The horrible cold/flu/lurgy has gone, HURRAH! Just in time for me to be human when Gordon and Barbara came to visit so I've had a really great couple of days with them. They delivered HUGE boxes from Kath & Steve, with post-its and printed labels to identify whose Christmas present was which and they were all amazing. She'd told me she'd got hundreds of plastic balls for a ball pool for the children but I'd forgotten until I had to convince Alex that blowing up (oops - inflating!) a 5ft by 4ft plastic car in my living room was just not going to happen. So I had a tide of coloured plastic balls whirling through the living room instead.
Paul fixed up my PC and installed windows from Sid's copy, and apart from endless Gates updates it seems to be working fine, I just need to re-install all the various bits of software I'm used to using and maybe get the wireless thingie working too. We all thoroughly enjoyed the time with Paul and the children especially since I think the living room was mysteriously tidier after they'd put away all their toys etc than it was when they arrived. Poor Alex was quite disappointed to find that the huge ball of scrunched up wrapping paper wasn't actually another present.
Mysteriously, it got to be 4am before Gordon and I realised the time, by discovering that the PC clock was set to Pacific time instead of GMT. I organised a 2ft square space in the house by deciding to release books on bookcrossing with the intention of giving them to G/B to take with them as the first step on their journey.
I had the pleasure of being chauffeured over to Rachel's in MK yesterday afternoon, enjoying looking at all that english countryside instead of the road on our way over to see see all of the Gordon/Barbara side of the family except Mark and Blair in the same place at the same time. Imagine - one house, three of five adult children, their partners, all eleven grandchildren, the grand grandparents and me, the eccentric auntie. It was great. I'd spent all the day before tottering around the house in five inch heels to break in the fabulous new shoes Dee gave me for Christmas and Barbara declared I should wear them to Rachels to maintain my image so it felt like everyone else was about knee high on me. Well, OK, my nephews are all 6ft or over but they spent most of the afternoon being horses or wheelbarrows so it came to the same thing. Some of the books are already heading for Lincoln with Becky so maybe the whole bookcrossing movement will have another little surge of interest.
Quick stop at Tesco on the way back to pick up bite bits to go with the wine and cheese, and another extended evening of wine and chat till we realised it was already nearly 2am and it felt *early*. Baby toad-in-the-hole thingies are gorgeous, Creme Brulee with cream with a couple or four bottles of rather naice wine. We left the blini's till breakfast this morning and I feel all sad that my unexpected company have gone now, only back to MK for the moment but back to Aberdeen on Saturday. I *think* I have them half-persuaded to change their minds about the Rammy, it just wouldn't be the same without them, so watch that space! Watch out for the new Rammy feature that arrived in one of the huge boxes too ;)
Children this afternoon too (ahhhhhhh I feel so spoiled!) and off up to town this evening for a different NYE. Rotten shame I have to work on Friday, but that's next year so who cares?
Before the Bells, before the phone lines jam, before the fireworks - here's wishing everyone a fabulous Hogmanay and everything good for 2009
X
Wednesday 31 December 2008
Saturday 27 December 2008
On the third day of Christmas
Well into a small season of Simon R Green and enjoying every word: not enjoying the cold I developed on Christmas Day (which was rather wonderful in a nicely quiet way)and the lurgy held off till evening which was a mercy.
Constant sneezing will keep me out of the shopping trail though and probably save me a fortune.
Constant sneezing will keep me out of the shopping trail though and probably save me a fortune.
Monday 22 December 2008
Relaxed and happy
Despite the various issues clouding, or attempting –unsuccessfully- to cloud my life, I’m happy!
Just got over a minor panic when I looked at my bank statement online and saw a payment of just over £1k from my company. The immediate thought was that I’ve somehow suffered an horrendous paycut, been raided by the taxman or something equally evil and unavoidable. A moment’s thought, backed up by, unusually, opening my payslip, determined that the payment was expenses and I still have a salary payment to come in this month. Whew! I think it also means I’ve now collected all of the accumulated £7k+ expenses paid out for my living in corporate heaven so I’m back in funds and only out of pocket for the last week at the Hyatt and the test conference I went to the other week.
Having cheerfully avoided the formal and official company Christmas events, I had a lot more fun joining the dev team at the unlicensed and highly recommended Al Frash where I had fabulous food, my share of the bootleg run Chianti (cheers, John, good choice!) and rounded it off with a couple of glasses of gorgeous black sambucca before we all headed back to the hotel in a small fleet of taxis. The hotel bar staff remembered that I’ve started drinking Talisker and had it half-poured before my poor boss found out what I wanted to order. He was most put out when I asked for Corona later on when it was someone else’s round in the dance club we all went to. Silly really, the Talisker cost the same as a glass of wine would have done and I’d otherwise have been rather upset at someone swiping my drink while I was dancing. I wasn’t going to go clubbing, especially in company with ten guys but they said they needed a handbag to dance round so off we all went. I suspect the token girl thing was the reason they let us all in despite the several pairs of trainers and great amusement was had when we bumped into our biggest boss boogieing with a couple of local lasses. I declared an end to the evening and discovered it was already 2am but some of the others continued to the casino and were much worse for wear the next day despite almost everyone having won. Nearly forgot the amorous colleague, he didn’t follow me to my room this time, but did manage to extract the room number from reception and call me for a confused conversation with a few ‘sorry’s mixed in with pleas for me to come to his room or let him come to mine. Flattering but not enticing.
Last week saw my sudden but not unexpected exit from the Birmingham project I’ve been working on since April: no issue, the project is now live on the net and there’s nothing to do until they sign up for the next release. Boss’s boss blew the gaffe a bit early which meant I was better prepared for my own boss telling me what he needed me to do before I left and his being so relieved I wasn’t upset that he chanced venting his own angst about not being allowed to move to another project he really fancies. Meant I had only one whole working day left this year and I decided to leave the hotel booking for Wednesday night and enjoy a mini-holiday, complete with late checkout before spending the afternoon getting lost in Birmingham town doing some Christmas shopping.
Sometimes life just does lovely things for you, I’d taken my car back to the hotel deciding that one day’s parking was worth it rather than having to get a taxi back to the secure compound at the office so there I was, engine idling in the red devil, waiting to get to the frontage of the very busy hotel to try my luck, when one of my team fetched up and said I wouldn’t get in as she’d just been told she had to park at the NCP down the road. While she was talking to me, one of the porters came over to the car so I rolled down the window and asked, winsomely, if they had any space. “Course we have darlin’, you just spin it round and I’ll get someone to drop the chain on the car park”, he said. Giggling uncontrollably at the look on J’s face, I so did and walked the fifty yards to the hotel entrance to find her haranguing the porters who looked entirely unrepentant. Amazing what sharing a smile, a word and a couple of quid now and then can do for a girl, especially if she drives a sexy red sports car.
My last night in Brum involved a relaxed and friendly chefs special dinner with J, Bill and Claire at La Tasca, B&C gave me hyuuge Christmas wrapped pressie which they declared was for me and my not-partner to enjoy romantic picnics (in December?) then J and I retired to the Hyatt bar where I indulged in a Johnny Walker Blue Label: had to be tried. I’d looked at the price in Boisdales – over forty quid, had had some conversation with the barstaff in the Hyatt when I saw it on the back of their bar and established they only –only?- charge £28. So that was my farewell drink extravagance, and very nice it was too. Top shopping buy the following afternoon was some wonderfully elegant lingerie in TK Maxx which cost less than anything I might have bought in any cheap high street chain but had a price tag of almost two hundred. Smug! Meant I was able to feel incredibly elegant for my personal Christmas dinner with Mark at Boisdale on Friday. I’d even managed to find my grandmother’s pearls to wear with the wicked black dress. Understated for a change, I can do elegant when I try.
Train times and taxis sabotaged me in Aylesbury, not helped by my return-to-London ticket not working, OK the nice man checked it and let me through, only to discover at Marylebone that what I thought was an open return from Victoria on the 11th was actually a day return D’oh! However, British Rail came up trumps and let me through on the basis I did have the receipt for it, obviously hadn’t used it, and did happen to have my network railcard with me. Onward to a taxi, already past 7:30 for an 8 o’clock table –ouch. I’d called Mark and bleated that I had bags with me and didn’t want to meet him at the restaurant with them, so I gave the taxi driver the address and said I wanted him to wait and take us on to the restaurant. What a star he was! He asked what time the table booking was and hurtled through town via Marble Arch giving us enough time to do the bag exchange half-way up the stairs and be searching his book of knowledge for the restaurant. It really is walking distance and I think we did get to the restaurant on time. Well, I say ‘on time’, I think there may be a reason Mark gave me a wristwatch for Christmas. More of the usual lunacy when our faster than a speeding bullet driver put the fiver change on the little shelf almost before he'd been paid and we managed to fumble it enough that it started wafting gently up the road on it's own. Mark put his foot down and that was the end of the great escape.
The restaurant is lovely, and the food totally amazing. Deep gratitude to my boss’s boss’s boss for nominating me for the award that paid for most of it, we enjoyed every penny.
It wasn’t quite as up-market as I’d imagined, but they have a very relaxed attitude and it truly was an evening out rather than just a dinner. We had booked a table on the cigar terrace but didn’t have any trouble finding a seat even when we popped upstairs earlier than the booking. The table we used did have a reserved notice on it but if it was ours and they were managing it, it really was ‘as if by magic’. We we were quite disappointed when they closed it and we had to rough it smoking outside on the street.
There were some real types there, a chap chatting animatedly and heatedly, pacing up and down the terrace on his own without sign of phone or Bluetooth earbug to explain his agitation. Another waving a fat pink baton from Ann Summers and a real mish-mash of sartorial elegance and error. We did see the chattering chap in company with some other people later but he may simply have been standing near them and quiet for a change. Later in the evening, Mark gave a big bum hovering next to my face the bum’s rush, which wasn’t appreciated and involved a bit of a starefest until bigbum decided to take the hint. It almost got too exciting but the business of Mark’s refusal to sell me to the aristocracy deserves a surreal in ‘illa tag.
I’d noticed a couple of elderly types, all distinguished white hair and expensive clothes at a table across the room when we moved into the main bar to be closer to the Jazz. Later one of them wandered (or followed us?!)outside when we went for a cigarette. I can’t remember how we started talking but we did, and he declared himself to be the chairman of the CCC, up to town from the Isle of Wight for a regular meeting with his friend Shaun. My family (sounds so grand!) have a house on the island which we are free to use so we exchanged some chit-chat about the island, his job, and various other nonsense then we somehow ended up in a conversation where he declared his interest in me and was seriously putting the arm on me to ditch Mark and go off with him! Blink.
Pushy wasn’t the word. He said directly that I “didn’t want to go home with him , and should ‘come with me instead’”. It was screamingly funny. I glanced at Mark and tried not to laugh out loud while saying quite firmly that I did, indeed, want to go home with Mark. I foolishly said I was his mother when asked what we were to each other or similar and both BLOKES decided to believe me. Although this was certainly the deathknell of any shred of a chance he might have had, it still didn't seem to put my elderly admirer off at all, and should have earned Mark a clip round the ear, but I asked if he wanted to be known as a motherf*** instead and we managed to extricate ourselves elegantly even if I don’t remember quite how.
Real-time catching up now, am off round to Sid’s who has been prevented from nervous breakdown by the discovery that he’s not expected to cook Christmas dinner for anyone but me this year rather than me, Donna, Paula, Mark and anyone else his panic suggested. I’ve had a lovely few days in London, even got a Christmas card from Mark’s local, which is really sweet of them. I may remember to come back and blog up other bits and pieces: I begged indulgence to check out the shop opposite the pub for Sid’s Christmas present on our way to his friends housewarming and am really really pleased at what I’ve got for him but can’t say cos he’ll read this before Christmas day.
For those I love and care about who aren’t speaking to me: that makes me sad but doesn’t change my definitions of friendship. We’re all still the same people we were and I don’t have a past tense for caring.
Just got over a minor panic when I looked at my bank statement online and saw a payment of just over £1k from my company. The immediate thought was that I’ve somehow suffered an horrendous paycut, been raided by the taxman or something equally evil and unavoidable. A moment’s thought, backed up by, unusually, opening my payslip, determined that the payment was expenses and I still have a salary payment to come in this month. Whew! I think it also means I’ve now collected all of the accumulated £7k+ expenses paid out for my living in corporate heaven so I’m back in funds and only out of pocket for the last week at the Hyatt and the test conference I went to the other week.
Having cheerfully avoided the formal and official company Christmas events, I had a lot more fun joining the dev team at the unlicensed and highly recommended Al Frash where I had fabulous food, my share of the bootleg run Chianti (cheers, John, good choice!) and rounded it off with a couple of glasses of gorgeous black sambucca before we all headed back to the hotel in a small fleet of taxis. The hotel bar staff remembered that I’ve started drinking Talisker and had it half-poured before my poor boss found out what I wanted to order. He was most put out when I asked for Corona later on when it was someone else’s round in the dance club we all went to. Silly really, the Talisker cost the same as a glass of wine would have done and I’d otherwise have been rather upset at someone swiping my drink while I was dancing. I wasn’t going to go clubbing, especially in company with ten guys but they said they needed a handbag to dance round so off we all went. I suspect the token girl thing was the reason they let us all in despite the several pairs of trainers and great amusement was had when we bumped into our biggest boss boogieing with a couple of local lasses. I declared an end to the evening and discovered it was already 2am but some of the others continued to the casino and were much worse for wear the next day despite almost everyone having won. Nearly forgot the amorous colleague, he didn’t follow me to my room this time, but did manage to extract the room number from reception and call me for a confused conversation with a few ‘sorry’s mixed in with pleas for me to come to his room or let him come to mine. Flattering but not enticing.
Last week saw my sudden but not unexpected exit from the Birmingham project I’ve been working on since April: no issue, the project is now live on the net and there’s nothing to do until they sign up for the next release. Boss’s boss blew the gaffe a bit early which meant I was better prepared for my own boss telling me what he needed me to do before I left and his being so relieved I wasn’t upset that he chanced venting his own angst about not being allowed to move to another project he really fancies. Meant I had only one whole working day left this year and I decided to leave the hotel booking for Wednesday night and enjoy a mini-holiday, complete with late checkout before spending the afternoon getting lost in Birmingham town doing some Christmas shopping.
Sometimes life just does lovely things for you, I’d taken my car back to the hotel deciding that one day’s parking was worth it rather than having to get a taxi back to the secure compound at the office so there I was, engine idling in the red devil, waiting to get to the frontage of the very busy hotel to try my luck, when one of my team fetched up and said I wouldn’t get in as she’d just been told she had to park at the NCP down the road. While she was talking to me, one of the porters came over to the car so I rolled down the window and asked, winsomely, if they had any space. “Course we have darlin’, you just spin it round and I’ll get someone to drop the chain on the car park”, he said. Giggling uncontrollably at the look on J’s face, I so did and walked the fifty yards to the hotel entrance to find her haranguing the porters who looked entirely unrepentant. Amazing what sharing a smile, a word and a couple of quid now and then can do for a girl, especially if she drives a sexy red sports car.
My last night in Brum involved a relaxed and friendly chefs special dinner with J, Bill and Claire at La Tasca, B&C gave me hyuuge Christmas wrapped pressie which they declared was for me and my not-partner to enjoy romantic picnics (in December?) then J and I retired to the Hyatt bar where I indulged in a Johnny Walker Blue Label: had to be tried. I’d looked at the price in Boisdales – over forty quid, had had some conversation with the barstaff in the Hyatt when I saw it on the back of their bar and established they only –only?- charge £28. So that was my farewell drink extravagance, and very nice it was too. Top shopping buy the following afternoon was some wonderfully elegant lingerie in TK Maxx which cost less than anything I might have bought in any cheap high street chain but had a price tag of almost two hundred. Smug! Meant I was able to feel incredibly elegant for my personal Christmas dinner with Mark at Boisdale on Friday. I’d even managed to find my grandmother’s pearls to wear with the wicked black dress. Understated for a change, I can do elegant when I try.
Train times and taxis sabotaged me in Aylesbury, not helped by my return-to-London ticket not working, OK the nice man checked it and let me through, only to discover at Marylebone that what I thought was an open return from Victoria on the 11th was actually a day return D’oh! However, British Rail came up trumps and let me through on the basis I did have the receipt for it, obviously hadn’t used it, and did happen to have my network railcard with me. Onward to a taxi, already past 7:30 for an 8 o’clock table –ouch. I’d called Mark and bleated that I had bags with me and didn’t want to meet him at the restaurant with them, so I gave the taxi driver the address and said I wanted him to wait and take us on to the restaurant. What a star he was! He asked what time the table booking was and hurtled through town via Marble Arch giving us enough time to do the bag exchange half-way up the stairs and be searching his book of knowledge for the restaurant. It really is walking distance and I think we did get to the restaurant on time. Well, I say ‘on time’, I think there may be a reason Mark gave me a wristwatch for Christmas. More of the usual lunacy when our faster than a speeding bullet driver put the fiver change on the little shelf almost before he'd been paid and we managed to fumble it enough that it started wafting gently up the road on it's own. Mark put his foot down and that was the end of the great escape.
The restaurant is lovely, and the food totally amazing. Deep gratitude to my boss’s boss’s boss for nominating me for the award that paid for most of it, we enjoyed every penny.
