as lack of interest or aloofness. What makes it harder is when I am around people I am not close enough with to be able to explain this to, which means that I instead just try to avoid those people so that I don’t have to drain myself of the small amount of energy I do have pretending to be ‘normal.’

We chit-chatted a while longer over drinks until N arrived, then ordered our meals, all agreeing we would choose desserts over starters. Three hours, three chicken dishes, three desserts (mocha cheesecake, lemon tart and tiramisu) and three pots of tea later, we had laughed till our bellies hurt and discussed everything including work, career plans, relationships, colleagues, birthdays, holidays, marriage, feeling stifled, independence and (specifically relating to me) the outcome of the saga with NY Guy. Part of me had been reluctant to see the girls, because when I had my last Sunday lunch with them, NY Guy and I were still together and they knew he was planning to come over. I had been dreading relaying the whole back story to them, mainly because it drains me to even think about it, but I knew that they would ask about it. They were suitably supportive of me and insulting of him, both being completely baffled by his behaviour and coming to the conclusion that there is obviously something wrong with him (lol).

I explained to N that I had mentioned to S about feeling low, but that they had really cheered me up and it had been lovely to see them as usual. It was nearing 4.00pm and I realised I would need to hot-foot it out of there, if I wanted to get home in time to drop off some stuff and have a quick costume change, before Mum arrived to pick us up for the concert at 6.00pm. We paid the bill, wandered down towards the station and said our goodbyes with big hugs and the suggestion to meet up again at the end of next month. It had been a really lovely afternoon. I got on the bus and checked the time, realising that it was actually going to be a bit tight to make it home.

Five minutes from the train station, I got a text from Big Sis.
Mum's here already. Are we meeting you up there?
Checking the time, it was only 5.00pm.
I thought we were leaving at 6?! I asked. I'm a bit later than expected.
Yeah I know, Mum’s getting stressed!

Feeling the hormones surge again, I knew I was definitely not in the mood to be around Mum when she is like that. I had missed a train by a couple of minutes and there wasn’t one for another half an hour. I texted back, feeling irritated that I hadn’t left enough time and irritated that Mum seemingly couldn’t wait 10 extra minutes for me. The concert didn’t start until 7.30pm!

Fine. I’ll meet you up here.

I now had to wander the streets like a nomad, not really wanting to get to the venue too early and also knowing that I should probably get a bite to eat before the show, which would be easier and less expensive where I was. I caved into my hormonal cravings and bought some KFC, but wasn’t feeling especially hungry just yet, as I was still full from my ample lunch. I sat at a table and ate my chips, deciding to give The Mrs a call for a quick chat, but she wasn’t around. I went to the loos to powder my nose (and my forehead and my chin and my cheeks and pretty much my whole face, lol) and doll up a little for our evening. It was still only about 5.45 and I had ages to kill. I decided I might as well make my way the three tube stops to the venue so I could pick up the tickets and sit by the river, which was way nicer than being in the train station. When I got there, I had to cross over the footbridge to the South Bank, which I did at a nice leisurely pace (which still only took me five minutes). The Royal Festival Hall was directly opposite, so once I walked down the steps from the footbridge and entered the foyer, I had picked up the tickets from an automated machine within approximately five minutes of being there. Hmm, that didn’t kill quite as much time as I’d hoped. I was hot (wearing a sweater dress, which was the reason I wanted to go home and change), so went to sit facing the Thames so that I could get cold in time for the concert.

It was lovely looking out on the river after dark, with all the nearby landmarks lit up prettily, a slight breeze ruffling through the leaves on the trees overhead and the gentle lapping of the river next to me. I stood for a while, leaning against the railings, looking over into the water and wondering how cold the river must be. It was a nice evening, not too cold but fairly clear and it was bustling with people around there as always. I had my music on and my iPod threw on Eva Cassidy’s live version of Louis Armstrong’s What A Wonderful World, which seemed to complement the surroundings perfectly. I looked across the river and felt pangs of sadness, confusion, frustration and anger, knowing that NY Guy’s hotel was virtually directly opposite where I was standing, albeit with a couple of buildings in between. I couldn’t believe that there was a river of only a few hundred metres’ width between us, that was crossable via footbridge, when previously there was an ocean of three thousand miles keeping us apart and it didn’t seem to make the slightest bit of difference.

I sat at the river for a while, listening to my tunes and people-watching. I had a moment of fear (and probably paranoia) when a man in a hoodie jogged past me who looked rather like NY Guy, but was jogging too fast for me to be sure. I laughed at the irony of him potentially bumping into me unexpectedly, when he has seemingly tried so hard to avoid me, despite all his verbal attempts at the opposite. Just before 7.00pm, Big Sis called me and I went to the entrance to meet them. Mum was in a bit of a fluster, which my mood was feeling intolerant to, but I tried to be nice and not take out my issues on her. At 7.00pm the doors to the auditorium had opened, so we made our way to our seats, unexpectedly seeing a few people we knew on the way in. The seats actually had a fairly decent view and we got settled in, looking forward to the evening of music ahead.