It wasn’t quite as up-market as I’d imagined, but they have a very relaxed attitude and it truly was an evening out rather than just a dinner. We had booked a table on the cigar terrace but didn’t have any trouble finding a seat even when we popped upstairs earlier than the booking. The table we used did have a reserved notice on it but if it was ours and they were managing it, it really was ‘as if by magic’. We we were quite disappointed when they closed it and we had to rough it smoking outside on the street.
There were some real types there, a chap chatting animatedly and heatedly, pacing up and down the terrace on his own without sign of phone or Bluetooth earbug to explain his agitation. Another waving a fat pink baton from Ann Summers and a real mish-mash of sartorial elegance and error. We did see the chattering chap in company with some other people later but he may simply have been standing near them and quiet for a change. Later in the evening, Mark gave a big bum hovering next to my face the bum’s rush, which wasn’t appreciated and involved a bit of a starefest until bigbum decided to take the hint. It almost got too exciting but the business of Mark’s refusal to sell me to the aristocracy deserves a surreal in ‘illa tag.
I’d noticed a couple of elderly types, all distinguished white hair and expensive clothes at a table across the room when we moved into the main bar to be closer to the Jazz. Later one of them wandered (or followed us?!)outside when we went for a cigarette. I can’t remember how we started talking but we did, and he declared himself to be the chairman of the CCC, up to town from the Isle of Wight for a regular meeting with his friend Shaun. My family (sounds so grand!) have a house on the island which we are free to use so we exchanged some chit-chat about the island, his job, and various other nonsense then we somehow ended up in a conversation where he declared his interest in me and was seriously putting the arm on me to ditch Mark and go off with him! Blink.
Pushy wasn’t the word. He said directly that I “didn’t want to go home with him , and should ‘come with me instead’”. It was screamingly funny. I glanced at Mark and tried not to laugh out loud while saying quite firmly that I did, indeed, want to go home with Mark. I foolishly said I was his mother when asked what we were to each other or similar and both BLOKES decided to believe me. Although this was certainly the deathknell of any shred of a chance he might have had, it still didn't seem to put my elderly admirer off at all, and should have earned Mark a clip round the ear, but I asked if he wanted to be known as a motherf*** instead and we managed to extricate ourselves elegantly even if I don’t remember quite how.
Real-time catching up now, am off round to Sid’s who has been prevented from nervous breakdown by the discovery that he’s not expected to cook Christmas dinner for anyone but me this year rather than me, Donna, Paula, Mark and anyone else his panic suggested. I’ve had a lovely few days in London, even got a Christmas card from Mark’s local, which is really sweet of them. I may remember to come back and blog up other bits and pieces: I begged indulgence to check out the shop opposite the pub for Sid’s Christmas present on our way to his friends housewarming and am really really pleased at what I’ve got for him but can’t say cos he’ll read this before Christmas day.
For those I love and care about who aren’t speaking to me: that makes me sad but doesn’t change my definitions of friendship. We’re all still the same people we were and I don’t have a past tense for caring.
Thursday 18 December 2008
Monday 15 December 2008
When worlds collide
Back to Brum tonight for my final three days of proper work this year; sadly, a call from my project director tonight means it's going to be WORK and not doss, but hey! I like to feel important.
Caught up on the emails that got through last week, my mailbox is permanently over it's limit despite offloading it on a weekly basis, and everything still seems to be boiling over on a daily basis.
It's weird, I slough work off almost as soon as I walk out of the office and am more than happy not to give it a thought once I've done so. HATE it when I end up dreaming about work, wasting energy I need to regenerate, but once I give it a little attention, I'm back there, wheels turning in my head, working out what I need to do, prioritising and planning how best to use my time, of which there is never enough.
One of the emails was from my review manager, apologising for not having had much (any!) time for me this year and coyly suggesting I call her to 'find out my rating' and to arrange a face2face early next year. It seems pretty pointless to me, I'm more than very grateful for the heavy-duty support some of my managers and colleagues have given me over the last two years but the review side of it seems like a vague chimera: I'm too cynical and lazy to want to be involved in the career climbing games, age counts and I've been around too long to want to break my heart trying for the mythical brass ring. Where I am seems fine to me. More money would be nice, recognition and job satisfaction I've had, a good steer to balance my working life with real life would be perfect.
I do feel as though my life is incredibly compartmentalised (is that a word?) When I'm working, it has my full attention, likewise when I'm partying, socialising or doing my best impression of a still life. I have a superb social life when I give it the energy I should, fabulous friends, an amazingly gorgeous lover, a family I know love me and are 'there' for me, but when work calls, I'm someone else. Maybe it's like some kind of psychic circuit board, where different patterns show according to the current going through it at the time.
*laughing* one of my ancient taglines : a diamond girl, multi-faceted, and what shines depends on which facet is turned to reflect which kind of light. If I don't know who I am, how should anyone else? How I am depends a lot on how people treat me, and how they treat me depends on how they see me - victim, rescuer, fun, funny, arrogant, aloof, 'nice' or just plain weird. I don't think anyone thinks I'm scary except me.
I had an attic attack this weekend, a single terrifying suicidal thought, and am proud of me for dealing with it. I did have help, my son is my favourite man walking this earth and he has to deal with far too much of my angst, I'm sure it's meant to be the other way round.
Being alive means it hurts sometimes and it can be hard to see that it's a good life most of the time. If only I hadn't built so many impenetratable defences, or was better able to gauge who it's safe to share with and who not when the defences are breached or bypassed.
Happy really, back in juggling mode, hiding in books (LK Hamilton writes boringly good soft porn if you like vampires and faerie stuff as I do)
well, not sure how to finish this, so I'll just stop writing now.
Caught up on the emails that got through last week, my mailbox is permanently over it's limit despite offloading it on a weekly basis, and everything still seems to be boiling over on a daily basis.
It's weird, I slough work off almost as soon as I walk out of the office and am more than happy not to give it a thought once I've done so. HATE it when I end up dreaming about work, wasting energy I need to regenerate, but once I give it a little attention, I'm back there, wheels turning in my head, working out what I need to do, prioritising and planning how best to use my time, of which there is never enough.
One of the emails was from my review manager, apologising for not having had much (any!) time for me this year and coyly suggesting I call her to 'find out my rating' and to arrange a face2face early next year. It seems pretty pointless to me, I'm more than very grateful for the heavy-duty support some of my managers and colleagues have given me over the last two years but the review side of it seems like a vague chimera: I'm too cynical and lazy to want to be involved in the career climbing games, age counts and I've been around too long to want to break my heart trying for the mythical brass ring. Where I am seems fine to me. More money would be nice, recognition and job satisfaction I've had, a good steer to balance my working life with real life would be perfect.
I do feel as though my life is incredibly compartmentalised (is that a word?) When I'm working, it has my full attention, likewise when I'm partying, socialising or doing my best impression of a still life. I have a superb social life when I give it the energy I should, fabulous friends, an amazingly gorgeous lover, a family I know love me and are 'there' for me, but when work calls, I'm someone else. Maybe it's like some kind of psychic circuit board, where different patterns show according to the current going through it at the time.
*laughing* one of my ancient taglines : a diamond girl, multi-faceted, and what shines depends on which facet is turned to reflect which kind of light. If I don't know who I am, how should anyone else? How I am depends a lot on how people treat me, and how they treat me depends on how they see me - victim, rescuer, fun, funny, arrogant, aloof, 'nice' or just plain weird. I don't think anyone thinks I'm scary except me.
I had an attic attack this weekend, a single terrifying suicidal thought, and am proud of me for dealing with it. I did have help, my son is my favourite man walking this earth and he has to deal with far too much of my angst, I'm sure it's meant to be the other way round.
Being alive means it hurts sometimes and it can be hard to see that it's a good life most of the time. If only I hadn't built so many impenetratable defences, or was better able to gauge who it's safe to share with and who not when the defences are breached or bypassed.
Happy really, back in juggling mode, hiding in books (LK Hamilton writes boringly good soft porn if you like vampires and faerie stuff as I do)
well, not sure how to finish this, so I'll just stop writing now.
Birthday Boy
Yesterday was wonderful, heartsease. I found myself suddenly back in the attic in my brain on Saturday morning, emotionally fragile and deeply unhappy, but whatever it was, it's mostly gone now.
Alex was four yesterday, and I thoroughly enjoyed my share in his birthday. I went over about 3 for us all to go off to "Thomasland" as Alex puts it for his birthday treat and to give him the Ben 10 scooter I'd got him and the big fire engine from his great-grannie. I got to take gorgeous blond in my red devil again, which he seems to enjoy and we pitched up at Quainton only just in time to get ourselves onto the 4 o'clock Santa Special. Alex did his littlemanly best waving the ticket at the man on the desk who wished him Happy Birthday, a little to his surprise, but he's been there several times now and was all for "Thomas" and getting on the train as soon as possible. Both the children were really excited and properly amazed when Santa turned up, and wished him Happy Birthday again :) and gave them presents.
The Magic Show didn't have enough interest for them so they spent the next hour or so scootering and running around inside the main building, putting us in constant panic that they'd fall between the trains and the platforms which, of course, they didn't but keeping close enough to grab Missy, who's like greased lightning, is more exercise than I'm used to.
On to Pizza Hut for Alex and his friends to create fairly contained mayhem and round the evening off nicely. I passed on joining the bright young things later, expect they were grateful!
Photographs are up on photobucket, the two end ones are the rabbit we saw in the carpark as we were leaving Quainton, I think the poor beast was dying but Alex didn't know that and was happy to see it.
Alex was four yesterday, and I thoroughly enjoyed my share in his birthday. I went over about 3 for us all to go off to "Thomasland" as Alex puts it for his birthday treat and to give him the Ben 10 scooter I'd got him and the big fire engine from his great-grannie. I got to take gorgeous blond in my red devil again, which he seems to enjoy and we pitched up at Quainton only just in time to get ourselves onto the 4 o'clock Santa Special. Alex did his littlemanly best waving the ticket at the man on the desk who wished him Happy Birthday, a little to his surprise, but he's been there several times now and was all for "Thomas" and getting on the train as soon as possible. Both the children were really excited and properly amazed when Santa turned up, and wished him Happy Birthday again :) and gave them presents.
The Magic Show didn't have enough interest for them so they spent the next hour or so scootering and running around inside the main building, putting us in constant panic that they'd fall between the trains and the platforms which, of course, they didn't but keeping close enough to grab Missy, who's like greased lightning, is more exercise than I'm used to.
On to Pizza Hut for Alex and his friends to create fairly contained mayhem and round the evening off nicely. I passed on joining the bright young things later, expect they were grateful!
Photographs are up on photobucket, the two end ones are the rabbit we saw in the carpark as we were leaving Quainton, I think the poor beast was dying but Alex didn't know that and was happy to see it.
Friday 12 December 2008
where was I?
Was planning to go back into lunnon town again for the London munch tonight but time escaped me. Sometimes I do wish I still lived in London rather than having a 90 minute to 2 hour trip to get there. Doesn't seem worth the trek to arrive past ten and have to leave almost immediately to get the train.
Been gadding about mostly at Mark's this week doing zip: staying up till the late early hours playing poker and drinking or drinking, listening to music and playing at other things. Loafing about wearing a skanky but comfortable dressing gown, drinking coffee and reading books in the mornings till it's time to go to the pub again.
Bliss.
We did have an expedition to Alfie's Antiques by accident, after some awkward person replaced Woolworths with a Waitrose, but everything I liked was either overpriced or I was scared to ask the price. I did enjoy eyeing everything up, and saw a fabulous glass table that looked like a magical pool, no need to ask the price, I have no space for it in my house. I need a HUGE house to put all the lovely things I lust after. Luckily for Mark I wasn't overcome with wow factor by the necklace he was considering buying me since it had an unlikely price tag too. The Lea Stein foxes I saw were £40-£45 which is a tenner more than the currently rising ebay prices which was a bit of a disappointment though I'd have paid it if there had been an extra-special one there. The one thing I saw that I *really* wanted was a lovely silver bangle with big very-red abstract glass shapes on it, but when I asked the woman to look at it she said it was hers, and not for sale. BAH! Felt quite aggrieved that she not only told me this but proceeded to put it on HER wrist and declare she must take it home with her tonight before putting it back in the glass case. ssssssssssake!
I'm supposed to be taking Dee to Guys for her dental thing on Monday but I don't think she's talking to me so she might bail again. No matter. Sunday is gorgeous blond's fourth birthday and I've organised a combination Thomas the Tank Engine and Santa's Magic Train trip ON his birthday with a promise that Santa may remember to wish him a happy birthday when he and his elves deliver his present. It was good last year even though Paul and Dee hadn't realised it was a timed thing and my car decided to play up that day as well. The feeling of utter relief when the chap on the desk said they had a carriage free on the last train and we were able to enjoy the trip we'd planned.
The SIGIST conference on Tuesday was good, but one of the presenters, a rather plump though tall lady had a voice exactly like Winnie the Pooh, which rather detracted from her presentation. Promising myself I'll book all these things and the 'required' training courses for next year so I have time to think and consolidate instead of throwing all my energy into the current project whatever that might turn out to be.
Went with Paula and Rod to a TA fancy dress thing in Chelmsford on Saturday, proper old-fashioned meeting up to get on a coach to trundle into the night. I actually managed to get to P’s less than fifteen minutes late at 5:45, already dressed for the underneath bit, an entirely different outfit from the one I’d planned but I found lots of interesting clothes while I was looking for the harem girl outfit. As it was, I was pleased to re-acquaint myself with my favourite basic black corset and for it to wrap lovingly round me without having to unlace it and for it to fit me better than it has since I bought it.
We did girl things with make-up while Rod got his tinman outfit together, then loaded an unlikely number of boxes and bags into the car to arrive in Hertford just in time for the coach. Paula the pirate (lush outfit, and I had the privilege of being told exactly where she bought it, so I might just get one for myself sometime) Rod the Roman centurion and me the iridescent blue pasha in the peacock feather robe. There were some other people who had bothered to dress up, and some looked ace. I spent the evening lusting after mid-twenties infants dressed as Jack Sparrow, a Flashman type, and wondering a little at their major who turned up in a tacky satin Elvis costume but looked like a lot of fun regardless. Mrs Shrek looked great, but the most unexpected and lovely idea was Lady Penelope and Parker; it took a moment or two to figure out that it wasn’t a strange military uniform and a seventies outfit but they were the biz.
Hog was roasted, vats of potato salad and green salad were almost entirely ignored, huge rounds of cheesecake tempted the tastebuds – then let them down, but that’ll be me and my taste, not a fault in the desserts. Rod and Paula managed to purloin a whole one which was balanced very carefully by various people until it reached chez P where it was already known that the fridge didn’t have any room in it. Strangeness.
I bought raffle tickets on the basis I felt quite honoured to have been invited, but sadly won nowt, while Paula won a fancy iPod and Rod a bottle of Bolly for best dressed. I suspect I got rather very drunk on private club prices and especially on my latest taste favourite, provided by the gallant major – Champort! A mixture of champagne (decent stuff at that) and port. My first one was when I caught someone’s eye as they pulled a face tasting it and offered to assist, which came with a caveat it should be downed in one, which I did, and very nice it was too. Stole Rods thunder a little when he came over with a couple of glasses for me n’ P, but we did our best to be ladylike with it. Right up till Paula naffed me last one, serves her right she was poorly the next day – I wasn’t!
For reasons best known to alikehoorites like us, we had to put away another bottle of red before we went off to bed at some unknown hour – I think my name may be written on the back of her settee, like some kind of leather park bench for waifs and strays.
My excuse for spending money in Tesco is that I needed petrol, and therefore needed to spend £50 to get a token for cheaper petrol. Yeah, right. Meant I didn’t actually leave for the LAM till about 2 and didn’t get there till about 4. The welcome I got made me regret I’d not got there earlier, not enough time to talk to all the people I wanted to, and I also missed the new crepes named in my honour. Meringue and raspberry with maple syrup I think. Bless. Lyn and Nigel are such lovely people.
Money was tempted from my pocket at a new stall selling silk corset-ribboned cushion and pillow covers. I really fancy commissioning a throw for the bed to go with them but have a minor concern about the potential price. L’Oreal must come to the fore, I’m worth it, every penny and more!
The after-party provided another opportunity to continue the catch-up with people I haven’t seen for a long time. Sir Richard made a point of coming over to say I looked marvellous, said he’d been worried about how strained and stretched I’d looked the last few times he’d seen me.
The traffic lights on Chelsea Bridge did their decision-making bit for me, red means I go home, green means I go catch up with Mark. I’d text him earlier, and not got a reply so I was a bit wary but it turned out OK in the end. Left my car outside the pub all night and am still trying to find a way to pay the doubtless doubling congestion charge cos I surely don’t believe I got off with it. Forgot, forgot, and forgot about it all week then discovered I couldn’t pay it without the penalty notice, which I don’t have….
This turned out to be topsy-turvy, never mind.
Been gadding about mostly at Mark's this week doing zip: staying up till the late early hours playing poker and drinking or drinking, listening to music and playing at other things. Loafing about wearing a skanky but comfortable dressing gown, drinking coffee and reading books in the mornings till it's time to go to the pub again.
Bliss.