The concert was amazing. The whole crowd was singing along and the atmosphere was really worshipful and joyous. My bad mood ebbed away and was completely gone after a few songs. The music was fantastic and the sound was still pretty good from where we were, even though the majority of the speakers were of course facing towards the audience, rather than towards the choir seats that we were sat in. I became emotional on more than one occasion, feeling overwhelmed by the beauty of the words we were singing and the sincerity with which everyone was singing them. Mum took loads of pics and really enjoyed herself. When Ernie Haase and Signature Sound came on for their set (to rapturous applause), they waved at the crowd and didn't forget us in the choir seats. I teased Mum to "wave to her boyfriend" because there is one member she thinks is rather handsome. She smiled and then waved enthusiastically, before saying to me completely deadpan, "He ignored me." I got the giggles and it took me a while to calm down. Big Sis recorded lots of video clips on her phone, including lots of our favourite songs, like Mary, Did You Know? sung by the man who had written its lyrics, Mark Lowry himself.

The concert had a short interval, but lasted 3 hours and 30 minutes! I couldn't believe the time when we left, it didn't seem like that long at all. None of us were getting even a tad restless, because we were enjoying it so much. During the interval, a couple who were sat next to Mum started talking to her. Later on, she told us that they were a Jewish couple from Israel, who had randomly seen this Christian concert advertised and had decided to just come along to see what it was about. They kept telling my Mum how impressed they were with the music, the fact that everyone was singing along and the fact that everyone seemed to be familiar with the songs and hymns despite the diversity of Christian denominations and groups represented. They had really enjoyed themselves and were asking Mum about her beliefs, being pleasantly surprised to find that we worship on the same Sabbath that they do.

It was a fantastic evening. We left feeling really refreshed and uplifted, even though it was quite late and it had been a long day (for muggins here, who got up at an unnatural hour). I was really happy that it had been so enjoyable, particularly that Mum had enjoyed herself and that I had been able to play a part in that. All in all, it was a lovely weekend. I was absolutely exhausted when I got home, but I wouldn't have it for any other reason.

For a more detailed description of the concert, see a GaitherCommunity.com member's account here.

The Homeland

Friday evening I got to the rents’ and was joined by Big Sis, because we were due to sing in church the next day and needed to have a practice (it’s been a while, we’re a little rusty). Mum and Big Sis were laughing at Dad and our amusing observation about him being territorial in the kitchen, which Mum tells us is his domain throughout the week. Cooking for Sabbath lunch when we are there, is the only time she gets (mostly) free reign of it. Apparently, before I had arrived, Big Sis had gone into the kitchen to offer her assistance. While standing at the doorway, before she could even offer any help, Dad had asked gruffly, “What do you want?” She had relayed this to Mum, who was glad that it wasn’t just her who is denied access. However, I went in a little bit later and asked Dad if there was anything I could do. He passed me items to take out to the dining table and asked me to get the plates and cutlery. “How come you’re allowed in there?!” Big Sis asked incredulously, with Mum listening on. “Er…because I go in there to just do what I’m told, whereas you two go in to interfere!” We all laughed and eventually tucked into a yummy dinner that Dad had made, with lots of comforting winter dishes.

After a short practice (partly because my throat started to hurt and constrict through the lack of regular vocal exercise), we all got a relatively early night, during which I had my usual bizarre dreams and woke feeling cold, despite me wearing long pyjamas, being covered with a duvet and bedspread and not having the window open. I found it hard to wake and had to take a sprint shower (well, by my standards at least), rushing downstairs to get some breakfast and realising that for all my rushing, Mum was still doing her hair and wasn’t even dressed.

We managed to get to church in good time for the service, which was internationally themed as it was International Day there. There were 39 nations represented (which is actually tame compared to the church’s usual standards - I think it was about 50 last time), some evidenced by the national costumes and traditional dresses that people had come dressed in. There was music of different styles and prayers in different languages and dialects. They had listed us in the programme as representing Mum’s country, but Mum explained that in our household there are technically three nations represented, the third being the African nation in which I was born. A group from the same country had given a musical rendition of a familiar hymn in their national language earlier on and when Mum mentioned this, they waved at me in excitement, at this unexpected fellow country-person (of sorts). When we sang, I wasn’t as nervous as I usually am for a change, but my voice was still a little shaky. The song was based on verses in John 10 and was called I Am The Shepherd.

The message was given by the head elder, who has a very sincere, calming, emotive and thought-inspiring way of speaking. Her message was one of inclusivity, the message being that God’s people are scattered far and wide, throughout every nation on earth and that there are no walls of division that should separate us, of race, gender, educational/social/financial background, status or class. After the service, I caught up with a friend who recently celebrated his 50th birthday by travelling to Ireland alone for a week, to spend some time having a break from work and a spiritual retreat. One of my little adopted children, Big C, came up to show me her national costume, before running off to find her parents. When we left the church, my fellow country-people were outside the front entrance, talking in a group! "It's the African girl!" they shouted over at me and beckoned me to come to them. One of the older ladies (I'm guessing she was in her 60s, but she could have even been older; it was hard to tell from her almost complete lack of wrinkles!) seemed terribly proud and excited that I had a connection to them and they gave me hugs, asked where I was born and then asked for a group photo along with Mum and Big Sis. They were so friendly, very sweet and kept telling me to go back for a visit, because with my place of birth on my passport, they would let me straight in, lol. One of the ladies that we know actually did her nursing training in the very hospital I was born in. Mum surprised them by greeting them in their own language and so on and they were very impressed. Their singing had made Mum feel a little homesick to the point that she told us she welled up with emotion.