We did have an expedition to Alfie's Antiques by accident, after some awkward person replaced Woolworths with a Waitrose, but everything I liked was either overpriced or I was scared to ask the price. I did enjoy eyeing everything up, and saw a fabulous glass table that looked like a magical pool, no need to ask the price, I have no space for it in my house. I need a HUGE house to put all the lovely things I lust after. Luckily for Mark I wasn't overcome with wow factor by the necklace he was considering buying me since it had an unlikely price tag too. The Lea Stein foxes I saw were £40-£45 which is a tenner more than the currently rising ebay prices which was a bit of a disappointment though I'd have paid it if there had been an extra-special one there. The one thing I saw that I *really* wanted was a lovely silver bangle with big very-red abstract glass shapes on it, but when I asked the woman to look at it she said it was hers, and not for sale. BAH! Felt quite aggrieved that she not only told me this but proceeded to put it on HER wrist and declare she must take it home with her tonight before putting it back in the glass case. ssssssssssake!
I'm supposed to be taking Dee to Guys for her dental thing on Monday but I don't think she's talking to me so she might bail again. No matter. Sunday is gorgeous blond's fourth birthday and I've organised a combination Thomas the Tank Engine and Santa's Magic Train trip ON his birthday with a promise that Santa may remember to wish him a happy birthday when he and his elves deliver his present. It was good last year even though Paul and Dee hadn't realised it was a timed thing and my car decided to play up that day as well. The feeling of utter relief when the chap on the desk said they had a carriage free on the last train and we were able to enjoy the trip we'd planned.
The SIGIST conference on Tuesday was good, but one of the presenters, a rather plump though tall lady had a voice exactly like Winnie the Pooh, which rather detracted from her presentation. Promising myself I'll book all these things and the 'required' training courses for next year so I have time to think and consolidate instead of throwing all my energy into the current project whatever that might turn out to be.
Went with Paula and Rod to a TA fancy dress thing in Chelmsford on Saturday, proper old-fashioned meeting up to get on a coach to trundle into the night. I actually managed to get to P’s less than fifteen minutes late at 5:45, already dressed for the underneath bit, an entirely different outfit from the one I’d planned but I found lots of interesting clothes while I was looking for the harem girl outfit. As it was, I was pleased to re-acquaint myself with my favourite basic black corset and for it to wrap lovingly round me without having to unlace it and for it to fit me better than it has since I bought it.
We did girl things with make-up while Rod got his tinman outfit together, then loaded an unlikely number of boxes and bags into the car to arrive in Hertford just in time for the coach. Paula the pirate (lush outfit, and I had the privilege of being told exactly where she bought it, so I might just get one for myself sometime) Rod the Roman centurion and me the iridescent blue pasha in the peacock feather robe. There were some other people who had bothered to dress up, and some looked ace. I spent the evening lusting after mid-twenties infants dressed as Jack Sparrow, a Flashman type, and wondering a little at their major who turned up in a tacky satin Elvis costume but looked like a lot of fun regardless. Mrs Shrek looked great, but the most unexpected and lovely idea was Lady Penelope and Parker; it took a moment or two to figure out that it wasn’t a strange military uniform and a seventies outfit but they were the biz.
Hog was roasted, vats of potato salad and green salad were almost entirely ignored, huge rounds of cheesecake tempted the tastebuds – then let them down, but that’ll be me and my taste, not a fault in the desserts. Rod and Paula managed to purloin a whole one which was balanced very carefully by various people until it reached chez P where it was already known that the fridge didn’t have any room in it. Strangeness.
I bought raffle tickets on the basis I felt quite honoured to have been invited, but sadly won nowt, while Paula won a fancy iPod and Rod a bottle of Bolly for best dressed. I suspect I got rather very drunk on private club prices and especially on my latest taste favourite, provided by the gallant major – Champort! A mixture of champagne (decent stuff at that) and port. My first one was when I caught someone’s eye as they pulled a face tasting it and offered to assist, which came with a caveat it should be downed in one, which I did, and very nice it was too. Stole Rods thunder a little when he came over with a couple of glasses for me n’ P, but we did our best to be ladylike with it. Right up till Paula naffed me last one, serves her right she was poorly the next day – I wasn’t!
For reasons best known to alikehoorites like us, we had to put away another bottle of red before we went off to bed at some unknown hour – I think my name may be written on the back of her settee, like some kind of leather park bench for waifs and strays.
My excuse for spending money in Tesco is that I needed petrol, and therefore needed to spend £50 to get a token for cheaper petrol. Yeah, right. Meant I didn’t actually leave for the LAM till about 2 and didn’t get there till about 4. The welcome I got made me regret I’d not got there earlier, not enough time to talk to all the people I wanted to, and I also missed the new crepes named in my honour. Meringue and raspberry with maple syrup I think. Bless. Lyn and Nigel are such lovely people.
Money was tempted from my pocket at a new stall selling silk corset-ribboned cushion and pillow covers. I really fancy commissioning a throw for the bed to go with them but have a minor concern about the potential price. L’Oreal must come to the fore, I’m worth it, every penny and more!
The after-party provided another opportunity to continue the catch-up with people I haven’t seen for a long time. Sir Richard made a point of coming over to say I looked marvellous, said he’d been worried about how strained and stretched I’d looked the last few times he’d seen me.
The traffic lights on Chelsea Bridge did their decision-making bit for me, red means I go home, green means I go catch up with Mark. I’d text him earlier, and not got a reply so I was a bit wary but it turned out OK in the end. Left my car outside the pub all night and am still trying to find a way to pay the doubtless doubling congestion charge cos I surely don’t believe I got off with it. Forgot, forgot, and forgot about it all week then discovered I couldn’t pay it without the penalty notice, which I don’t have….
This turned out to be topsy-turvy, never mind.
Monday 8 December 2008
early this morning
Better described as extremely late last night, walking back from a very select poker club which is minutes from Victoria station, feeling perfectly content on a crisp very early morning, we saw a fox!
He ran from the direction of the bus station to the pavement opposite where we were walking then stopped for long minutes on the pavement. Perfectly poised, just looking at us as foxes do, turning now and then to glance quickly into the park as if he wasn't sure if he should go in there or run off.
We both stood as still as the fox did, afraid to speak loudly or move suddenly in case he flicked, faster than thought, into the bushes of the gated park behind him.
I tried to get a picture on my phone camera, but I'm not used to using it and the pictures I have are a reminder rather than a reflection of how perfectly wonderful he looked. Amazingly, he didn't even tense as I slowly moved closer between the parked cars next to us. I didn't dare move more than a few feet towards him but he seemed to become only a little more alert, not even tensing for flight. We stood watching him for minutes, feeling privileged as he sat down, checking back at us now and then, but still not moving away.
Mark whispered he thought there must be a cat in the park, stopping him going in. Eventually the fox slipped through the railings into the park flashing a white mark on his flank, possibly a scar from some ancient fight. He walked almost gingerly a few feet along beside the railings then froze as another fox appeared from the bushes inside the park. We watched as they looked at each other for a short moment, then the first turned purposefully and trotted out between the railings and back across the road from the direction he had appeared. Moving into fast-forward half-way across the road in the moment it took us to look back to see if the second fox was still there.
We had time to see the second fox stand for a second or two more, until it turned silently and disappeared back into the park, leaving us delighted to have shared that moment. Maybe it was a vixen, maybe a dogfox, but the park is obviously marked territory.
It was more than one of those moments, it is a memory to treasure.
He ran from the direction of the bus station to the pavement opposite where we were walking then stopped for long minutes on the pavement. Perfectly poised, just looking at us as foxes do, turning now and then to glance quickly into the park as if he wasn't sure if he should go in there or run off.
We both stood as still as the fox did, afraid to speak loudly or move suddenly in case he flicked, faster than thought, into the bushes of the gated park behind him.
I tried to get a picture on my phone camera, but I'm not used to using it and the pictures I have are a reminder rather than a reflection of how perfectly wonderful he looked. Amazingly, he didn't even tense as I slowly moved closer between the parked cars next to us. I didn't dare move more than a few feet towards him but he seemed to become only a little more alert, not even tensing for flight. We stood watching him for minutes, feeling privileged as he sat down, checking back at us now and then, but still not moving away.
Mark whispered he thought there must be a cat in the park, stopping him going in. Eventually the fox slipped through the railings into the park flashing a white mark on his flank, possibly a scar from some ancient fight. He walked almost gingerly a few feet along beside the railings then froze as another fox appeared from the bushes inside the park. We watched as they looked at each other for a short moment, then the first turned purposefully and trotted out between the railings and back across the road from the direction he had appeared. Moving into fast-forward half-way across the road in the moment it took us to look back to see if the second fox was still there.
We had time to see the second fox stand for a second or two more, until it turned silently and disappeared back into the park, leaving us delighted to have shared that moment. Maybe it was a vixen, maybe a dogfox, but the park is obviously marked territory.
It was more than one of those moments, it is a memory to treasure.
Saturday 29 November 2008
Through the lost window
Still looking for the Windows CD to reinstall XP on the SATA drive, which took a time to find, the SATA power lead, which took a longer time to find, and still using my son’s PC with my dodgy hard drive, which seem to be behaving quite well at the moment. Hope that’s not famous last words!
The search for the CD (I can picture it, it’s in a long paper envelope affair and I think I last saw it when I was trying, unsuccessfully, to fix Burton’s PC) has led me to doing some LONG overdue further sorting out of the drifts of pointless paper which blizzard my overstuffed house. I’ve thrown out about a foot of useless pages/letter/leaflets I should never have kept longer than the time required to put it in the paper bin.
I got an unexpected call last Saturday from my son, asking me what I was doing that evening, and mirabile dictu! It was to ask if I would babysit while they went out together for once. The children were asleep, and I declined to wake them up to play with them despite Paul saying I should – what? I did a stocktake to make sure both were in their beds at the start of the shift, just in case they’d already been kidnapped, but they were both there, Lily still looking like a little pink comma in her cot, and Alex asleep in the same position his father maybe still uses - looking as if he is lazing on a beach somewhere.
I am wearing a different gold bracelet now since I broke a link on the filigree Chinese one (don't want to lose it) and Paul noticed it when they got back and asked where I’d got it (KL), was it real? (yes, 25g of 22ct gold ffs) a match to the ring I have swapped to wearing, and he said “is that going to go to my daughter”? Well, yes, I guess so, how many granddaughters do I *have*?
We had a really good time from when they came back till 4:30am when I left, Paul hardly ever drinks, and is quite a happy drunk. However, a bit like his father, it’s actually quite hard to tell until you realise he is being quite cute and sentimental.
The search for the CD (I can picture it, it’s in a long paper envelope affair and I think I last saw it when I was trying, unsuccessfully, to fix Burton’s PC) has led me to doing some LONG overdue further sorting out of the drifts of pointless paper which blizzard my overstuffed house. I’ve thrown out about a foot of useless pages/letter/leaflets I should never have kept longer than the time required to put it in the paper bin.
I got an unexpected call last Saturday from my son, asking me what I was doing that evening, and mirabile dictu! It was to ask if I would babysit while they went out together for once. The children were asleep, and I declined to wake them up to play with them despite Paul saying I should – what? I did a stocktake to make sure both were in their beds at the start of the shift, just in case they’d already been kidnapped, but they were both there, Lily still looking like a little pink comma in her cot, and Alex asleep in the same position his father maybe still uses - looking as if he is lazing on a beach somewhere.
I am wearing a different gold bracelet now since I broke a link on the filigree Chinese one (don't want to lose it) and Paul noticed it when they got back and asked where I’d got it (KL), was it real? (yes, 25g of 22ct gold ffs) a match to the ring I have swapped to wearing, and he said “is that going to go to my daughter”? Well, yes, I guess so, how many granddaughters do I *have*?
We had a really good time from when they came back till 4:30am when I left, Paul hardly ever drinks, and is quite a happy drunk. However, a bit like his father, it’s actually quite hard to tell until you realise he is being quite cute and sentimental.
Thursday 20 November 2008
Recognition at work!
Back in the office today after sleeping really badly, kept waking up coughing and feeling feverish, didn't go into the office till after 10, deal with my upset leavers and eventually pick up this email ....
Dear Jean
Congratulations on being nominated for an award in the ****** scheme. I am very pleased to let you know that we want to recognise your hard work and achievement and for you to accept a meal for you and your family to the value of £100 as recognition of the effort you have put into our success as a business.
I am very keen to recognise behaviour and contribution that is ‘above and beyond’ what we can normally expect from each other because this is what separates the average from the special. Well done and I hope you enjoy the meal!
Please contact my PA, *** on *** for further details.
Regards
*****
VP - Outsourcing
============================
Like, wow! I didn't even know they had such a scheme, and have absolutely no idea who nominated me or why. The business line I work in is an entirely different empire to his, although the project I am on is within that empire. L'Oreal moments are so wonderful.
New problem : who shall I take to dinner, where? The game is that I pay for the meal, get a receipt and claim it back through expenses on his personal code *blink*
AND...... team meeting this afternoon, B's and C's debrief on the project to date, they said one of the key plus points on the project was - me! Hurrah for me! I said we'd already got that one down as 'Test Team' cos we am one team despite having to say g'bye to three of them tomorrow.
My cunning plot to have a two-week hols is broke since I am not getting the bullet but am to be on the project till the end of the year, and perhaps beyond, depending on the scope of the next phase. Feeling kinda cool about it since there is no pressure for the next phase any more.
Sadness is that I missed out on a Hyatt champagne reception for 'special guests' on Tuesday, but JC told me I was a topic of conversation following the Presidential Suite business. Should add that my sexy red devil was again permitted to park right outside the Hyatt last night *smirk*
So, back to working out where/when to take hols.....
The LLM is looking likely, especially since I have tagged a course in London the day before.
Life is looking up!
Dear Jean
Congratulations on being nominated for an award in the ****** scheme. I am very pleased to let you know that we want to recognise your hard work and achievement and for you to accept a meal for you and your family to the value of £100 as recognition of the effort you have put into our success as a business.
I am very keen to recognise behaviour and contribution that is ‘above and beyond’ what we can normally expect from each other because this is what separates the average from the special. Well done and I hope you enjoy the meal!
Please contact my PA, *** on *** for further details.
Regards
*****
VP - Outsourcing
============================
Like, wow! I didn't even know they had such a scheme, and have absolutely no idea who nominated me or why. The business line I work in is an entirely different empire to his, although the project I am on is within that empire. L'Oreal moments are so wonderful.
New problem : who shall I take to dinner, where? The game is that I pay for the meal, get a receipt and claim it back through expenses on his personal code *blink*
AND...... team meeting this afternoon, B's and C's debrief on the project to date, they said one of the key plus points on the project was - me! Hurrah for me! I said we'd already got that one down as 'Test Team' cos we am one team despite having to say g'bye to three of them tomorrow.
My cunning plot to have a two-week hols is broke since I am not getting the bullet but am to be on the project till the end of the year, and perhaps beyond, depending on the scope of the next phase. Feeling kinda cool about it since there is no pressure for the next phase any more.
Sadness is that I missed out on a Hyatt champagne reception for 'special guests' on Tuesday, but JC told me I was a topic of conversation following the Presidential Suite business. Should add that my sexy red devil was again permitted to park right outside the Hyatt last night *smirk*
So, back to working out where/when to take hols.....
The LLM is looking likely, especially since I have tagged a course in London the day before.
Life is looking up!
Wednesday 19 November 2008
Management styles
Here follows a short email exchange with one of my colleagues :
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks Jean, I’ll update. Are you feeling better?
Jon
===============
Not much, but I think I had better come in if only to clear my desk and soothe my departing team members ;)
anything else I need to know but probably haven't been told?
Jean
===============
Not that I’m aware of, but then again, until yesterday, I wasn’t aware that you would be going
Jon
===============
Just as well I did stay late in the office on Friday to get *cough* early warning of this. The next phase of the project is on hold so everyone I assured would be there till April next year is on notice to roll off the project. Nothing unusual, we're all permanent employees and projects evaporating suddenly is more the norm than a rarity.
What's not OK is how they've managed it: at the second or at worst the third sign that things might not be moving ahead as planned, they should have given 'fair warning' that we might all be moving on soon.
I'm out sick, so wasn't able to DO anything about my people, and the personal call I got from one of them told me it was handled even worse than I thought it might. My advice to tell the whole team the next phase was delayed and tell individuals, individually, after at least a couple of hours, was ignored. Instead, they had a team meeting where my deputy, who is staying, told the three who are off this Friday in front of everyone else.
From Friday's late evening conversation (following which I slung a few reams of paper into the shredder), I know they have my end-date as next Friday, and am not actually too fussed beyond my holiday plans and their lack of honesty. I've now cancelled next week so that I can have two weeks together next month which suits me better. Apart from looking at the calendar to decide which social events I'll now miss! However, phone calls last night and this morning with direct questions about when *I* leave only got shifty responses that my glorious leaders "hadn't discussed it yet".
Why is it management don't realise that hiding bad news only makes things worse?
At least R told me she didn't believe I'd have done it like that, and I was able to give her a contact for potential work that means she can continue to work in Birmingham and travel from home instead of working away.
So, final fling in the Hyatt this week, and the knowledge that they'll be pissed off that I've applied work/life balance and cancelled next week as holiday. Shame they didn't tell me officially that I'll not be there next month *evil grin*
Weekend? Saturday afternoon went very well, Saturday evening was a bit sparse but with lovely people, and Saturday late evening delivered on it's promise ;0
Lurgy is unlovely but good company makes up for it
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks Jean, I’ll update. Are you feeling better?
Jon
===============
Not much, but I think I had better come in if only to clear my desk and soothe my departing team members ;)
anything else I need to know but probably haven't been told?