When we got home, we had lunch, but I was finding it increasingly difficult to stay upright, feeling really worn out and in need of a lie-down. My planned hour-long nap ended up lasting four hours (I know, the shame), but I woke up feeling much better, although slightly dehydrated. Luckily Big Sis had also had a nap, so we were regenerated enough to then have another singing practice for an hour or more, pleasantly surprised by how much of the Christmas songs we learnt last year we can still remember. I am still finding it slightly disconcerting that we are planning for Christmas already, but at least it’s almost November now, so it seems slightly less premature than in early September, lol.

Dad made us tea and toast while we sang and we ate gratefully once we had finished, had a prayer to close the Sabbath and then watched some of The X Factor and then Harry Hill’s TV Burp that Dad had recorded for us. The Gaither Homecoming Tour was playing a date at the Royal Festival Hall on Sunday night that we had known about for ages, but hadn’t had the spare cash to book tickets for. We had heard it had sold out, but then Mum had seen that they had made the choir seats (those above and behind the stage) available, which were luckily the cheapest seats and didn’t seem to be too bad view-wise. I offered to book for us, knowing that we had all really wanted to go (sans Dad, who likes them but in small doses only) and managed to get three seats located fairly centrally in the third row. I knew Mum would be particularly happy about it because she has been having a stressful time lately and had been really disappointed when we thought we couldn’t go.

I had planned to have a chat with The Mrs that night but got home later than expected, not sure if she would still be awake. Luckily she was and we had a catch-up, during which I was pleased to hear that things are still good with her Boy and that she is (don’t tell anyone) totally in lurve.

“I’m sorry I’m happy,” she said apologetically, “I really didn’t plan for this to happen. I wanted to be your eternally cynical sounding board.”

“I know, I know,” I said, laughing and knowing that I’m probably cynical enough for the both of us at the moment anyway. It’s about time The Mrs had a relationship that made her happy. I am chuffed to bits for her.

“He’s just so gorgeous, Em. Don’t you think he’s gorgeous?”

“Er….yeah,” I answered, not sure exactly how effusive my agreement of this statement should be, thinking there is a fine line between supportive and inappropriate. “He is gorgeous. He’s very your type. He’s an indie boy!”

She still thinks he’s too gorgeous for her. I, on the other hand, think they are very well matched and she’s pretty darn gorgeous herself, but the fact she doesn’t see this has always been the problem.

Before we said goodnight, The Mrs reminded me to turn my clocks back.
“That’s next weekend,” I said confidently.
“No, it’s tonight,” she said, equally as confidently.
“It’s not, is it? Are you winding me up?”
“No, seriously,” she reassured, “trust me babe, it’s tonight.”
“Oh pants, I’ve been telling everyone it’s the 31st. I better ring my Mum.”

We said goodnight and I called Mum, hoping she was still awake as it neared midnight. “I’m turning the clocks back,” she said, before I even had a chance to tell her myself. “Oh, thanks for telling me it was tonight!” I thought, but thinking it probably wouldn’t have been a bad thing if I hadn’t known, because at least I would have been ready early for my Sunday lunch with the girls. After my four-hour afternoon nap, I wasn’t quite ready for sleep at midnight, so I watched some telly for a bit before going to sleep some time after 1am. I had weird dreams yet again, but can’t remember much of them now. That is probably a good thing. Another lovely, restful and refreshing Sabbath had passed, which meant a new week had begun.

Effort of Movement

I left work early last night. On the way home I remembered a work email that I was waiting on a response to by the end of the day so that I could pass the information on to a colleague. Most of my journey home was spend trying to remotely access my work mailbox (I’m not syncing it with my BlackBerry, are you kidding me?). The technology wasn’t playing along and when I looked up, I realised I was going through a tunnel. “Hang on,” I thought, “we passed the tunnel before my station a little while ago…which tunnel is this…?” When we exited the tunnel, I slowly recognised some of the surroundings and realised I was heading towards the station after mine. In all my years taking the train home, I don’t think I have ever missed my stop once. Not good. Luckily there was a train going back to my station due in a few minutes, so I changed platforms and walked down it so that I could get on near the back of train, as that is where the stairs are to exit at my station. Of course, I had forgotten that with the station currently being refurbished, there is a temporary exit that is in the middle of the platform instead of the end, so my extra walking with the idea of saving time saved me very little, as I had to walk all the way back down to the middle of the platform, which was level to where I would have got on the train, if I wasn't trying to be a geek. *Sigh*

I had little energy for anything last night, but watched the grand final of MasterChef: The Professionals with Big Sis, while tucked up in bed (before 9.30pm, lol). The chef we were rooting for won, which I was really pleased about. The dude has some serious skills, but on top of that was quite innovative and creative, using some unique ideas in his menus and presentation. It was cool.