Jean
===============
Not that I’m aware of, but then again, until yesterday, I wasn’t aware that you would be going
Jon
===============
Just as well I did stay late in the office on Friday to get *cough* early warning of this. The next phase of the project is on hold so everyone I assured would be there till April next year is on notice to roll off the project. Nothing unusual, we're all permanent employees and projects evaporating suddenly is more the norm than a rarity.
What's not OK is how they've managed it: at the second or at worst the third sign that things might not be moving ahead as planned, they should have given 'fair warning' that we might all be moving on soon.
I'm out sick, so wasn't able to DO anything about my people, and the personal call I got from one of them told me it was handled even worse than I thought it might. My advice to tell the whole team the next phase was delayed and tell individuals, individually, after at least a couple of hours, was ignored. Instead, they had a team meeting where my deputy, who is staying, told the three who are off this Friday in front of everyone else.
From Friday's late evening conversation (following which I slung a few reams of paper into the shredder), I know they have my end-date as next Friday, and am not actually too fussed beyond my holiday plans and their lack of honesty. I've now cancelled next week so that I can have two weeks together next month which suits me better. Apart from looking at the calendar to decide which social events I'll now miss! However, phone calls last night and this morning with direct questions about when *I* leave only got shifty responses that my glorious leaders "hadn't discussed it yet".
Why is it management don't realise that hiding bad news only makes things worse?
At least R told me she didn't believe I'd have done it like that, and I was able to give her a contact for potential work that means she can continue to work in Birmingham and travel from home instead of working away.
So, final fling in the Hyatt this week, and the knowledge that they'll be pissed off that I've applied work/life balance and cancelled next week as holiday. Shame they didn't tell me officially that I'll not be there next month *evil grin*
Weekend? Saturday afternoon went very well, Saturday evening was a bit sparse but with lovely people, and Saturday late evening delivered on it's promise ;0
Lurgy is unlovely but good company makes up for it
Saturday 15 November 2008
poems
I sent Shani an email titled 'waving?' and she replied saying ::drowns:: and I discovered that she had never come across the poem 'Not Waving But Drowning' by Stevie Smith, "much too far out all my life, and not waving but drowning". You can look it up if you want but be warned, it's dark.
Finding the poem for her meant I got caught up in cerfing for the poems I love, maybe I should mention that I do seem to like dark poetry, Plath, and Larkin http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/philip_larkin/poems. Toads, Wants, and the last lines of High Windows especially.
"And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.
but my FAVOURITE poem is Siegfreid Sassoon
Everyone Sang
Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom,
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on - on - and out of sight.
Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted;
And beauty came like the setting sun:
My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
Drifted away ... O, but Everyone
Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.
Time to get going for my afternoon eventing at the STudio now. Wish I didn't have the lurgy!
Finding the poem for her meant I got caught up in cerfing for the poems I love, maybe I should mention that I do seem to like dark poetry, Plath, and Larkin http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/philip_larkin/poems. Toads, Wants, and the last lines of High Windows especially.
"And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.
but my FAVOURITE poem is Siegfreid Sassoon
Everyone Sang
Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom,
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on - on - and out of sight.
Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted;
And beauty came like the setting sun:
My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
Drifted away ... O, but Everyone
Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.
Time to get going for my afternoon eventing at the STudio now. Wish I didn't have the lurgy!
Thursday 6 November 2008
Fireworks
Being up this early is a pure nonsense: I woke up at 5am with my head full of work rubbish and an unpleasant feeling of "where's mine?" but that, thankfully, seems to have worn off as I've woken up properly. Still on my son's PC which has a too-loud fan and just KNOW that I have to get my own machine and the wireless thingie sorted out.
Planning to have the short people again today, it was such a lovely day yesterday with both of them pottering about, being angelic and playing nicely, they really are such 'good' children; fair share of tantrums and episodes but even so. Alex came with me to Tesco, in the red devil, which was fun, he kept telling me to go faster. I've checked out the nagging concern and yes, it IS illegal now to have a child in a car without a booster seat: me bad (but I've got the seat to use today if I need to). I gave him a couple of quid to put in the box for poppies, and the old boy with the tray was very sweet to him, and called me back to thank me for telling Alex he was helping to look after lots of brave men who fought in a big war so mummy and daddy could look after HIM. I felt such a fraud, but pleased at the same time.
It was odd to see Paul's father at the house in the morning when I went to fetch them, affable and still ~connected~ somehow: it was all such a long time ago and I know I made the right decision but it still feels odd sometimes. Anyway, he's still capable of charm and I'm glad he's spending time with Paul and the children sometimes.
Alex wasn't at school becasue he has a dodgy tummy, blamed on recent injections, and was certainly quieter than usual, but a whole day with them was pretty blissful, followed by a long, slow walk back in the dark as my mother struggles to walk any distance and I don't have the big car any more to have been able to get us all in there. It only occurs to me now that I should have got a taxi (booster seats etc aren't obligatory in taxis? - how does that work then?)
Paul had arranged to come home from work for an hour with fireworks for the children and you never saw anything as excited as Alex when his Dad came in with a huge box of fireworks and rockets; almost all of the photographs have him with his hands over his ears, looking very worried and he decided it was better to sit indoors with his great-grannie and watch through the window even if his mother and father did declare him a wuss.
Some times are very special. I'll upload the photographs when I find the card-reader gizmo.
Putney tonight, I think I should be able to get my act together after the early dinner we have planned at Dee's. I'll see how trashed I feel; I swear small people get their energy by draining it off the nearest adult. Cancelling everything last weekend due to rotten sore stomach and letting go the work beast was necessary but I stil regret not having done anything plus the dance class on Saturday has gone west (hope your leg gets better soon, P) and mother advised me last night that she's not going home till Monday. Just in time for me to set off back to Brum for another two weeks of mayhem.
then, then, blisssssssss! I get another week off and am looking at using Hyatt points to get free accomodation in Cancun and maybe hook up with Araceli if I can find her. Suddenly life looks brighter, Vikki got back in touch (thank you facebook)bought a pub and developed a grandchild so I am looking forward to visiting and catching up with her and my nearly-nephew: he has managed to grow up alongside all the Harry Potter films I took him to see and they've run out at the right time.
Time to get dressed and DO things
Planning to have the short people again today, it was such a lovely day yesterday with both of them pottering about, being angelic and playing nicely, they really are such 'good' children; fair share of tantrums and episodes but even so. Alex came with me to Tesco, in the red devil, which was fun, he kept telling me to go faster. I've checked out the nagging concern and yes, it IS illegal now to have a child in a car without a booster seat: me bad (but I've got the seat to use today if I need to). I gave him a couple of quid to put in the box for poppies, and the old boy with the tray was very sweet to him, and called me back to thank me for telling Alex he was helping to look after lots of brave men who fought in a big war so mummy and daddy could look after HIM. I felt such a fraud, but pleased at the same time.
It was odd to see Paul's father at the house in the morning when I went to fetch them, affable and still ~connected~ somehow: it was all such a long time ago and I know I made the right decision but it still feels odd sometimes. Anyway, he's still capable of charm and I'm glad he's spending time with Paul and the children sometimes.
Alex wasn't at school becasue he has a dodgy tummy, blamed on recent injections, and was certainly quieter than usual, but a whole day with them was pretty blissful, followed by a long, slow walk back in the dark as my mother struggles to walk any distance and I don't have the big car any more to have been able to get us all in there. It only occurs to me now that I should have got a taxi (booster seats etc aren't obligatory in taxis? - how does that work then?)
Paul had arranged to come home from work for an hour with fireworks for the children and you never saw anything as excited as Alex when his Dad came in with a huge box of fireworks and rockets; almost all of the photographs have him with his hands over his ears, looking very worried and he decided it was better to sit indoors with his great-grannie and watch through the window even if his mother and father did declare him a wuss.
Some times are very special. I'll upload the photographs when I find the card-reader gizmo.
Putney tonight, I think I should be able to get my act together after the early dinner we have planned at Dee's. I'll see how trashed I feel; I swear small people get their energy by draining it off the nearest adult. Cancelling everything last weekend due to rotten sore stomach and letting go the work beast was necessary but I stil regret not having done anything plus the dance class on Saturday has gone west (hope your leg gets better soon, P) and mother advised me last night that she's not going home till Monday. Just in time for me to set off back to Brum for another two weeks of mayhem.
then, then, blisssssssss! I get another week off and am looking at using Hyatt points to get free accomodation in Cancun and maybe hook up with Araceli if I can find her. Suddenly life looks brighter, Vikki got back in touch (thank you facebook)bought a pub and developed a grandchild so I am looking forward to visiting and catching up with her and my nearly-nephew: he has managed to grow up alongside all the Harry Potter films I took him to see and they've run out at the right time.
Time to get dressed and DO things
Saturday 1 November 2008
Hols
I'm officially on HOLIDAY for a week - HURRAH!
I moved some furniture around last weekend and discovered the PC monitor doesn't work any more BAH! so I'm on the work laptop with the mobile broadband cos I jus' can't be Rsed to get technical about fixing it. Think I may just go and buy another one, conspicuous consumption rules : problem is I'll probably find it's the hard drive that's gone and that will make me very miserable.
I meant to go to the London munch last night, and AntiChrist cos I have a real yearning to dance, but I knew by mid-afternoon it just wasn't going to happen. My £5,000 worth of photocopying didn’t happen either (expenses) because the website you’re meant to enter and submit it on closed before I got clear of the toad, work, so I decided it can wait till I get back and I’ll do it in their time rather than mine.
Since my boss really DOES look like Andrew Marr (too tall and stands too close; MUCH bushier eyebrows that he lowers from, and an even more mobile mouth) I might refer to him as Andrew from now on : From Wikipedia, - Marr also recounts an incident where he was approached by a man in a shop who said, "Here, you look just like that Andrew Marr... you poor bugger." He’s OK really, just a pain as a manager because of his meddle management and constant undermining of his own direct reports by going to individuals for up-to-the-nanosecond information to feed his insatiable appetite for detail.
Also, there is a Pratchett quote that fits him perfectly, “he wasn’t a man to avoid interrupting the answer to a question with a question about the answer he just interrupted”.
He called a meeting yesterday afternoon to tell people the schedule for new builds over the next two weeks and was obviously distressed that he didn’t get a hot welcome. He asked me later what happened, why the meeting “didn’t work”, and I told him gently that all he had done was provide information to formalise what people already knew had to happen. No-one gets excited about that; he’d have done better to have sent an email. Poor soul, he so wants to be loved and feted, and will never understand why it doesn’t work for him.
I did manage to escape the office before too many silly-o'clocks this week; Thursday was *cough* fun. bossman and I declared war on each other by high level distribution list email, and I was walked into an office (AGAIN!) for a "quiet word" (AGAIN!) which involved a lot of heated exchange (AGAIN!). This time resolved by my making it crystal that if he wants to pull rank, he has the right to do that. He did. Avoiding saying that when it all goes wrong (as it already has) he can rest easy knowing he threw his weight about to force a situation no-one can explain or defend. I don't have to any more, it was his call and his problem for the future. His cheap political power play has cost him the ability to hold me responsible for control of my own process, and let me off the hook for where it isn't easy to manage. Class. Thank you, kind sir. *g*
Work obviously has far too large a footprint on my life, and I need to get a grip on myself and care less about getting it all done.
Tired like a fish! I finished reading Pratchett’s ‘Nation’ last night and it turned out to be pretty good, but a horribly, horribly slow start. If I hadn’t been working away, I would probably have given up on it but I needed something to read and that was all I had with me.
Reading something else now Underworld, by De Lillo. It’s a fine thick book
I bought myself lilies and freesia last night, a true pleasure since I’m not usually at home to enjoy them, and would feel foolish taking flowers into the office, besides which, I’d need others in the hotel room and still wouldn’t be in one place long enough to enjoy them properly. However, I did get a couple of hyacinth bulbs with glass vases to do the childish “look, no earth” thing and might take one of those in when I go back.
Much later ~ not long got up (It’s half seven at night) and pouring rain. Inside seems like a good place to be right now. Drinking a
Monday 20 October 2008
ENOUGH already!
17:30 pm offsetting the hours over the weekend against the ½ hour less than 7.5 that I’ve WORKED today.
The Test Manager Forum slot on the 29th next week came back, but I’m not on leave next week any more. I emailed Mr Boss, and copied Mr Head-of-Testing-Commnity with a request that I should be allowed to go, and got the following in response:
“if you remember, the reason you ~need to be in the office?~ is that J, P, N and A are all out. We will also be having a push to get UAT 2 into place. So I’m going to have to say no”. No “sorry, Jean, I really need you in the office”, no “regretfully”, no “perhaps you could come in on Wed morning”. Just a flat ?pissed off? No.
He managed NOT to copy Mr HoTC on his response, which is what really Teed me off.
All those extra hours, all those long days, all that Saturday morning when I’d also given up my holiday for the day before, all for jack. Not that I actually expected much, just a bit of social oil to sweeten the abuse.
I’m done for today. I’m done doing extra time for a while. Will probably be back to ludicrous hours tomorrow, but then again, perhaps not
The Test Manager Forum slot on the 29th next week came back, but I’m not on leave next week any more. I emailed Mr Boss, and copied Mr Head-of-Testing-Commnity with a request that I should be allowed to go, and got the following in response:
“if you remember, the reason you ~need to be in the office?~ is that J, P, N and A are all out. We will also be having a push to get UAT 2 into place. So I’m going to have to say no”. No “sorry, Jean, I really need you in the office”, no “regretfully”, no “perhaps you could come in on Wed morning”. Just a flat ?pissed off? No.
He managed NOT to copy Mr HoTC on his response, which is what really Teed me off.
All those extra hours, all those long days, all that Saturday morning when I’d also given up my holiday for the day before, all for jack. Not that I actually expected much, just a bit of social oil to sweeten the abuse.
I’m done for today. I’m done doing extra time for a while. Will probably be back to ludicrous hours tomorrow, but then again, perhaps not
Birthday 2008
Still blissed from my fantastic birthday weekend. It was unforgettable, and I want to make sure it doesn't disappear into that land where you only remember if you are drunk, or maudlin, or both. So many people called, texted, mailed, memoed, posted - and I was especially happy to be able to see some of my friends in person on the day, all of which has made this years birthday event exceptional.
Prequel
“What are you doing on October 11th”, said Mark. I so nearly said "that's the day before my birthday", but decided I should leave it. Ummmmm, errrrrrr, “Nothing”.
"Oh good", he said, "do you fancy going to a Piaf tribute concert". Would I? What a perfect birthday treat, I thought, but still didn't tell him it was my birthday weekend, or how pleased I was he had invited me.
"I think we should go dressed up, 40's 50's style. Well, the way we usually dress", he said. *Laughing*. The opportunity to dress up, to be escorted by someone properly gallant, attractive and attentive. What was to resist? I started planning my outfit: simple really, the red hat with the wee veil I wore on our first proper arranged ‘date’; which was only about a year after I’d met him though we’d mysteriously managed to bump into each other here and there. Poor hat hadn’t had an airing since then either.
That was weeks before. Between then and my birthday, we managed to slide in a birthday visit (his) to the theatre to see the 39 Steps (WELL worth going to see) and a properly high-living corporate hospitality rugby match at Twickenham where the London Irish beat the Harlequins and I shouted in a most unladylike fashion during the game. Life has been damn good to me lately.
So, the birthday weekend.
For reasons that seemed eminently sensible at the time, regardless of the fact that I work lunatic hours every day during the week, I had decided to show willing and stay over to work (unpaid) overtime on Saturday morning. Mostly because it seemed rather unfair that my team should be pressured directly by my boss to work the weekend (I refuse to browbeat them, even if I did make sure they would get PAID overtime) Even though I could have done with getting home and having the day to get my act together.
It felt pleasantly strange to wake and know that this was going to be a half-day, with a great evening ahead. I had all sorts of plans to sort out emails and reports and etc since I haven’t a dicky what the system actually looks like or how to test it. Unfortunately, my boss decided to treat it as a normal working day with additional opportunity to pester the hell out of me. I had planned to leave at one: which was right about the time he wanted updates, snapshots and explanations for everything he doesn’t understand about how and why we do things. I stitched him to buy everyone lunch, with strict instruction that pizza was NOT to be on the menu. The guy in my team who had demanded such, then decided he was going out of the office to get lunch sigh
Shortly after the time I had planned to leave, Mr Boss came back again, and I managed to find the proper tone of voice to tell him, “GO. AWAY.” And he did. I didn’t though, not till just after 2pm. Earlier, I’d been counting out loud the 90 minutes to get home, the 90 minutes to get to Mark’s in time to get to Westminster Cathedral for 6:45. Which wasn’t leaving much time to do anything much except throw clothes into a bag and MOVE! Cursing myself for a wasted morning dealing with my boss’s angst instead of getting on with some work. Hang on, there’s something wrong with that statement.
That red devil is such a joy to drive. I’d decided against putting the top down – would take too long - like about 30 seconds. Listening to good choons, enjoying the sunshine, feeling myself relax and let the stress go.
Traffic was OK, the red devil eats open road, and I decided I had time to fill the tank ready for the expected drive on Monday when I’d be tired and wouldn’t have time. Picked up a call from Mark, manfully resisting the panic that I’d be late as I so often am, and showing him up in front of his friends who had organised the concert. He managed to keep a nonchalant tone while he asked if I was still in Birmingham, and the relief was palpable when I said I was in Aylesbury and planning to get the 4:30 train. Only then did I realise I’d been kidding myself by blanking the fact the 6:45 was the time the doors opened, not the time the concert started. Sometimes my subconscious does me proud.
Knowing what I wanted to wear, and where it was helped a LOT, and I decided to stay in the jeans and flats I was wearing so I didn’t have to spend time getting glammed till I got to London.
Almost ready at 4, I called Paul to see if he could give me a lift to the station. He was out test-driving the car, which has been misbehaving a lot lately. OK, call a cab at 4:15; beginning to fret that they’d be late, go to the wrong side of the square, take a longer route than necessary to get to the station: fret fret fret.
Taxi arrived; I did the demanding princess bit and made him take the shortest route, which he didn’t recognise at all! So, arrive at the station, pay the driver, not dare look at the board with train times while cursing the machine for taking so long; check the time, no problem, 4:27 – check the board. Next train is to Princes Risborough it said, and the next train to Marylebone at 5. HELL! There is a train at the platform; there isn’t a single uniformed station person in sight (he was hiding in an office thing). Check with the man, “will this train get me a connection to London?” It’s going to London, he said. I didn’t believe him, but got on the train anyway. The LED thing was broken so I couldn’t tell if it was really going to London or not. The train moved off. Fortunately, the driver enjoyed using the in-train tannoy so I heard that it was all going to be OK on the getting straight to London front.
So, there I am, on the train, all sorted, time to apply slap, de-stress and start enjoying myself again.
The phone rings, it’s Mark with an accusing voice, “you don’t sound like you’re on a train”. Slight change of plan, he tells me, he forgot England was playing so he’ll meet me in the pub. “But I’m not wearing proper clothes”, I wail. Dickering about on I should get the cab to the pub and he’ll give me keys to the flat won’t work: it means I will arrive in jeans and flats with a bag of clothes and steal my own thunder by not arriving all elegance and pizzazz. A woman walked into the ladies toilets at Marylebone and an overdressed demimondaine walked out about ten minutes later.
The taxi driver did a double take, but at least I remembered not only the name, but also the address of the pub, and he knew where it was. England scored their first goal just as we passed Victoria. Minutes later, I am doing the soignรฉe exit from the cab, bless black cabs for the grab rail things that allow one to alight rather than clamber.
The pub is packed with mostly blokes watching the match. There are a few startled glances, you could see them thinking, and “she must be lost”. I do my standard head for the bar then you don’t look such a fool for not seeing whomever you are meant to meet. (He was hiding behind a pillar). Trying to order a drink started the evening as it was meant to, and did, go on. “He’s already got you one,” said the barman, automatically looking to where Mark was sitting, looking spiffing, or is that spivving, in the natty pinstripe suit.
G&T is a new adventure for me, I never liked gin till I was presented with one earlier this year and didn’t have the heart to tell the (turned out to be a bitch) colleague that I didn’t drink the stuff. I drink it now J
Outside, finishing the drinks he asked me, “Can you dance in these shoes? “ Given that I can just about walk in them, and not far, I cautiously asked what kind of dancing. Holding onto each other and swaying a bit he said, telling me he had “impetuously” volunteered for us to get up on stage and dance during the performance. Always cool, I didn’t demur, well, not much.
We were the business walking to the Cathedral Hall, me with my hand on his arm (mostly to keep my balance on the uneven pavements). Looking and feeling totally amazing, and collecting compliments all the way.
On arrival, in better than on good time: just as they opened the doors in fact, we headed straight for the bar and collected more compliments and couple of glasses of wine from his friends who were looking pretty damn fine themselves and discovered we had seats reserved for us right at the front. Getting the eye from almost everyone around, countless people noting and remarking on how wonderful we looked. And we loved every second of it.
We were talking to some new age type chap outside, who turned out to be a professional poet, and who had seen Piaf, or Lynn Holland, live. He didn’t look old enough to have seen Piaf, so it must have been this lady.
The concert itself; Lynn Holland and her sister sang "Amazing Grace", the first time they had performed in public together. I had a wistful hope they might sing "Sister" from The Colour Purple: thinking about my sister and missing her.
Toward the end of the concert, Lynn Holland, still on stage and being wonderfully professional, said that there was someone special in the audience, whose birthday it is. Me sitting, enjoying, imagining it is her sister, or the organiser, or someone she has known for a long time. Then she says, and it's Fox. ME! ffs! Then she comes over with the microphone and wishes me Happy Birthday, asks if it's really my birthday today. I say it's tomorrow, but tonight is my birthday present. I mean it.
Then she begins to sing "Bon Anniversaire a toi”, and gets almost 300 assembled people who paid to get in there to sing Happy Birthday to me. I was completely, utterly blown away: himself sat there grinning from continent to continent; really pleased that he'd managed the grand romantic gesture and that I hadn't suspected anything at all. Perhaps more triumphant about it because I was so overcome that my super cool confident faรงade visibly dissolved in the unexpected tears I had to wipe away.
No one has ever done anything so completely amazing for me before. What a wonderful thing to arrange. I discovered later that he’d wheedled a promise that she would do ‘something’ to wish me happy birthday from the stage, but even he wasn’t expecting the massed choir business. What a lucky, lucky, person I am.
As if the concert and birthday song surprise weren't enough, about 1 second after midnight I was presented with a mysterious package wrapped in lush shiny red paper: a Piaf CD and a collection of great sounds that "he can imagine me listening to while cruising around in the little red devil".
And it didn’t end there.
I got up the next morning at 8 – this working lark plays havoc with lie-ins - decided that was a bit extreme since I’d not got to sleep till almost 5am; and went back to bed. Then it was somehow ten o’clock and I was wide-awake. Cup of coffee, book, and open the cards I’d brought with me. Including one from my team at work. The one my mother sent was superb, a 3D Japanese lady; handmade of course. Later, when Mark disbelieved me, as he did last year, when I said my mother had made my card, I said that it would probably have a stamp on the back saying ‘Handmade by Helen’. He looked, and it didn’t; it had a handwritten ‘made by Mum’.
I sent a text about the massed choir to everyone I could think of that would be happy for me, except those I was going to see later, and had lots of lovely texts back. Cosmic first of course. He didn’t go to the states but had gone someplace else and still couldn’t come to my birthday lunch L
Sid called to say he was at Aylesbury station but the trains weren’t running. Big deal, Sid getting on a train, he said later it was the first time in about sixteen years, and he asked the station staff if the smoking carriage was still at the front. I convinced him we would be at the restaurant all afternoon and that ‘late’ wasn’t a problem. Considered getting Paul and Dee to give him a lift but we thought he’d probably have left by then.
Got a call from my sister and was on the phone for ages, telling her alllllllllllll about last night, making plans for our mother’s birthday, talking about our brothers, nieces and nephews, her man. At one point, when I put the kettle on again, there was a disbelieving background call “was that the clink of a bottle?!?”
Mark’s friends had had too good a night of it after we’d left them in the pub, and bailed on joining us. Big shame as they are lovely people and I’d have liked for them to be there.
Back to the uber-elegant outfits to get a taxi to the restaurant. Probably because I was wearing the FM red heeled platform (understated of course!) heels, we had to walk to the station before we got a cab, then waited while the driver and his mate discussed whether or not Shaftesbury Avenue was closed to traffic: some march of other. We refused to care. We got lots of startled and admiring glances from the people we passed and lots of compliments from the cabbie, about Mark mostly, but men hardly ever bother to dress ‘up’, and they probably thought I was some kind of hooker. After all, people don’t wear heels, seams and hats on a Sunday, do they?
Sarah sends a text to say Steve has been called out and she has a migraine, and we are all, variously, truly disappointed.
Traffic was awful. However, I know exactly where the restaurant is, provided you get me to Picadilly/Wardour Street, and ‘the knowledge’ would strain to know every new restaurant that opens. I must have spotted it the day it opened, as it had only been open for about three weeks.
Paul called at about 12:30 – from the house, running late and wanting to know if I knew where his shirt might be: I suggested the usual places but he’d already looked there. Another late arrival, but I was so very glad he and Dee had farmed out the short people and wanted to join me (but sad I didn’t get to see them ON my birthday)
Paula called at about five past one, and I was, amazingly, able to say we were about five hundred yards away but would probably take fifteen minutes to get there.
Lunch was really good, and extended way into the afternoon, and probably early evening. Spending a leisurely, sunny Sunday afternoon having lunch with some of my most favourite people was a rare treat. Nigel and Lynn turned up, I really wasn't expecting them to make it, Lynn had shifted her shift to be able to do it, and was going back to work afterwards - in Essex. These people had travelled from sticks to centre on a day when trains weren't running properly, traffic was awful and parking was bloody expensive, I felt so loved. We had cosmopolitans, raspberry martinis, margueritas, beers, wine, wine and more wine to wash down the leisurely lunch, wandering outside in the sunshine for a cigarette, a chat, having the restaurateur saunter out to join us, telling us the best way to identify a Saffer accent is to ask them to say something like "give me some ice".
Add a plethora of hats: the one I was wearing when I got there and the two toppers Paula gave me: one that begs for a good corset & heels night, the other a completely OTT white topper with yards of veiling. I wore them all, but not all at the same time. Sling in a pair of screaming red silver-heeled shoes, which had to be worn, of course. The table had so many boxes, bags and cards it was a struggle to find space to put the food. Paula insisted she doesn't really think I'm a prostitute and that the card playing "Pretty Woman" reminds her of me for some other reason.
Include a call from my brother Michael; typically laid back but always in my corner, ending with “Well, I’ll call you again next year”. *Smothered laughter
Eventually it was decided that Paul would give Sid a lift back to Aylesbury, Paula and Rod wafted off someplace, things were getting a little fuzzy by then, so Paul chauffeured us all to Gods Waiting Room where they decided to stay on with us. We sat outside on a perfect evening, chatting and smoking, wandering inside now and then to watch or play poker. Mark took a lot of stick about his “son-in-law”, especially when he invited him to join their game and lost to him.
After a while, I realised I'd lost my Lea Stein red fox. There was the signature pin, firmly attached to the lapel of my jacket, and no fox. I was SO distraught! My attempts to be cool about it were pretty feeble, and completely wiped out by my acting like a hyperactive kid at Christmas who just got a bike AND money when I found it on the pavement where the fox had leapt when it parted company from the brooch pin.
How marvellous.
The Aylesbury crew left after a while, and we found ourselves locked in with a bunch of nice people, a pack of cards, a big green table, little round plastic discs and a LOT of booze. There aren’t many places where the staff brings you yummy chocolates in the early hours.
I was definitely fading by the early hours of the morning: felt guilty that I’d stopped him playing poker, though he assured me he’d had enough anyway. He did split his winnings with the other guy who was still in before we left though. Another time I’ll remind him to take a spare set of keys so I can slope off instead of curtailing his night.
My fingers are sore with typing, 3000+ words and I still haven’t written it all down. There’s Monday still to go, and the Presidential Suite, but I’ll leave those for another day
Time for bed and blissful dreams, I’m working from home tomorrow and intending to offset the time I’ve spend doing bits and pieces this weekend.
Life is better than good.
Prequel
“What are you doing on October 11th”, said Mark. I so nearly said "that's the day before my birthday", but decided I should leave it. Ummmmm, errrrrrr, “Nothing”.
"Oh good", he said, "do you fancy going to a Piaf tribute concert". Would I? What a perfect birthday treat, I thought, but still didn't tell him it was my birthday weekend, or how pleased I was he had invited me.
"I think we should go dressed up, 40's 50's style. Well, the way we usually dress", he said. *Laughing*. The opportunity to dress up, to be escorted by someone properly gallant, attractive and attentive. What was to resist? I started planning my outfit: simple really, the red hat with the wee veil I wore on our first proper arranged ‘date’; which was only about a year after I’d met him though we’d mysteriously managed to bump into each other here and there. Poor hat hadn’t had an airing since then either.
That was weeks before. Between then and my birthday, we managed to slide in a birthday visit (his) to the theatre to see the 39 Steps (WELL worth going to see) and a properly high-living corporate hospitality rugby match at Twickenham where the London Irish beat the Harlequins and I shouted in a most unladylike fashion during the game. Life has been damn good to me lately.
So, the birthday weekend.
For reasons that seemed eminently sensible at the time, regardless of the fact that I work lunatic hours every day during the week, I had decided to show willing and stay over to work (unpaid) overtime on Saturday morning. Mostly because it seemed rather unfair that my team should be pressured directly by my boss to work the weekend (I refuse to browbeat them, even if I did make sure they would get PAID overtime) Even though I could have done with getting home and having the day to get my act together.
It felt pleasantly strange to wake and know that this was going to be a half-day, with a great evening ahead. I had all sorts of plans to sort out emails and reports and etc since I haven’t a dicky what the system actually looks like or how to test it. Unfortunately, my boss decided to treat it as a normal working day with additional opportunity to pester the hell out of me. I had planned to leave at one: which was right about the time he wanted updates, snapshots and explanations for everything he doesn’t understand about how and why we do things. I stitched him to buy everyone lunch, with strict instruction that pizza was NOT to be on the menu. The guy in my team who had demanded such, then decided he was going out of the office to get lunch sigh
Shortly after the time I had planned to leave, Mr Boss came back again, and I managed to find the proper tone of voice to tell him, “GO. AWAY.” And he did. I didn’t though, not till just after 2pm. Earlier, I’d been counting out loud the 90 minutes to get home, the 90 minutes to get to Mark’s in time to get to Westminster Cathedral for 6:45. Which wasn’t leaving much time to do anything much except throw clothes into a bag and MOVE! Cursing myself for a wasted morning dealing with my boss’s angst instead of getting on with some work. Hang on, there’s something wrong with that statement.
That red devil is such a joy to drive. I’d decided against putting the top down – would take too long - like about 30 seconds. Listening to good choons, enjoying the sunshine, feeling myself relax and let the stress go.
Traffic was OK, the red devil eats open road, and I decided I had time to fill the tank ready for the expected drive on Monday when I’d be tired and wouldn’t have time. Picked up a call from Mark, manfully resisting the panic that I’d be late as I so often am, and showing him up in front of his friends who had organised the concert. He managed to keep a nonchalant tone while he asked if I was still in Birmingham, and the relief was palpable when I said I was in Aylesbury and planning to get the 4:30 train. Only then did I realise I’d been kidding myself by blanking the fact the 6:45 was the time the doors opened, not the time the concert started. Sometimes my subconscious does me proud.
Knowing what I wanted to wear, and where it was helped a LOT, and I decided to stay in the jeans and flats I was wearing so I didn’t have to spend time getting glammed till I got to London.
Almost ready at 4, I called Paul to see if he could give me a lift to the station. He was out test-driving the car, which has been misbehaving a lot lately. OK, call a cab at 4:15; beginning to fret that they’d be late, go to the wrong side of the square, take a longer route than necessary to get to the station: fret fret fret.
Taxi arrived; I did the demanding princess bit and made him take the shortest route, which he didn’t recognise at all! So, arrive at the station, pay the driver, not dare look at the board with train times while cursing the machine for taking so long; check the time, no problem, 4:27 – check the board. Next train is to Princes Risborough it said, and the next train to Marylebone at 5. HELL! There is a train at the platform; there isn’t a single uniformed station person in sight (he was hiding in an office thing). Check with the man, “will this train get me a connection to London?” It’s going to London, he said. I didn’t believe him, but got on the train anyway. The LED thing was broken so I couldn’t tell if it was really going to London or not. The train moved off. Fortunately, the driver enjoyed using the in-train tannoy so I heard that it was all going to be OK on the getting straight to London front.
So, there I am, on the train, all sorted, time to apply slap, de-stress and start enjoying myself again.
The phone rings, it’s Mark with an accusing voice, “you don’t sound like you’re on a train”. Slight change of plan, he tells me, he forgot England was playing so he’ll meet me in the pub. “But I’m not wearing proper clothes”, I wail. Dickering about on I should get the cab to the pub and he’ll give me keys to the flat won’t work: it means I will arrive in jeans and flats with a bag of clothes and steal my own thunder by not arriving all elegance and pizzazz. A woman walked into the ladies toilets at Marylebone and an overdressed demimondaine walked out about ten minutes later.
The taxi driver did a double take, but at least I remembered not only the name, but also the address of the pub, and he knew where it was. England scored their first goal just as we passed Victoria. Minutes later, I am doing the soignรฉe exit from the cab, bless black cabs for the grab rail things that allow one to alight rather than clamber.
The pub is packed with mostly blokes watching the match. There are a few startled glances, you could see them thinking, and “she must be lost”. I do my standard head for the bar then you don’t look such a fool for not seeing whomever you are meant to meet. (He was hiding behind a pillar). Trying to order a drink started the evening as it was meant to, and did, go on. “He’s already got you one,” said the barman, automatically looking to where Mark was sitting, looking spiffing, or is that spivving, in the natty pinstripe suit.
G&T is a new adventure for me, I never liked gin till I was presented with one earlier this year and didn’t have the heart to tell the (turned out to be a bitch) colleague that I didn’t drink the stuff. I drink it now J
Outside, finishing the drinks he asked me, “Can you dance in these shoes? “ Given that I can just about walk in them, and not far, I cautiously asked what kind of dancing. Holding onto each other and swaying a bit he said, telling me he had “impetuously” volunteered for us to get up on stage and dance during the performance. Always cool, I didn’t demur, well, not much.
We were the business walking to the Cathedral Hall, me with my hand on his arm (mostly to keep my balance on the uneven pavements). Looking and feeling totally amazing, and collecting compliments all the way.