When I woke today, it wasn't easy. If it wasn’t for the fact that my attendance at work is being monitored, I don’t think I would have come in today. I feel absolutely exhausted, completely drained of all energy and motivation and am finding it hard to focus and function. It’s almost as if negative energy has collected in my joints overnight and my limbs now feel incredibly heavy. It’s quite an effort to even walk. To be honest, it is taking quite a lot of energy to keep up a façade of normality at the moment. Lolly invited me out for a drink with two of her friends last night (who she worked with where I used to work too). I was feeling pretty low and wasn’t sure I wanted to go straight home, so had wondered if she was busy. I appreciated the invitation, but to be honest, the prospect of having to be around people who I’m not extremely close to, who I would have to put up the usual front with, was draining in itself. I couldn’t face having to be around people for whom I would have to give an explanation for my lacklustre demeanour. I am finding it tough this week and it is sapping the small amount of energy I have to just function normally around people. I’ve had a couple of OK days, where I’ve managed to be perky without pretending, but I’ve realised that I feel even more drained a day or two later.

On Sunday, I’m meeting my uni girls for lunch. I haven’t seen them for a few months. In fact, I think the last time I saw them I was still with NY Guy. I am looking forward to seeing them, but at the same time I have been dreading the prospect. I’m not looking forward to having to explain how much things have changed since we last spoke. They know I have been depressed and they are both very understanding, but it still makes me feel anxious that they will be waiting in anticipation of the updates that I am unable to give them.

I am so glad that it is Friday and that the Sabbath is approaching. I think it’s the only day of the week at the moment that I truly enjoy.

Nearly The Weekend

I think I had a bad day yesterday. I had rushed to get to work early, to report for duty at the graduation ceremony. I had to put out programs on the seats and lamented my choice of wool sweater dress for the day’s outfit, as I hauled boxes of programs around the hot and stuffy hall. The clue’s in the name: I was a sweater, sweating like a biatch and conscious that in my rush to work I hadn’t had time to put on any make-up and therefore looked a little bit pale, aside from the fact that my skin also isn’t the greatest and this wasn’t disguised slightly as it usually is by cosmetics. The duties were a welcome relief from being in the office, partly because just being in that grand hall (a very well known music venue right next to our campus) with its beautiful interior (and just as beautiful exterior) is a treat. Anyway, despite a morning not sat at my desk, I just felt bored by work and not particularly confident, content or attractive all day. I mostly know why, I just can’t be bothered to explain, really. Aside from what was going on in my head, I think my moan yesterday via blog is probably enough. I’m conscious that I am becoming a serious bundle of joy and I wouldn’t want any readers to be irritated by my irrepressible optimism. :o)

I am feeling slightly perkier today. Last night I arrived home grumpy as hell, tired and extremely hungry. I had dinner with Big Sis, trying not to be irritated by the fact that my laptop is not my own now and knowing that I was feeling irritable generally so should reign in my desire to snap. We watched TV, had a chat, went up to my room to watch some more TV and then after Bro-in-Law arrived, she eventually left me in peace. :o) We watched MasterChef: The Professionals, which is getting increasingly exciting as the final approaches (I’m a geek, but I love it). The Secret Millionaire was really good, a follow-up from a previous episode that I hadn’t seen. I was in tears as usual, but not as much as the millionaire whose life seemed to have been changed even more than the people he helped.

“Your husband’s home,” I told Big Sis when I heard the front door, which she could quite clearly hear herself. “You might have to go and talk to him soon.” After a little while longer, she finished a few things on the internet and then said, “I probably should go and say hello to my husband now. He’ll think I’m rude.” “Yes, I agreed, “he might start thinking you love me more than you love him, which I know is the truth, but we’ll keep it between us.” We laughed and said our goodnights and I watched True Blood, which is steadily getting weirder and which I probably shouldn’t have got into.

Remember me applying for a better-paid and more exciting-sounding job a month or more back? Probably not, lol, but I did. I was sort of hopeful about it because I met all points of the person specification and had a lot of relevant experience in a very similar role. When two weeks had passed since the closing date, I wrote it off as unsuccessful. I felt a little disappointed that I didn’t at least get an interview, but not altogether surprised, being fully aware of the huge increase in the number of applicants to job advertisement ratio nowadays. When I got home last night, I had received a letter; the envelope was franked with the name of the organisation, so I knew what it was regarding. I was a little surprised, thinking that for most job applications, when a month after the closing date has passed, you can safely assume in no uncertain terms that you were unsuccessful. The letter explained that “after very careful consideration” they had decided not to invite me to interview. I know that doesn’t change the outcome that I had already accepted, but it was encouraging for me that they had written to tell me. It probably means I narrowly missed out on an interview, or they wouldn’t have bothered to inform me in writing. Most jobs tell you that if you don’t receive any contact from them within a certain amount of time, you must assume your application is not being considered. I am thankful that my application was at least given careful consideration. It might seem an insignificant thing to many, but when you’re already insecure about your own abilities or professional (and personal) worth, knowing you’re at least up there with the contenders is reassuring.