On arrival, in better than on good time: just as they opened the doors in fact, we headed straight for the bar and collected more compliments and couple of glasses of wine from his friends who were looking pretty damn fine themselves and discovered we had seats reserved for us right at the front. Getting the eye from almost everyone around, countless people noting and remarking on how wonderful we looked. And we loved every second of it.
We were talking to some new age type chap outside, who turned out to be a professional poet, and who had seen Piaf, or Lynn Holland, live. He didn’t look old enough to have seen Piaf, so it must have been this lady.
The concert itself; Lynn Holland and her sister sang "Amazing Grace", the first time they had performed in public together. I had a wistful hope they might sing "Sister" from The Colour Purple: thinking about my sister and missing her.
Toward the end of the concert, Lynn Holland, still on stage and being wonderfully professional, said that there was someone special in the audience, whose birthday it is. Me sitting, enjoying, imagining it is her sister, or the organiser, or someone she has known for a long time. Then she says, and it's Fox. ME! ffs! Then she comes over with the microphone and wishes me Happy Birthday, asks if it's really my birthday today. I say it's tomorrow, but tonight is my birthday present. I mean it.
Then she begins to sing "Bon Anniversaire a toi”, and gets almost 300 assembled people who paid to get in there to sing Happy Birthday to me. I was completely, utterly blown away: himself sat there grinning from continent to continent; really pleased that he'd managed the grand romantic gesture and that I hadn't suspected anything at all. Perhaps more triumphant about it because I was so overcome that my super cool confident faรงade visibly dissolved in the unexpected tears I had to wipe away.
No one has ever done anything so completely amazing for me before. What a wonderful thing to arrange. I discovered later that he’d wheedled a promise that she would do ‘something’ to wish me happy birthday from the stage, but even he wasn’t expecting the massed choir business. What a lucky, lucky, person I am.
As if the concert and birthday song surprise weren't enough, about 1 second after midnight I was presented with a mysterious package wrapped in lush shiny red paper: a Piaf CD and a collection of great sounds that "he can imagine me listening to while cruising around in the little red devil".
And it didn’t end there.
I got up the next morning at 8 – this working lark plays havoc with lie-ins - decided that was a bit extreme since I’d not got to sleep till almost 5am; and went back to bed. Then it was somehow ten o’clock and I was wide-awake. Cup of coffee, book, and open the cards I’d brought with me. Including one from my team at work. The one my mother sent was superb, a 3D Japanese lady; handmade of course. Later, when Mark disbelieved me, as he did last year, when I said my mother had made my card, I said that it would probably have a stamp on the back saying ‘Handmade by Helen’. He looked, and it didn’t; it had a handwritten ‘made by Mum’.
I sent a text about the massed choir to everyone I could think of that would be happy for me, except those I was going to see later, and had lots of lovely texts back. Cosmic first of course. He didn’t go to the states but had gone someplace else and still couldn’t come to my birthday lunch L
Sid called to say he was at Aylesbury station but the trains weren’t running. Big deal, Sid getting on a train, he said later it was the first time in about sixteen years, and he asked the station staff if the smoking carriage was still at the front. I convinced him we would be at the restaurant all afternoon and that ‘late’ wasn’t a problem. Considered getting Paul and Dee to give him a lift but we thought he’d probably have left by then.
Got a call from my sister and was on the phone for ages, telling her alllllllllllll about last night, making plans for our mother’s birthday, talking about our brothers, nieces and nephews, her man. At one point, when I put the kettle on again, there was a disbelieving background call “was that the clink of a bottle?!?”
Mark’s friends had had too good a night of it after we’d left them in the pub, and bailed on joining us. Big shame as they are lovely people and I’d have liked for them to be there.
Back to the uber-elegant outfits to get a taxi to the restaurant. Probably because I was wearing the FM red heeled platform (understated of course!) heels, we had to walk to the station before we got a cab, then waited while the driver and his mate discussed whether or not Shaftesbury Avenue was closed to traffic: some march of other. We refused to care. We got lots of startled and admiring glances from the people we passed and lots of compliments from the cabbie, about Mark mostly, but men hardly ever bother to dress ‘up’, and they probably thought I was some kind of hooker. After all, people don’t wear heels, seams and hats on a Sunday, do they?
Sarah sends a text to say Steve has been called out and she has a migraine, and we are all, variously, truly disappointed.
Traffic was awful. However, I know exactly where the restaurant is, provided you get me to Picadilly/Wardour Street, and ‘the knowledge’ would strain to know every new restaurant that opens. I must have spotted it the day it opened, as it had only been open for about three weeks.
Paul called at about 12:30 – from the house, running late and wanting to know if I knew where his shirt might be: I suggested the usual places but he’d already looked there. Another late arrival, but I was so very glad he and Dee had farmed out the short people and wanted to join me (but sad I didn’t get to see them ON my birthday)
Paula called at about five past one, and I was, amazingly, able to say we were about five hundred yards away but would probably take fifteen minutes to get there.
Lunch was really good, and extended way into the afternoon, and probably early evening. Spending a leisurely, sunny Sunday afternoon having lunch with some of my most favourite people was a rare treat. Nigel and Lynn turned up, I really wasn't expecting them to make it, Lynn had shifted her shift to be able to do it, and was going back to work afterwards - in Essex. These people had travelled from sticks to centre on a day when trains weren't running properly, traffic was awful and parking was bloody expensive, I felt so loved. We had cosmopolitans, raspberry martinis, margueritas, beers, wine, wine and more wine to wash down the leisurely lunch, wandering outside in the sunshine for a cigarette, a chat, having the restaurateur saunter out to join us, telling us the best way to identify a Saffer accent is to ask them to say something like "give me some ice".
Add a plethora of hats: the one I was wearing when I got there and the two toppers Paula gave me: one that begs for a good corset & heels night, the other a completely OTT white topper with yards of veiling. I wore them all, but not all at the same time. Sling in a pair of screaming red silver-heeled shoes, which had to be worn, of course. The table had so many boxes, bags and cards it was a struggle to find space to put the food. Paula insisted she doesn't really think I'm a prostitute and that the card playing "Pretty Woman" reminds her of me for some other reason.
Include a call from my brother Michael; typically laid back but always in my corner, ending with “Well, I’ll call you again next year”. *Smothered laughter
Eventually it was decided that Paul would give Sid a lift back to Aylesbury, Paula and Rod wafted off someplace, things were getting a little fuzzy by then, so Paul chauffeured us all to Gods Waiting Room where they decided to stay on with us. We sat outside on a perfect evening, chatting and smoking, wandering inside now and then to watch or play poker. Mark took a lot of stick about his “son-in-law”, especially when he invited him to join their game and lost to him.
After a while, I realised I'd lost my Lea Stein red fox. There was the signature pin, firmly attached to the lapel of my jacket, and no fox. I was SO distraught! My attempts to be cool about it were pretty feeble, and completely wiped out by my acting like a hyperactive kid at Christmas who just got a bike AND money when I found it on the pavement where the fox had leapt when it parted company from the brooch pin.
How marvellous.
The Aylesbury crew left after a while, and we found ourselves locked in with a bunch of nice people, a pack of cards, a big green table, little round plastic discs and a LOT of booze. There aren’t many places where the staff brings you yummy chocolates in the early hours.
I was definitely fading by the early hours of the morning: felt guilty that I’d stopped him playing poker, though he assured me he’d had enough anyway. He did split his winnings with the other guy who was still in before we left though. Another time I’ll remind him to take a spare set of keys so I can slope off instead of curtailing his night.
My fingers are sore with typing, 3000+ words and I still haven’t written it all down. There’s Monday still to go, and the Presidential Suite, but I’ll leave those for another day
Time for bed and blissful dreams, I’m working from home tomorrow and intending to offset the time I’ve spend doing bits and pieces this weekend.
Life is better than good.
Monday 6 October 2008
'murcan 'musement
To the citizens of the United States of America from Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II In light of your failure in recent years to nominate competent candidates for President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective immediately. (You should look up 'revocation' in the Oxford English Dictionary.)
Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths, and territories (except Kansas, which she does not fancy).
Your new Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, will appoint a Governor for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed.
To aid in the transition to a British Crown dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:
1. The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'colour,' 'favour,' 'labour' and 'neighbour.' Likewise, you will learn to spell 'doughnut' without skipping half the letters, and the suffix '-ize' will be replaced by the suffix '-ise.' Generally, you will be expected to raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. (look up 'vocabulary').
2. Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as "like' and 'you know' is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. There is no such thing as U.S. English. We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take into account the reinstated letter 'u" and the elimination of '-ize.'
3. July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday.
4. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers, or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you're not quite ready to be independent. Guns should only be used for shooting grouse. If you can't sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist,then you're not ready to shoot grouse.
5. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous than a vegetable peeler. Although a permit will be required if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.
6. All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start driving on the left side with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Both roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.
7. The former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (which you have been calling gasoline) of roughly $10/US gallon. Get used to it.
8.You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut, fried in animal fat, and dressed not with catsup but with vinegar.
9. The cold, tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all. Henceforth, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as Lager. South African beer is also acceptable, as they are pound for pound the greatest sporting nation on earth and it can only be due to the beer. They are also part of the British Commonwealth - see what it did for them. American brands will be referred to as Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine, so that all can be sold without risk of further confusion.
10. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as good guys. Hollywood will also be required to cast English actors to play English characters. Watching Andie Macdowell attempt English dialogue in Four Weddings and a Funeral was an experience akin to having one's ears removed with a cheese grater.
11. You will cease playing American football. There is only one kind of proper football; you call it soccer. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which has some similarities to American football, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like a bunch of nancies).
12. Further, you will stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the World Series for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.1% of you are aware there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. You will learn cricket, and we will let you face the South Africans first to take the sting out of their deliveries.
13. You must tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us mad.
14. An internal revenue agent (i.e. tax collector) from Her Majesty's Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all monies due (backdated to 1776).
15. Daily Tea Time begins promptly at 4 p.m. with proper cups, with saucers, and never mugs, with high quality biscuits (cookies) and cakes; plus strawberries (with cream) when in season.
God Save the Queen!
PS: Only share this with friends who have a good sense of humour (NOT humor)!
Cheers Chitra!
Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths, and territories (except Kansas, which she does not fancy).
Your new Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, will appoint a Governor for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed.
To aid in the transition to a British Crown dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:
1. The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'colour,' 'favour,' 'labour' and 'neighbour.' Likewise, you will learn to spell 'doughnut' without skipping half the letters, and the suffix '-ize' will be replaced by the suffix '-ise.' Generally, you will be expected to raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. (look up 'vocabulary').
2. Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as "like' and 'you know' is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. There is no such thing as U.S. English. We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take into account the reinstated letter 'u" and the elimination of '-ize.'
3. July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday.
4. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers, or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you're not quite ready to be independent. Guns should only be used for shooting grouse. If you can't sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist,then you're not ready to shoot grouse.
5. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous than a vegetable peeler. Although a permit will be required if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.
6. All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start driving on the left side with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Both roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.
7. The former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (which you have been calling gasoline) of roughly $10/US gallon. Get used to it.
8.You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut, fried in animal fat, and dressed not with catsup but with vinegar.
9. The cold, tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all. Henceforth, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as Lager. South African beer is also acceptable, as they are pound for pound the greatest sporting nation on earth and it can only be due to the beer. They are also part of the British Commonwealth - see what it did for them. American brands will be referred to as Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine, so that all can be sold without risk of further confusion.
10. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as good guys. Hollywood will also be required to cast English actors to play English characters. Watching Andie Macdowell attempt English dialogue in Four Weddings and a Funeral was an experience akin to having one's ears removed with a cheese grater.
11. You will cease playing American football. There is only one kind of proper football; you call it soccer. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which has some similarities to American football, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like a bunch of nancies).
12. Further, you will stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the World Series for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.1% of you are aware there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. You will learn cricket, and we will let you face the South Africans first to take the sting out of their deliveries.
13. You must tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us mad.
14. An internal revenue agent (i.e. tax collector) from Her Majesty's Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all monies due (backdated to 1776).
15. Daily Tea Time begins promptly at 4 p.m. with proper cups, with saucers, and never mugs, with high quality biscuits (cookies) and cakes; plus strawberries (with cream) when in season.
God Save the Queen!
PS: Only share this with friends who have a good sense of humour (NOT humor)!
Cheers Chitra!
Wednesday 1 October 2008
random
This weeks premier inn flavour is kinda cool! Arriving at silly o'clock last night, they sent me through to the (closed) restaurant who found me food and a bottle a da red.
Arriving at sillier o'clock tonight, they looked up yellow pages for a chinese that would deliver, schmoozed them to deliver to the hotel, demanded all sorts of cheeky stuff while they phoned the order through, then organised bringing it up to my room when it arrived.
Nope. I have no desire to change my allegiance to Premier Inns but this one is a million miles better than the one in central Brum, currently messed up by the bloody Conservative party conference. Vote Independent!
Going to see some 'real' people tomorrow night at the Brum munch: better than work anyway. My dev manager colleague asked me tonight how come I get out of going to endless Release2 planning meetings and I told him I think it's cos I'm a girl. He's thinking about having the op if it gets him out of those meetings.
Life in the fast lane. I need a rest.
Arriving at sillier o'clock tonight, they looked up yellow pages for a chinese that would deliver, schmoozed them to deliver to the hotel, demanded all sorts of cheeky stuff while they phoned the order through, then organised bringing it up to my room when it arrived.
Nope. I have no desire to change my allegiance to Premier Inns but this one is a million miles better than the one in central Brum, currently messed up by the bloody Conservative party conference. Vote Independent!
Going to see some 'real' people tomorrow night at the Brum munch: better than work anyway. My dev manager colleague asked me tonight how come I get out of going to endless Release2 planning meetings and I told him I think it's cos I'm a girl. He's thinking about having the op if it gets him out of those meetings.
Life in the fast lane. I need a rest.
Sunday 28 September 2008
39 steps
Ahhhhh , went to see it on Friday night, really, really good! I hadn't realised when I first saw it that it is a spoof, of the Reduced Shakespeare Theatre variety, with a cast of four, and minimal props. There were some hugely funny bits in it and if you'd never read the book or seen the film, you'd still get the story. I thought the fat man was the chap from Chewin the Fat, but now I've gone checking, seems it wasn't. However, I found several youtube clips to indulge my penchant for scottish accents.
Top weekend all in all *happy*
I managed to leave work mid-afternoon, to a rousing cheer from my team who didn't beleive I'd actually do it: played slo-o-o-o-o-w traffic to the M40, ( at one point I was averaging 3 miles an hour, which is errmmmmm walking pace). Anyway, got home, shower/wash/pack then discover I misread the train timetable and there isn't a train at 6. Faff about a bit since I have some time before the next one, and fall foul of a brigade of cubscouts obscuring the path to the ticket machine. "Make a hole!!!!" cried the fond parents and leaders, "a big one" said some small creature about waist height on me - sooooooo tempted to clip him one! Then the sodding machine wasn't working. There I was, in full fancy black frock, balancing a bag full of clothes for saturday, shoes for saturday, bottle of 40% proof birthday present, tottering round to the front of the station to get the ticket office. I missed the train by 40 seconds.
Regroup. Luckily I haven't called Mark, a cunning ploy of mine not to tell anyone I'm on my way until I'm in the vehicle and it's moving. So: ticket in hand, I go outside to waste the next 20 minutes setting fire to something and call him. All light, bright and cheerful, I ask him to meet me at the theatre : at 8. He asks me what time it starts and I lie, telling him I don't know. (It starts at 8)
Peace settles, I get on the next train at 6.26 pm and apply slap while the train jaunts onward to Marylebone. My ex calls me. Deep joy. Not. I decide to get it over with and talk to him: he wants the stereo stuff that's been in my garage for the last 3 years, and in the storage he put it in and had to pay arrears to get it out of for about 3 years before that. I counter-offer that he should close the bloody joint account because I can't. He says he can't either because the bank have 'no way to verify my signature' on the forms I'd sent by registered post about a year ago. Ummmm, so how would they deal with written instructions? Anyway, I refuse to give in to anything to spoil my mood.
The play was magnificent: I'd recommend it to anyone.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I've got home, I've got outside wine, I've caught up with my personal emails, I've seen my son but not the short people, I'm in possession of a Harlequins rugby ball signed by all the team, I had a drink with Andy Gomarsal after the game yesterday (mrrrowwwww) in corporate hospitality : the only way to travel, and I was yelling like a banshee but ended up evens on the personal bets during the game. I trashed my feet, I trashed my thighs (don't ask) and spent this afternoon hanging out in God's Waiting Room in the glorious sunshine with Ummm censored :
Fabulous weekend, again. I coould learn to live with this work hard, party hard modus operandi
Top weekend all in all *happy*
I managed to leave work mid-afternoon, to a rousing cheer from my team who didn't beleive I'd actually do it: played slo-o-o-o-o-w traffic to the M40, ( at one point I was averaging 3 miles an hour, which is errmmmmm walking pace). Anyway, got home, shower/wash/pack then discover I misread the train timetable and there isn't a train at 6. Faff about a bit since I have some time before the next one, and fall foul of a brigade of cubscouts obscuring the path to the ticket machine. "Make a hole!!!!" cried the fond parents and leaders, "a big one" said some small creature about waist height on me - sooooooo tempted to clip him one! Then the sodding machine wasn't working. There I was, in full fancy black frock, balancing a bag full of clothes for saturday, shoes for saturday, bottle of 40% proof birthday present, tottering round to the front of the station to get the ticket office. I missed the train by 40 seconds.
Regroup. Luckily I haven't called Mark, a cunning ploy of mine not to tell anyone I'm on my way until I'm in the vehicle and it's moving. So: ticket in hand, I go outside to waste the next 20 minutes setting fire to something and call him. All light, bright and cheerful, I ask him to meet me at the theatre : at 8. He asks me what time it starts and I lie, telling him I don't know. (It starts at 8)
Peace settles, I get on the next train at 6.26 pm and apply slap while the train jaunts onward to Marylebone. My ex calls me. Deep joy. Not. I decide to get it over with and talk to him: he wants the stereo stuff that's been in my garage for the last 3 years, and in the storage he put it in and had to pay arrears to get it out of for about 3 years before that. I counter-offer that he should close the bloody joint account because I can't. He says he can't either because the bank have 'no way to verify my signature' on the forms I'd sent by registered post about a year ago. Ummmm, so how would they deal with written instructions? Anyway, I refuse to give in to anything to spoil my mood.
The play was magnificent: I'd recommend it to anyone.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I've got home, I've got outside wine, I've caught up with my personal emails, I've seen my son but not the short people, I'm in possession of a Harlequins rugby ball signed by all the team, I had a drink with Andy Gomarsal after the game yesterday (mrrrowwwww) in corporate hospitality : the only way to travel, and I was yelling like a banshee but ended up evens on the personal bets during the game. I trashed my feet, I trashed my thighs (don't ask) and spent this afternoon hanging out in God's Waiting Room in the glorious sunshine with Ummm censored :
Fabulous weekend, again. I coould learn to live with this work hard, party hard modus operandi
Wednesday 24 September 2008
56 steps
Never mind 39 Steps, which I might go see this weekend : 56 steps to the 3rd floor of the Premier *cough* travel lodge hotel thing affair, where the lift is broken.
My knee hurts *gloom*. Arriving at 10.30 pm when the bar and restaurant, such as they are, are about to close and getting the ironed clothes hung up (thanks, Mum!) , with a bit of trying to figure out how the lights etc work; it was almost 11pm before I set off in search of food. Room service in a Premier hotel? Have another laugh!
So, on the way up, after the imminent panic of their not having a room for me: I called too late yesterday to cancel the room for last night: some hotels allow cancellation till 4pm on the day (Hyatt and Marriotts), some 24 hrs (Radisson), and this one is 1pm on the day: which I missed by about an hour yesterday. So sod's law says they probably gave my room away for the rest of the week. I think they did, actually, but had a spare room to cover for it.
However, enough of doomy gloomy stuff. I was cruel/sensible enough to accept the offer of assistance with my luggage to get it to the third floor since the lift was broken. *sigh* Some willowy wisp of a girl tried to pretend that she didn’t mind lumping my bloody heavy suitcase up 56 steps while I tried to pretend my knee didn’t hurt keeping up with her.
The bed is good, the room is very full of a couple of side by side single beds, I haven’t tried the telly yet, and as long as the shower performs its hot, wet miracle in the morning I will declare myself (almost) content.
So, the hunt for food! 11pm in the middle of Brum: my favourite eating places were all, just, closed. No room service in a Premier establishment. Ended up at the Thai edge which looked fairly busy but they’d closed the kitchen. They suggested the Villagio (Thai/Italian connections?? Quite amazed really). Anyway, I said I’d give it a go, and turned to leave. Wait, wait! they said, he’s calling them for you. Better than than, getting a bit spooked by someone catching up with me in an empty street, especially after last night’s weirdo following me from the station, I discovered it was the manager of the Thai Edge, escorting me to the Cafรฉ Villagio to persuade the chap there that I really did deserve to have food and wine even though THEY’D closed too.
A rummage in their fridge allowed as they did have chicken, and I was offered a pasta dish with chicken and mushroom in cream sauce, which turned out to be rather wonderful. The eye-candy, incomprehensible waiter/chef/owner chap was rather lovely too. A bottle of Bardolino, my book, no hassle, and I smuggled the rest of the bottle back to the hotel with me.
56 steps back up to my room again. Corporate heaven does NOT include Premier Travel Lodge places, which have the effrontery to charge only a fiver less than class places like the Hyatt/Radisson/Crowne Plaza. Though I have a horse’s mouth story about a mouse in the room at the CP. *smothered laughter* the story was from our project director.
Also that a senior colleague I met in the London office yesterday was the man foolish enough to have had his laptop stolen from his car. NO! I do not work for them consultants with the prisoners details, nor for any MI5 type stuff.
Sid sent me a link to an article today about Cargo Cult Methodology: how Agile can go terribly, terribly wrong (www.cio.com/article/print/442264) Vastly amusing when I’m working in a project that went for “Agile Development” 6 weeks ago. It’s working! Honest, it’s working : but in the teeth of demands for traditional reporting of plans and progress for the greater project.
On the work front, I got an assignment review from my boss today which boldly says I will be working on this project till April next year, and gives me a 2 on a scale of check the contract 5 to unbelievable superstar 1. All good I’m sure: might even get a payrise out of it. Har de har har! I’m enjoying my job, as I used to, despite the lunatic hours etc, and my ma agrees I’m not as driven as I used to be. A small surprise in the review stuff “always good-humoured” – really????? They’re not looking inside my head to where baglady is a real career option and I almost always remember it really IS only a job.
Apparently the Hyatt is doing some deal with a free night for every 2 stays, MUST make good use of that! Also, suggestions for my at least a week ‘somewhere”! have had advice to try SA or Egypt: then again I might go visit Chit and Mark in Seoul if there is some promise of sun stuff.
Right : time to sleep I guess.
Say mother off on the train this morning, had a bliss late afternoon yesterday with the short people : Alex filling the toy watering can from the playpool and tipping it over himself, and over his baby sister so she didn’t feel left out. Both of them screaming with laughter.
Sometimes the world isn’t big enough to hold the love you feel.
My knee hurts *gloom*. Arriving at 10.30 pm when the bar and restaurant, such as they are, are about to close and getting the ironed clothes hung up (thanks, Mum!) , with a bit of trying to figure out how the lights etc work; it was almost 11pm before I set off in search of food. Room service in a Premier hotel? Have another laugh!
So, on the way up, after the imminent panic of their not having a room for me: I called too late yesterday to cancel the room for last night: some hotels allow cancellation till 4pm on the day (Hyatt and Marriotts), some 24 hrs (Radisson), and this one is 1pm on the day: which I missed by about an hour yesterday. So sod's law says they probably gave my room away for the rest of the week. I think they did, actually, but had a spare room to cover for it.
However, enough of doomy gloomy stuff. I was cruel/sensible enough to accept the offer of assistance with my luggage to get it to the third floor since the lift was broken. *sigh* Some willowy wisp of a girl tried to pretend that she didn’t mind lumping my bloody heavy suitcase up 56 steps while I tried to pretend my knee didn’t hurt keeping up with her.
The bed is good, the room is very full of a couple of side by side single beds, I haven’t tried the telly yet, and as long as the shower performs its hot, wet miracle in the morning I will declare myself (almost) content.
So, the hunt for food! 11pm in the middle of Brum: my favourite eating places were all, just, closed. No room service in a Premier establishment. Ended up at the Thai edge which looked fairly busy but they’d closed the kitchen. They suggested the Villagio (Thai/Italian connections?? Quite amazed really). Anyway, I said I’d give it a go, and turned to leave. Wait, wait! they said, he’s calling them for you. Better than than, getting a bit spooked by someone catching up with me in an empty street, especially after last night’s weirdo following me from the station, I discovered it was the manager of the Thai Edge, escorting me to the Cafรฉ Villagio to persuade the chap there that I really did deserve to have food and wine even though THEY’D closed too.
A rummage in their fridge allowed as they did have chicken, and I was offered a pasta dish with chicken and mushroom in cream sauce, which turned out to be rather wonderful. The eye-candy, incomprehensible waiter/chef/owner chap was rather lovely too. A bottle of Bardolino, my book, no hassle, and I smuggled the rest of the bottle back to the hotel with me.
56 steps back up to my room again. Corporate heaven does NOT include Premier Travel Lodge places, which have the effrontery to charge only a fiver less than class places like the Hyatt/Radisson/Crowne Plaza. Though I have a horse’s mouth story about a mouse in the room at the CP. *smothered laughter* the story was from our project director.
Also that a senior colleague I met in the London office yesterday was the man foolish enough to have had his laptop stolen from his car. NO! I do not work for them consultants with the prisoners details, nor for any MI5 type stuff.
Sid sent me a link to an article today about Cargo Cult Methodology: how Agile can go terribly, terribly wrong (www.cio.com/article/print/442264) Vastly amusing when I’m working in a project that went for “Agile Development” 6 weeks ago. It’s working! Honest, it’s working : but in the teeth of demands for traditional reporting of plans and progress for the greater project.
On the work front, I got an assignment review from my boss today which boldly says I will be working on this project till April next year, and gives me a 2 on a scale of check the contract 5 to unbelievable superstar 1. All good I’m sure: might even get a payrise out of it. Har de har har! I’m enjoying my job, as I used to, despite the lunatic hours etc, and my ma agrees I’m not as driven as I used to be. A small surprise in the review stuff “always good-humoured” – really????? They’re not looking inside my head to where baglady is a real career option and I almost always remember it really IS only a job.
Apparently the Hyatt is doing some deal with a free night for every 2 stays, MUST make good use of that! Also, suggestions for my at least a week ‘somewhere”! have had advice to try SA or Egypt: then again I might go visit Chit and Mark in Seoul if there is some promise of sun stuff.
Right : time to sleep I guess.
Say mother off on the train this morning, had a bliss late afternoon yesterday with the short people : Alex filling the toy watering can from the playpool and tipping it over himself, and over his baby sister so she didn’t feel left out. Both of them screaming with laughter.
Sometimes the world isn’t big enough to hold the love you feel.
Monday 15 September 2008
night owl
Missed writing up loads of interesting stories: it was a full-on week with some bizarre happenings, not all of which involved drinking. Plans are afoot, and there should be some more interesting times to come. One of the guys at work has promised to teach me to play poker, so if I end up swearing in Welsh, you'l know where it came from! We're on a promise to have a black tie casino night despite, or perhaps because, the local casinos are of the same seedy, desolate ilk as those I visited way back when.
Just don't ask about the amorous quarter-back : apparently there is no such position in rugby, but anyone who is so musclebound he looks triangular from the shoulders must be some kind of back. And yes, he does play rugby, and yes he does work with me, and yes I was flattered, and for the rest no! no! no! no! (Falling about laughing) Worse than that, he's all of 37, DEFINITELY NO!
I'm feeling pretty virtuous right now with an alarming number of ironed clothes hanging silently on the tripod hanger affair in the living room : testament to my domestic goddess role while watching Brassed Off. I'm sure there's a joke in there somewhere but I can't get the words to line up properly. Mostly I iron what I need for the week on a Monday morning before I eventually leave for work, mostly I buy clothes that don't need ironing! I must have some bizarre virus.
Yesterday was a traffic nightmare, leaving in reasonable time to get to Studio West, I got caught in a 20 minute parking experience at Beaconsfield to get to the M40, then there was another appalling crawl caused by a collision near ?Northolt? where the short lampposts are. Meant I arrived at my own event 15 minutes late and after a half dozen people who hadn't been playing with the M40. Really laid-back, relaxing afternoon, everyone was happy, Zippy brought flowers and very professional looking hand-made cards for Natasha-Louise and for ME! She's never met me before but thought I shouldn't be left out since I'd done the organising. Sarah fetched up to help on the door, leaving me entirely free to flit about and socialise. Gabby and Richard had come up from Bath so we managed a bit of a catch-up. they have made their plans to marry on April 25th next year - in London, so I need a new hat. Ummm, maybe I don't actually "need" a new hat, maybe I just need to choose which one to exercise.
Quality day today with mother after neglecting her a lot: we went for a spin in the red devil with the top down - gorgeous weather for it - found that the pub/restaurant I wanted to try doesn't do food at 4pm ; stops at 3 and starts again at 7 or something. Class place with a very interesting solid wood bar, and an enticing array of good malts and vodkas, but I don't remember ever going there before. So we sat out in the sunshine with a couple of alcoholic drinks and talked : a LOT!
Headed back toward home and decided to go to the Five Arrows at Waddesdon (I'd give a link but the site is quite boring) to see if they did food. They did, and we had a very late lunch on the terrace, looking out over the perfect lawn and shrubbery, pretending it was our house. Mental note to go there again for quiet drinks or meal: every other time I've been there has been some kind of event when it's been quite crowded. Food was a tad pricey but we were glad we'd passed on starters since neither of us could finish the portions of roast beef and all trimmings.
Just finishing off a nice glass of Johnny Walker Red; there are only about 2 glasses left from the 2-for-1 litres I bought coming back from the wedding in Portugal last September : time slips away, unnoticed.
Won a couple of new Lea Stein foxes on eBay, the prices are boringly predictable, anything less than £28 is a bonus.
Life is good>
Ah, nearly forgot: while I was vewy vewy dwunk, I wrote a letter to Mark, in pencil, on the hotel stationery, sealed it, addressed the envelope, even put a stamp on it! When I saw it the next morning, I couldn't remember anything at all about what I'd written. I did have a vague memory of what I decided NOT to write, but the rest is a complete blank.
Living dangerously is fun: I called him, he lost the toss on the heads or tails I should post it, but the whole mystery thing was too hard to resist. So I posted it : and he promised to call me to tell me what I'd written : and ~ now he won't tell me. PAH!
Back to Brum in the daylight morning, at least no-one expects to see me before midday
Just don't ask about the amorous quarter-back : apparently there is no such position in rugby, but anyone who is so musclebound he looks triangular from the shoulders must be some kind of back. And yes, he does play rugby, and yes he does work with me, and yes I was flattered, and for the rest no! no! no! no! (Falling about laughing) Worse than that, he's all of 37, DEFINITELY NO!
I'm feeling pretty virtuous right now with an alarming number of ironed clothes hanging silently on the tripod hanger affair in the living room : testament to my domestic goddess role while watching Brassed Off. I'm sure there's a joke in there somewhere but I can't get the words to line up properly. Mostly I iron what I need for the week on a Monday morning before I eventually leave for work, mostly I buy clothes that don't need ironing! I must have some bizarre virus.
Yesterday was a traffic nightmare, leaving in reasonable time to get to Studio West, I got caught in a 20 minute parking experience at Beaconsfield to get to the M40, then there was another appalling crawl caused by a collision near ?Northolt? where the short lampposts are. Meant I arrived at my own event 15 minutes late and after a half dozen people who hadn't been playing with the M40. Really laid-back, relaxing afternoon, everyone was happy, Zippy brought flowers and very professional looking hand-made cards for Natasha-Louise and for ME! She's never met me before but thought I shouldn't be left out since I'd done the organising. Sarah fetched up to help on the door, leaving me entirely free to flit about and socialise. Gabby and Richard had come up from Bath so we managed a bit of a catch-up. they have made their plans to marry on April 25th next year - in London, so I need a new hat. Ummm, maybe I don't actually "need" a new hat, maybe I just need to choose which one to exercise.
Quality day today with mother after neglecting her a lot: we went for a spin in the red devil with the top down - gorgeous weather for it - found that the pub/restaurant I wanted to try doesn't do food at 4pm ; stops at 3 and starts again at 7 or something. Class place with a very interesting solid wood bar, and an enticing array of good malts and vodkas, but I don't remember ever going there before. So we sat out in the sunshine with a couple of alcoholic drinks and talked : a LOT!
Headed back toward home and decided to go to the Five Arrows at Waddesdon (I'd give a link but the site is quite boring) to see if they did food. They did, and we had a very late lunch on the terrace, looking out over the perfect lawn and shrubbery, pretending it was our house. Mental note to go there again for quiet drinks or meal: every other time I've been there has been some kind of event when it's been quite crowded. Food was a tad pricey but we were glad we'd passed on starters since neither of us could finish the portions of roast beef and all trimmings.
Just finishing off a nice glass of Johnny Walker Red; there are only about 2 glasses left from the 2-for-1 litres I bought coming back from the wedding in Portugal last September : time slips away, unnoticed.
Won a couple of new Lea Stein foxes on eBay, the prices are boringly predictable, anything less than £28 is a bonus.
Life is good>
Ah, nearly forgot: while I was vewy vewy dwunk, I wrote a letter to Mark, in pencil, on the hotel stationery, sealed it, addressed the envelope, even put a stamp on it! When I saw it the next morning, I couldn't remember anything at all about what I'd written. I did have a vague memory of what I decided NOT to write, but the rest is a complete blank.
Living dangerously is fun: I called him, he lost the toss on the heads or tails I should post it, but the whole mystery thing was too hard to resist. So I posted it : and he promised to call me to tell me what I'd written : and ~ now he won't tell me. PAH!
Back to Brum in the daylight morning, at least no-one expects to see me before midday
Tuesday 9 September 2008
schmoozing
I've got my mother visiting me in corporate heaven this week: it's all cool: we have got on famously since when I got past the teenage years and we both started treating each other as adults.
We found a head shop in Brindley Place which apparently has been open till 10:30 every night since forever, and I must have walked past it a dozen times, but tonight we saw it, checked it for tomorrow night or somesuch but wandered in for a while after a pleasant (not wonderful :( ) meal at La Rouge.
I found a gorgeous card for Dee's birthday on Friday, and an amazingly different and lovely envelope : sounds silly but I just know she will really like it and that makes me feel happy.