Today I got up at 6.30am (the bizarre sleeping-a-lot-and-occasionally-being-able-to¬-get-up-at-a-reasonable-hour habit continues), waking even before my alarm, knowing that if I wanted to get in the bathroom (particularly to wash my hair), I would need to get in there early, before Big Sis and Bro-in-Law did. Luckily they were still bed when I left the bathroom, as in my haste to get there, I had completely forgotten to bring my towel and had to leg it back to my room sans coverage. Because I was out of the bathroom and already getting dressed before I would normally be out of bed, it meant I had loads of time to get ready at a nice relaxed pace, catch up on the news and make myself look mildly presentable (perhaps to make up for yesterday’s mess of frizzy hair, sweaty glow and bad skin).

Today has actually been OK so far. I had a yummy cup of tea on the way in, got toast and jam for brekkie when I got here, the morning has flown by and I have actually been fairly productive. And now it’s lunch time! Lol. Hmm. Small victories, I know. But at the moment, any day where I am feeling relatively upbeat and energetic is a good one.

So Tired, Tired of Waiting...

I am so over this. I can’t even be bothered to talk about it in detail. Why is it that people are so unreliable, even with the smallest of things? I am getting increasingly drained emotionally and it is really taking its toll on me physically. I feel exhausted, lethargic and just generally listless. I am a little bored now of being depressed. It would help if I didn’t have people in my life who just exacerbated the feeling. Even when I try to remove the negative influences from around me and stick with those who are encouraging, understanding and supportive, while at the same time being honest and constructive with their advice or criticism, it sometimes feels like the negative ones purposely seek me out! Most of my positivity since getting my new job has already worn off. I still don’t have even a tentative start date to give me something to count down to, to enable me to set goals with a timetable to work to for tasks that needs to be completed by then. I don’t have a date from when I can expect to get paid at the higher rate, so I could at least start budgeting for some of the things I need to buy.

Everything is still on hold, the way it has been with almost everything in my life for the past 2 years or more. In that time, if I wasn’t dealing with the subconscious dread that The Ex would get back in touch, I was coping with the hope and expectation of things moving forward with NY Guy and the many disappointments when they didn't. If I wasn't waiting for the stress and disorganisation of the restructure at work to settle down, I was instead waiting to hear whether they would replace my supervisor, or for the results of an interview, or whether I could get my job level reviewed, or waiting for the date when I can start my new duties, as I am now. I waited for BFTP to get back in touch, until I decided that with all the other things I seem to end up waiting on, I should just relegate him to the past where he had lived for the past 10 years. I’m perpetually waiting on when The Ex will start up contact again, as he always leaves it long enough for me to forget everything that has gone before and wonder again if we actually can be friends, until we end up getting in contact or seeing each other and then I remember that the answer is still a resounding no. I’m hoping this might change now I have changed my number. I still have the old one, but I haven’t given him the new one and I don’t intend to. Most recently, it has been a waiting game to see whether NY Guy would get back in touch, seeing as he keeps doing so randomly and complaining that we still haven’t met up, then not bothering to do anything about it, or making plans and not sticking to them. Then days or weeks pass and the cycle starts again.

Even when I don’t want to wait, even when I am trying to get on with things, I seem to get pulled back into this never-ending game of cat and mouse in which I am always the one chasing when I want to be chased, or the one being chased when I’d rather not be. I’m sick of it. I cannot wait until my circumstances improve and I can start making things happen instead of waiting on people who are never going to come through for me. The only problem is that until that happens, I have a few months of waiting still ahead...

Payment In Kind

Originally, it was mentioned that I might start getting paid on my new grade from 1st November. Now I have been told that because of the delays and them wanting a clean handover, it might not be till 16th November. Hmm...I know, here's an idea, why don’t you just save everyone the hassle and just pay me at the higher grade for doing the job I’m already doing! The amount of people who have independently mentioned to me that they know I am working above the level my job is graded at is ridiculous and that’s really the only reason I am moving. BlankFace, for my all my preconceptions of her, is actually turning out to be pretty good at getting things moving and could probably have carried quite a bit of weight in sorting this out for me, had she taken over line management of our team sooner! It’s so frustrating because I quite like lots of elements of my current job, I just resent the fact that they decided not to replace my supervisor which left me with a substantial portion of his work, for the same pay I was getting for a lower-level job. I know it’s potentially only 2 extra weeks of waiting before I get paid more, but when you’ve been waiting 16 months for it overall, every day counts!

The prospect of a new job, new challenges and mostly the extra pay has been a substantial motivator for me lately, but that drive is depleting the longer this transition period drags out. I need to find a job that I want to do for the love of it. When the pay starts to become the main perk, especially when it's not even that great, is not a great sign.

Mis-sold

Miss T returns from the shop. She holds up a chocolate Flake bar. Shaking her head in mock irritation she explains, "I asked for an apple." Don't you hate it when that happens? :o)

Sod's Law

A law also attributed to Murphy. I finally get vaguely organised and finally feel like I know just about what I’m doing in this job when I’m about to leave! I was really organised with all the payments I had to make this year after last year’s baptism of fire (hitting the ground running, or kind of just hitting the ground), have kept excellent records of all the schemes I have administered and have been solely responsible for submitting our quota of studentship applications, keeping track of all their application information, liaising with the research council, organising their award letters and payments all in good time, not to mention try to reconcile accounts and return information to the council about last year’s expenditure and confirming the projections for this year.

For a change, I am actually feeling a tiny bit of job satisfaction (not quite as much as I will feel when all the copies of all the various payment forms and other copy documents are finally housed in their respective files and my desk if finally free of its mountain of paperwork), which is no mean feat, considering how messy things have been administratively, how stressful the job has been and the fact that I am still working at a higher level than my job description on paper allows me to get paid for, for several months without an assistant on what used to be a two-person team. I am just about getting the hang of it and then…I finally get another job. I am so thankful for that job, don’t get me wrong. But it feels like I was just getting to grips with everything and now I’ll be starting again. I suppose at least this means that I can leave things in a state of organisation (of sorts) and that it should be relatively easy for whoever takes over to pick things up (and if it isn’t, well, it wasn’t for me, so you’re not the first). Plus, I have realised that I need to keep my brain busy and challenged, or else I just get bored. I probably need something new to keep me on my toes. But I like actually feeling confident in my working knowledge of a job, or of the processes involved. Now I’m probably going to be the, “I don’t know the answer to that,” newbie again. To be honest, I’m kinda like that anyway, I’m just good at frontin’. ;o)

The Economics Of Boredom

Boss Lady: "I started a part-time Master's because my boyfriend at the time was part-way through his PhD and he convinced me to do it so that we'd graduate at the same time. Then he dumped he half-way through and I got stuck doing a Master's I didn't even want to do! My grades were really good for the first year, but the second year I was barely scraping passes."

Miss T: "Because of the emotional turmoil?"

Boss Lady: "No, because I couldn't really be arsed! It was really boring."

Miss T: "Why, what did you study?"

Boss Lady: "The Economics of Europe Integration."

Miss T: "No wonder you got bored, I got bored just then, listening to the title."

Hibernation

I slept a little later than I maybe should have last night. I fell asleep watching TV sometime after midnight, but didn't wake up once until I realised the TV was still on at 5.30am. I was woken again at about 8am by the alarm I had forgotten was set on my phone, but switched it off and went back to sleep. After 10.00am I heard my phone ringing but was too drowsy to answer. I woke up less than 30 minutes later and checked it. It was the Mrs. I called back and we had a quick chat. I was still feeling rather sleepy and ended up staying in bed, feeling no sense of necessity to get up, or even just stay awake at the very least. I woke up now and then throughout the day, but only got up when Big Sis texted me to let me know that she and Bro-in-Law were going to his parents' for dinner. It was 4.30pm. I had slept the entire day and still didn't feel completely restless. I was feeling utterly exhausted. I don't remember the last time I slept so late when I wasn't either sick or was catching up from a night out. I got up, got something to eat, then had a long soak in the bath. By the time I had finished, it was heading towards 8.00pm. I watched the X-Factor results while getting dried and dressed, but still felt tired. It's now 10.00pm and I am back in bed.

I'm not sure why I am quite so low in energy, but I guess I needed the rest. Or perhaps I am turning into a hibernatory animal.

Catch-Up With Lolly

Earlier in the week, Lolly and I had arranged to meet up for a beverage, Lolly insisting that she pay this time, because apparently I paid for the last one (really?? It must be one of the few times I have). When I told her about the job, she said she would definitely be buying, as a mini celebration for my incredible leap up the career ladder (or slow limp three desks down). I was actually feeling pretty perky because of the new gadget I had been able to get without spending any money and just generally because it was sunny yesterday and things weren’t feeling so terrible.

I made my way to meet her after work, fighting my way on to a packed tube for the privilege of standing face-first for 10 minutes towards someone’s armpit. Oh yeah, that’s what my annual gold card gets me. We met at our usual place and were cracking up in a matter of seconds, me randomly miming arranging biscuits with my face in order to illustrate a point and getting (justifiably) odd looks from a passer-by. We then laughed at a pigeon with noisy feet that sounded like it was wearing high heels (probably shouldn’t have laughed, I think it had mangled toes) and then an Evening Standard distributor who, instead of holding out the papers to give to passers-by as is his job, was seemingly holding them artistically against his body, as if he had been unexpectedly caught in the nude and using the newspapers to protect his modesty. “Er…you’re meant to give out the papers, not hold them seductively against yourself!”