I wanted my mother to buy me the card that says "Be Realistic, Expect Miracles" so I could put it on my desk tomorrow for my boss et alia to read; but she bought me a different one. Never mind, I can sneak back next week and buy it for myself. Shop full of Thai carvings, crystals, new age books, tarot cards and interesting people working there and popping in : had a LONG conversation about karma, evil thoughts and people collecting what they paid for in terms of being unpleasant (the visitor just got made redundant in favour of some lass sleeping her way to a bar job ... eh? - well it mattered to them)
listening to Glenn Miller on the laptop CD player, planned my outift for the Piaf adventure mwuaahhhh! looking forward to that! Feeling no pain. and that's without being outside loadsa alcohol which makes a bit of a change!
Smoking is still on the agenda which is a bit of a bummer, but standing in the little bike shed affair in torrential rain this afternoon was kinda fun, sopping out my shoes with paper towels and drying off the insides of them and my soaked but naked feet under one of the hot air dryers in the ladies while Lousie attempted to dry her soaked-from-the-knee trouser legs under the other one was properly mental. Nobody said work has to be boring. Ah, nearly forgot lending Mr senior chappie my bright red umbrella to dash back to the office and shaming him into taking a chance of staying dry by saying it was obviously a macho thing to refuse the offer. We had a Hyuuuuge golf umbrella courtesy of the Hyatt. *smug*
this week feels like about a month long already, and it's going to continue in punishing mode. I just realised the Thursday meeting shoved back to start at 8.30 is on the same day as the separate arrangement everybody work till 9pm.
we'll see.
fagbreak ; what IS this all about?
We found a head shop in Brindley Place which apparently has been open till 10:30 every night since forever, and I must have walked past it a dozen times, but tonight we saw it, checked it for tomorrow night or somesuch but wandered in for a while after a pleasant (not wonderful :( ) meal at La Rouge.
I found a gorgeous card for Dee's birthday on Friday, and an amazingly different and lovely envelope : sounds silly but I just know she will really like it and that makes me feel happy.
I wanted my mother to buy me the card that says "Be Realistic, Expect Miracles" so I could put it on my desk tomorrow for my boss et alia to read; but she bought me a different one. Never mind, I can sneak back next week and buy it for myself. Shop full of Thai carvings, crystals, new age books, tarot cards and interesting people working there and popping in : had a LONG conversation about karma, evil thoughts and people collecting what they paid for in terms of being unpleasant (the visitor just got made redundant in favour of some lass sleeping her way to a bar job ... eh? - well it mattered to them)
listening to Glenn Miller on the laptop CD player, planned my outift for the Piaf adventure mwuaahhhh! looking forward to that! Feeling no pain. and that's without being outside loadsa alcohol which makes a bit of a change!
Smoking is still on the agenda which is a bit of a bummer, but standing in the little bike shed affair in torrential rain this afternoon was kinda fun, sopping out my shoes with paper towels and drying off the insides of them and my soaked but naked feet under one of the hot air dryers in the ladies while Lousie attempted to dry her soaked-from-the-knee trouser legs under the other one was properly mental. Nobody said work has to be boring. Ah, nearly forgot lending Mr senior chappie my bright red umbrella to dash back to the office and shaming him into taking a chance of staying dry by saying it was obviously a macho thing to refuse the offer. We had a Hyuuuuge golf umbrella courtesy of the Hyatt. *smug*
this week feels like about a month long already, and it's going to continue in punishing mode. I just realised the Thursday meeting shoved back to start at 8.30 is on the same day as the separate arrangement everybody work till 9pm.
we'll see.
fagbreak ; what IS this all about?
Saturday 6 September 2008
llama
Paul brought the short people round; I had a long call with my sister, then a long call with Shani which had to cut short when my most favourite humans arrived ~ Shani is a gorgeous person, I adore her; I hope I am able to give her something of what she needs on the inside of her defences because she does that for me.
gorgeous blonde loves YouTube and we have a deal that he has to put up with grannie's choices mixed in with his own favourites. Both he and his 'baby sister' love Gorillaz DARE http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dAnuNLmF4GY; it's the ringtone on my more personal mobile, which always makes it debatable if I'll answer or listen to the music instead. LOVE it .... we all refer to it as "comin' up". The searches for stuff suitable for small people rediscovered Toy Dolls "Nellie the Elephant' which beings back fabulous memories of the 80's (link on profile). I know I saw a band doing Nellie at some forgotten Camden place way back then, seems unreasonable that it was them, but it was a wonderful enough night to remember it. Me & Kim holding little Sue up between us cos it was so packed and she is so small, but all of us really really rocking. That was a night I had to stay sober as I was driving, a time in my life that an opportunity to go OUT was too rare to forget, and London seemed like another planet despite the fact that I lived there for three years.
Alex' word from today is "unexpected". When he hears a new and interesting word, he repeats it, in a charming 3 year old lisp, and we can never resist getting him to say it again, and again, and again. Lily is walking really well now, confidently toddling about carrying a sweeping brush aloft is a serious achievement! But she still hasn't mastered the growing of hair. No photographs today, but it was fun when they decided to shut themselves in the (fairly) new shower cabinet and Lily kept rubbing her hands on the back and top of her head as if she was washing her hair.
So: the title: you'll all hate me cos you won't get the song out of your head ... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HbPDKHXWlLQ
In one of those moods today - I may ramble on
- and on
- - and on
- - - and on
ad infinitum
Something I remembered I wanted to send to a colleague whose son has met "Agent Picolax" has disappeared from the "unsuspecting mountain biking site" it was first posted. I miss the comments from other posters, which did make it more amusing, but found a new link http://www.madcaow.com/blog/2007/07/24/agent-picolax/
Mysteriously, 3 of my favourite men declared, with relief! that that's EXACTLY what it's like; and seem really pleased someone had actually posted the whole awful experience. Playing the "Trumpet Involuntary" was the description one of them gave.
Ah. and mother. Yes, because the short people won't be around next weekend, rather than defer her travel plans, she's going to come down for TWO weeks. Oh well, at least I organised the Hyatt for a twin room and walk-in shower for next week: at the same time as (my boss) decided the whole project team should work late on Mondays and Thursday's ?every? week!?
I did my promotion prospects no good by pointing out that this is a direct request for them to work more than the contracted 37.5 hours a week and why should they? Meant the decision was forced that they will get paid overtime. Fair certainty that my grade is too high for overtime, and certain it's too low to benefit from direct bonus payments shored up by lower ranks being pushed to work stupid hours. TBH it makes little difference to me as I do silly o'clocks anyway, but I will be watching the more senior career climbers deserting at their usual rate of important knots.
Promotion chances might be improved though since I've recruited a top grade chap to provide review feedback from this project. I told him I'd asked because he seems to be the only one who actually HEARS me in meetings and has stepped in a couple of times to pull rank and make sure I got to say my piece. Sometimes I really resent the elephant-in-the-living-room syndrome that says there is no gender bias in industry. (my boss) can hear good news, but is quite happy to let other people interrupt me, then tell me there isn't time for me to speak. He can hear -short- good news, just not interested in hearing problems that aren't simple to solve. Talking me out of flagging them won;t make them go away. Politico management speak : it's always the ranks taking the flak and getting the blame, even though they have no influence or control over planning and commercial decisions. Me? I'm at about NCO level, useful but not one of the boys.
gorgeous blonde loves YouTube and we have a deal that he has to put up with grannie's choices mixed in with his own favourites. Both he and his 'baby sister' love Gorillaz DARE http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dAnuNLmF4GY; it's the ringtone on my more personal mobile, which always makes it debatable if I'll answer or listen to the music instead. LOVE it .... we all refer to it as "comin' up". The searches for stuff suitable for small people rediscovered Toy Dolls "Nellie the Elephant' which beings back fabulous memories of the 80's (link on profile). I know I saw a band doing Nellie at some forgotten Camden place way back then, seems unreasonable that it was them, but it was a wonderful enough night to remember it. Me & Kim holding little Sue up between us cos it was so packed and she is so small, but all of us really really rocking. That was a night I had to stay sober as I was driving, a time in my life that an opportunity to go OUT was too rare to forget, and London seemed like another planet despite the fact that I lived there for three years.
Alex' word from today is "unexpected". When he hears a new and interesting word, he repeats it, in a charming 3 year old lisp, and we can never resist getting him to say it again, and again, and again. Lily is walking really well now, confidently toddling about carrying a sweeping brush aloft is a serious achievement! But she still hasn't mastered the growing of hair. No photographs today, but it was fun when they decided to shut themselves in the (fairly) new shower cabinet and Lily kept rubbing her hands on the back and top of her head as if she was washing her hair.
So: the title: you'll all hate me cos you won't get the song out of your head ... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HbPDKHXWlLQ
In one of those moods today - I may ramble on
- and on
- - and on
- - - and on
ad infinitum
Something I remembered I wanted to send to a colleague whose son has met "Agent Picolax" has disappeared from the "unsuspecting mountain biking site" it was first posted. I miss the comments from other posters, which did make it more amusing, but found a new link http://www.madcaow.com/blog/2007/07/24/agent-picolax/
Mysteriously, 3 of my favourite men declared, with relief! that that's EXACTLY what it's like; and seem really pleased someone had actually posted the whole awful experience. Playing the "Trumpet Involuntary" was the description one of them gave.
Ah. and mother. Yes, because the short people won't be around next weekend, rather than defer her travel plans, she's going to come down for TWO weeks. Oh well, at least I organised the Hyatt for a twin room and walk-in shower for next week: at the same time as (my boss) decided the whole project team should work late on Mondays and Thursday's ?every? week!?
I did my promotion prospects no good by pointing out that this is a direct request for them to work more than the contracted 37.5 hours a week and why should they? Meant the decision was forced that they will get paid overtime. Fair certainty that my grade is too high for overtime, and certain it's too low to benefit from direct bonus payments shored up by lower ranks being pushed to work stupid hours. TBH it makes little difference to me as I do silly o'clocks anyway, but I will be watching the more senior career climbers deserting at their usual rate of important knots.
Promotion chances might be improved though since I've recruited a top grade chap to provide review feedback from this project. I told him I'd asked because he seems to be the only one who actually HEARS me in meetings and has stepped in a couple of times to pull rank and make sure I got to say my piece. Sometimes I really resent the elephant-in-the-living-room syndrome that says there is no gender bias in industry. (my boss) can hear good news, but is quite happy to let other people interrupt me, then tell me there isn't time for me to speak. He can hear -short- good news, just not interested in hearing problems that aren't simple to solve. Talking me out of flagging them won;t make them go away. Politico management speak : it's always the ranks taking the flak and getting the blame, even though they have no influence or control over planning and commercial decisions. Me? I'm at about NCO level, useful but not one of the boys.
Today has been cancelled
I'm OK, just feeling really really tired. Working stupid hours is something I must give up; like the smoking I missed the hypnotherapy appointment for.
Life is good, I just don't feel like dealing with it today.
from last night:
10pm : this is ludicrous, I have been fighting with office 2007 and the technology to get pivot tables identified from manually updated tables which I TRY to get right to prevent (my boss)savaging me with detailed interrogations about why the numbers don’t add up. I don’t bloody KNOW why they don’t add up. I don’t know why Excel goes weird on me, I don’t know why I don’t push back HARD to give sensible factual answers instead of infinite foxing detail
Life is good, I just don't feel like dealing with it today.
from last night:
10pm : this is ludicrous, I have been fighting with office 2007 and the technology to get pivot tables identified from manually updated tables which I TRY to get right to prevent (my boss)savaging me with detailed interrogations about why the numbers don’t add up. I don’t bloody KNOW why they don’t add up. I don’t know why Excel goes weird on me, I don’t know why I don’t push back HARD to give sensible factual answers instead of infinite foxing detail
Friday 5 September 2008
I left the office at 7pm!!!!!
just picked up the hotel phone message from P (mwuahhh! hope things is good witchoo) very late : like 2am+ after a left-me-feeling-loved-up call with Mark after a properly pleasant evening ( hmmm maybe not THAT wonderful!) with one of the girls in my team who was keen to have dinner with my boss etc
me: I'd kinda had enough of him by the end of today: was being really really rude to him :( "I've left the office" : sorry I'm not here any more", "that would be the first note on the email EOD stats I sent" and other stuff to the point where I said " I retract that tone of voice".
It's a job: it's not real life, it's a real game and I enjoy playing it
Rach drove me back to the hotel, we got changed, we went walking to and from Sainsbury, meeting people from the project on the street variously going (mostly back to bed early after a heavy night last night) here and there : and finally fetching up at the Thai the bossman had called to say they were going to : lots of drink back at the hotel trysting with the tigers : well, one. The gorgeous tall skinny blonde who now is so exhausted he looks like he has two black eyes and the gorgeous tall skinny Irish with the gorgeous accent ~ and my boss. Tall, skinny-ish ; but ermmmmm he's my boss and he gives me grief too often ...
guess I need to do the sleep things, hope everyone's dreams were as wonderful as I expect mine to be
x
me: I'd kinda had enough of him by the end of today: was being really really rude to him :( "I've left the office" : sorry I'm not here any more", "that would be the first note on the email EOD stats I sent" and other stuff to the point where I said " I retract that tone of voice".
It's a job: it's not real life, it's a real game and I enjoy playing it
Rach drove me back to the hotel, we got changed, we went walking to and from Sainsbury, meeting people from the project on the street variously going (mostly back to bed early after a heavy night last night) here and there : and finally fetching up at the Thai the bossman had called to say they were going to : lots of drink back at the hotel trysting with the tigers : well, one. The gorgeous tall skinny blonde who now is so exhausted he looks like he has two black eyes and the gorgeous tall skinny Irish with the gorgeous accent ~ and my boss. Tall, skinny-ish ; but ermmmmm he's my boss and he gives me grief too often ...
guess I need to do the sleep things, hope everyone's dreams were as wonderful as I expect mine to be
x
Thursday 4 September 2008
the Old Contemptibles
I've waved bye bye to my hangover with some of the fabulous coffee the Hyatt brought at 6:45am, which I've only just finished: and am off to the office ermmm shortly...
Mark enjoyed his conversation with me & Em at whatever o'clock it was we decided to get some room service food and another half-bottle of wine : I had the smoked salmon and scrambled egg, she had the cheeseboard, and this morning I discover that I actually left some wine in the glass ... *amazement* The memory of that conversation is a bit hazy but he claimed to be drunk too so that made three of us who shouldn't remember it too well beyond a lot of giggling and laughing.
The room service waiter is going to be even more confused next week when it's my mother sharing my room and not a teensy pink-haired twenty-something. He developed a huge grin when he zipped a glance to check out what size and sex the second cup was for.
"The Old Contemptibles" is a lovely pub, all high ceilings and big old windows: shame I didn't get there earlier (didn't leave the office till 9:45!) but it was great to be in a large group where not many people knew me so I was able to have a long chat with those I do know and one or two new people I will remember now. I was stressed to hell when I got there and would recommend Gary for a proper relaxing hug : my shoulders dropped about 3 inches after that one - cheers! And large glasses of wine at about 3.50 meant I was enunciating very carefully by the end of the evening
time to go to the office : ho hum .....
should I be concerned that hangovers are a rarity for me? This one doesn't count, it's already gone
Mark enjoyed his conversation with me & Em at whatever o'clock it was we decided to get some room service food and another half-bottle of wine : I had the smoked salmon and scrambled egg, she had the cheeseboard, and this morning I discover that I actually left some wine in the glass ... *amazement* The memory of that conversation is a bit hazy but he claimed to be drunk too so that made three of us who shouldn't remember it too well beyond a lot of giggling and laughing.
The room service waiter is going to be even more confused next week when it's my mother sharing my room and not a teensy pink-haired twenty-something. He developed a huge grin when he zipped a glance to check out what size and sex the second cup was for.
"The Old Contemptibles" is a lovely pub, all high ceilings and big old windows: shame I didn't get there earlier (didn't leave the office till 9:45!) but it was great to be in a large group where not many people knew me so I was able to have a long chat with those I do know and one or two new people I will remember now. I was stressed to hell when I got there and would recommend Gary for a proper relaxing hug : my shoulders dropped about 3 inches after that one - cheers! And large glasses of wine at about 3.50 meant I was enunciating very carefully by the end of the evening
time to go to the office : ho hum .....
should I be concerned that hangovers are a rarity for me? This one doesn't count, it's already gone
Tuesday 2 September 2008
morning has broken
15th floor facing east - class good morning on a sunny day. Not sure if I should be bothered about the lack of hangover after a night out with William. We demolished the couple of little bottles I'd decanted the rest of the last bottle from home, then went to Cafe Rouge in Brindley place and demolished another couple of bottles.
I do recall having a conversation with my extremely tasty programme director (tall, skinny, does it nearly every time, and he has a quirky stroke victim smile too!) as I got back to the hotel and he was checking in which involved the words "sorry, I'm a bit drunk". My words, not his. oops!
time to go to work: the world fell on me yesterday when I arrived and every time I clear a bit of space, there's another avalanche
hi ho, hi ho, where did I leave that spade? etc
*laughing*
I do recall having a conversation with my extremely tasty programme director (tall, skinny, does it nearly every time, and he has a quirky stroke victim smile too!) as I got back to the hotel and he was checking in which involved the words "sorry, I'm a bit drunk". My words, not his. oops!
time to go to work: the world fell on me yesterday when I arrived and every time I clear a bit of space, there's another avalanche
hi ho, hi ho, where did I leave that spade? etc
*laughing*
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