“We’re going to get a beverage and then we’re going to get dinner,” Lolly told me, authoritatively. I didn’t argue, I’m not really in a position to refuse food. Our usual coffee place was unusually packed, so after Lolly announced to my confusion and amusement that she was “not in the mood to be disobeyed,” I took her lead and we went to another branch instead. We waited in line and played at arguing over who should pay, referring to our earlier email conversation in which I said I would love to object to her generous offer to pick up the tab, but couldn’t because I really had no money. I could, however, still pretend I did, by doing the usual song and dance (which is possibly a cultural thing) of fighting over the shared expenses. “I’ll get these,” I said, robotically, which made Lolly giggle. “No, really, it’s my turn.” “No, let me pay this time,” Lolly replied, equally robotically. “No,” I said, pausing, before replying in clipped monotone, “Ow. Stop twisting my arm so hard. Well, if you will insist. I don’t want to insult you.” We continued to giggle at our silliness until they took Lolly’s order and I went to get us a table, while making faces at her from across the room. What’s that you say? Immature? How very dare you!

We sat down with our respective beverages (hot chocolate with cream and a chai tea latte) and I was a little overwhelmed when Lolly unexpectedly presented me with a lovely cheer-up-oh-you-already-did-because-you-got-a-new-job-so-congratulations card, a choice between two leopard-print bags (rarrrr) as a gift from HK and a much-appreciated supply of contact lenses because we have the same prescription and she has an excess of lenses. We chatted for ages over our drinks, me taking about 40 minutes to explain what should have probably been a 2-minute story. After about an hour, Lolly cracked me up by asking if I was ready to go to the restaurant, explaining that she was, because I was starting to look like a meatball. We made our way over, got a table upstairs and ordered our usual, which was apparently a new and improved recipe. We caught up, her telling me about her escapades in HK [her Auntie trying to match-make her; the pathetic excuse for a sofa-bed that she had to sleep on which sounded pretty much like just the hardboard base of the sofa; her new purchases; the evil mosquito bites she was subjected to], how her new job is going [dragony and not-so-dragony colleagues; her boss’s sense of humour; what the charity she works for actually does in greater detail], her love-life updates [men you go on one date with and realise they are not for you, but who still ask you what the problem is after you have already explained it to them and try to keep in touch with you several months later in a way that makes you cringe; ex-boyfriends – the bane of our lives (no explanation necessary); men who you were in email contact with for an insignificant amount of time who stopped contacting you and then inexplicably appear months later asking what happened to you; blokes who arrogantly assume that you have really missed them and that you deciding to answer your phone when they call is tantamount to a come-on on your part] and general other bits and pieces about life in general.

I felt conscious that I had talked way too much about me, so it was nice to hear good stuff that Lolly had been getting up to. I made a pathetic attempt at my penne and meatballs, but we did share a dessert of profiteroles, having to choose that as an alternative to the ‘chocolate nemesis’ we had originally ordered but which had run out, feeling a little disappointed that we wouldn’t find out if the dessert lived up to its over-dramatic name.

By the end of the evening, we were both feeling exhausted, Lolly from jet-lag and post-holiday tiredness, me from train-lag (lol) and just general lack of energy due to my low mood. Throughout the evening, we kept up the running joke of me paying, with me telling Lolly to “order whatever you want, I’m getting this,” and “thanks for letting me pay,” even though I admitted a tiny part of me died with shame at my lack of fundage each time I joked. We walked to the station, had a big hug and promised to text each other when we got home.

I ran for my train, baulking at the unnaturally bright fluorescent lights and marvelling at how busy the train was even thought it was late, while feeling compelled to stare at a man who had his female companion’s de-shoed feet on his lap and proceeded to pretty much give her a foot rub for most of the journey. Their train ride was about 20 minutes long. Couldn’t that have waited till you got home, bro?? I arrived home, feeling shattered, said hello and goodnight to Big Sis and Bro-in-Law and then got in bed, half-watching Scream 2 while editing blog posts. Despite my exhaustion, I couldn’t seem to sleep and lay wide-eyed even after I had switched the lights off and laid down. That’s when the afore-mentioned helicopter incident happened. If it’s not my tendency to brood that is keeping me awake, it’s crazy foxes, noisy neighbours, police chases (with real sirens this time) or caffeine. OK, that last one is my fault. Either way, aside from my inability to sleep when I most need to, it was a lovely evening spent with one of my favourite people.

In-Home Entertainment

Oh good gracious. I get it. I understand the term CrackBerry. I feel compelled to check it all the time and am suddenly checking pointless emails I didn’t give two hoots about less than a week ago. This is terrible, lol. OK, it’s not as bad as it sounds, but they have some sort of compulsive appeal. I did find myself browsing online shops while in bed in the dark in the early hours of this morning. OK, that’s not helping me to make this sound less bad. I will explain. Last night, despite feeling completely worn out after the day at work and an evening out with Lolly, I ended up lying wide-eyed awake in the dark at about 2.00am. Towards 2.30am, as I was starting to get a little bit drowsy, a helicopter decided to hover very noisily above, about a mile from my house…for the next 40 minutes. I definitely couldn’t sleep with that racket going on, so had to pass the time by getting goggle-eyed looking at the sale on dorothyperkins.com. No doubt there was good reason for the stupid helicopter, some criminal on the run from the police that they had spot lights or heat cameras on. I’m all for fighting crime, but can you perhaps do it a bit quieter? Or just not when I’m trying desperately to sleep?!

My area has always been borderline dodgy, but to be honest, one’s opinion of how dodgy seems to depend on which part of London the person making that judgement comes from themselves. Although actually, Miss BG loves cussing my area, even though where she grew up is way rough in my opinion! Lol. The other evening, I was going to eat some cereal (I’m not even going to say it), but realised that if I did, there probably wouldn’t be enough milk for Bro-in-Law’s breakfast, so went out to buy some. It was only about 8.00pm, but was already very dark of course. I walked in the middle of my road towards the shop, as it is a quiet road and the side of the pavement the shop is on is lined with trees that have very low-hanging branches, stretching across the pavement and making it necessary to stoop, even for a little munchkin like me.

As I got towards the end of the road, a dark car turned quickly off the main road and on to it, apparently narrowly missing and possibly physically brushing past a pedestrian who was stood just in the gutter, either on his way in to or out of the pub on the corner. The car must have clipped that corner at speed, but there was no screeching of tyres or noisy revving of the engine. What mostly drew my attention was hearing the man shout out at nearly being hit and then him and his older male companion shout abuse after the driver. In watching to work out exactly what had happened and if the man was OK, I suddenly realised that the same car was now speeding directly towards me. It didn’t seem to be going shockingly fast, but the engine suddenly revved and I realised he wasn’t intending to slow down. I ran out of the road and on to the pavement, then looked back at the car, seeing it speed up my road. At the same moment, a dark estate car turned the same corner and sped after it. I only realised it must have been unmarked 5-0 when it passed me and I saw discreet blue police lights out of its back window.

I turned back towards the two men who were still standing there on the opposite side of the road, hearing them still exclaiming in shock and one of them announcing loudly, “He’s a knob,” about the driver. “Are you OK?” I shouted over, realising they were very probably on their way out of the pub, if their slightly slurred speech and slowed movements were anything to go by. Or perhaps they were on their way back in after a ciggie break, lol. “Yeah, he’s OK,” the companion replied in an Irish accent as he started walking towards me, perhaps wondering if we needed to report something or if I could act as a witness. “The car following him had sirens,” I said, only later realising I of course meant the blue lights. Duh! Thankfully, they didn’t seem to notice my silly error and the obvious fact that despite their drunken state, if the car did indeed have sirens, they probably would have noticed such a loud obnoxious noise. “So it’s OK,” I explained, “I think the police are after him.” I can’t remember the rest of the garbled conversation, but they seemed somewhat reassured by my statement and the other guy appeared unhurt, just a little bit shaken.

I carried on to the few metres to the shop, getting the milk, a can of the tropical fizz I had a craving for and a big bag of kettle chips that Big Sis had a craving for. On my way back, the two guys were still there but now on my side of the road, the companion telling the man who had the near-miss that “there were sirens,” which is what made me chuckle with the realisation that I hadn’t meant ‘sirens’ at all. I walked the minute or so slowly back home, without a sense of urgency or worry about whether the police car managed to catch up with the other one. This is because I had the smug knowledge which the two pub patrons seemingly didn’t have and the driver of the getaway car definitely didn’t have, that my road is a cul-de-sac. Haha! The silly driver took a dead end!

As I turned the corner towards my house, as expected, there was the first car, doors open, presumably abandoned as the driver realised his mistake and they had to escape on foot. The unmarked estate car was parked behind it and there were a few plain-clothes officers investigating. There must have been more than one occupant in the getaway car, because a guy in a grey hoodie was stood to the side of the cars, looking rather annoyed at his failed attempt at escape, while having another man I assume was police keep a watchful eye on him. His partner in crime had obviously successfully escaped on foot and was now being pursued by one of the officers, which I knew because he was relaying the details back to his colleagues via radio, while trying to catch his breath. “White male…[huff, puff]…in a grey top…[more puffing]…has exited…[puff]…on the other side of Road Name.”

The cars were parked directly outside my house and I slowed down as I passed them, stopping for a moment at my door to try and work out what was happening. When I got in the house, I told Big Sis what was going on (she didn’t hear the ‘sirens’), although she seemed more concerned about the kettle chips I had bought. “Even if he’s got away,” I said, “they’ve still got his car, which means they can trace him, or at least have ruined his fun if it was stolen.” My CSI-watching is obviously having an influence on Big Sis, who replied, “Yeah, and they can get fingerprints from the car.” Yes. Yes they can. But will they use black dust, or the special pink kind I wonder?? Lol. I shamelessly pulled the curtain aside from the front window and momentarily peered out to check on the progress. At my suggestion, we retreated upstairs to my room, mainly because it is warmer more comfy, but a little because my window looks out of the front of the house and therefore onto all the action, lol. My curtains were still undrawn, so we looked through the nets to find that several uniformed officers had magically appeared, most likely in the marked squad car that was shining its own blue lights from the other side of the estate. Big Sis clambered on to the bed next to me, already munching the bag of kettle chips. We both knelt upright on the bed, checking on the action for a moment. “It’s like being at the cinema,” I said, laughing at us both peering out on to the scene framed beautifully by the window, but mostly at Big Sis noisily munching snacks next to me, which she graciously offered to share. We ate a few more kettle chips before realising that not much excitement was going on and it was time to draw the curtains.

Who needs TV, eh?