push back

It is looking increasingly likely that I will have to pull out of the BUPA 10,000. I’m going to see how things go between now and the race in two and a bit weeks time, but my health isn’t up to it and I’ve been advised that it would be unwise to take part.

However, I am also registered for the British 10k on 6 July which I am competing in through my place of work. I have spoken to Jo’s Trust about putting my 10km run off until this second race and using that for my fundraising instead of the BUPA 10,000. Does anyone know how this works with Just Giving? Do I just change the cause?

Whatever happens, I will be running 10km and everyone who has donated will get their money’s worth, I promise. But with recent ill health, plus a whole load of other shite that I can’t go in to here, the end of the month is probably not going to be an option.

Do you think people will mind? How does this all work now?

aid appeal

Poverty is rife in the UK, but at least we stand half a chance of help if needed. The cyclone that hit Burma has destroyed homes, families and taken more lives than we can imagine. If you’re reading this blog, you’re priviledged to have enough money to use the internet, to have access to a computer. Is that chair you sit on comfortable? How was your dinner last night? Did you cook, or did you get a take away because you couldn’t be bothered?

Do something worthwhile today.

The front page of The Metro this morning urged its three million readers to donate just £4 each to easily raise the £10m that has been estimated as needed to help. Sod £4. Give a tenner.

You’ll have forgotten you didn’t spend it on three beers within a fortnight anyway…

does anyone have a paddle?

Because I am, as they say, up shit creek without one. While things have been going rather well in particular areas of my life, as shared on here, there have been fuck ups so monumental that there really seems to be nowhere to to turn.

With one, external circumstances have led to other support being made aware.

With the other I am totally on my own. I can’t speak to anyone about it. I can’t ask The Mechanic for help because it’s more trouble than it’s worth; I don’t know my colleagues at work well enough to know in whom I can confide without judgment.

I’m tired of constantly leaping from one drama to the next. I feel so alone with this one. I might not be around for a while. There’s a lot to deal with.

it’s all work (and really no play)

I AM NEVER GOING TO GET OUT OF HERE TONIGHT!!!!!!!!!

The day has flown by, which is good because I’m not bored… but bad because there’s so much that needs doing before I can head home.

G’agh.

the mechanic: gradually getting there

The Mechanic’s hand last week when his cast was changed. Urgh.

the new baby

I get it on Friday. Two years old. Looks like this:

Protected: just: oh. my. god.

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life is just so

I am feeling really happy today.

And that is all, really.

Although I do have tooth ache. I ate beef in garlic and sweet chilli sauce last night, and I always have to floss to be sure all the meat is out of my back teeth (same happens with lamb and pork), but I must have missed a bit and my gums are sore on one side. Still, this morning’s flossing seems to have done the trick.

Yes, I am still totally addicted to floss.

Oh, CBT is confirmed for tomorrow…!

and the coast is clear

I just took a call.

From my consultant.

Pathology lab results are back.

I am officially all clear.

No abnormalities, no naughty pre-cancerous or cancerous cells.

Nightmare over.

I am the same as every other girl out there again.

I am still fundraising for Jo’s Trust and am just £20 off my £2,500 target. Help me celebrate by dipping into your pockets and pushing me through this target.

http://www.justgiving.com/run4cc

Thank you all so much for all the support you have given over the past year. x

fire man returns (er, again)

Fire Man is in Australia, where he has been since the start of April. Actually, he might be back already, I’m not sure. I know he was going out there a few days before I started my job to work on a project for a month. I assume that means he is back in the very near future, if not already.

Anyway, that is waffle.

But I logged onto the Book of Face last night and had been “poked” by him.

And then I saw that there were a few messages in my Facebook inbox, including the following:

Er…?

london votes

I read this in The London Paper last night. It made me laugh.

Ken Livingstone has dedicated his life to improving the lives of ordinary Londoners. It’s absolutely vital that the massive investment I’ve agreed with Ken to increase capacity and reliability on the Tube and buses is properly managed. Ken Livingstone’s record of delivering big projects on time and on budget demonstrates his competence for this huge task. Londoners won’t want to risk voting for someone who isn’t up to the job. Ken deserves your vote.

Prime Minister Gordon Brown

What planet does Gordon Brown and his spin machine live on?

fuelling diesel row

There’s one hell of a racket going on outside.

Truckers are driving in convoy across Vauxhall Bridge, horns blaring. The convoy is on its way to Park Lane to protest about the soaring price of diesel - up 30% over the past year.

None of us are getting very far with our paper scanning this morning because of the noise. The truckers seem to be having a whale of a time though and good luck to them I say.

cbt: cessation of blue’s traumas

Or so I hope.

After the top news on Saturday, I have booked myself a treat in. I am doing my CBT Richard said that there is a good chance I can get it done on this coming weekend, but if not, I am in his diary for Saturday 17 May.

Hurrah. Then I can save up for a widdle CBR 125 to commute about on.

98% of donuts rock

I saw my consultant this morning at 9am. The Mechanic sat out in the waiting area, worry etched on his face. The lady consultant said “your boyfriend can come in too if you like?”

“No!” I said somewhat loudly for the quiet hospital. “No, it’s ok. He doesn’t need to see this undignified event.”

The lady consultant was lovely, really reassuring and we had a bit of a giggle with the equally lovely nurse. The Mechanic commented later that we were making an awful racket that he could hear while he was waiting.

Anyway, I’ll spare you the details, but it all looks good. I saw a still of my donut on screen afterwards and it’s all pink and smooth and looks really healthy (apart from the gaping hole in the middle where most women have a pin prick! but even that is healing well). So, my 6 month follow up smear was taken and is off in the lab now. Just have to wait, but it looks like I am one of the 98% of women who are able to breathe a big old sigh of relief after treatment and hopefully this is the end of it all, never to trouble me again.

I came squealing out of the consultation room and danced up the corridor waving my follow up sheet in the air and pirouetting. I am back in 6 months.

Well, The Mechanic and I decided that this super news (and all before 9.30am) called for some serious celebrating… so we stopped at Fulham Broadway station to get some treats.

And guess what we decided to go with?

A dozen box of Krispy Kreme DONUTS!

Hurrah for donuts! Donuts rock, maaaan! (My donut is the best ever).

pr: it’s all alcohol-fuelled glamour

It’s 5.02pm.

I am at my desk at work.

With a glass of red wine.

My Account Manager has a beer.

There’s a trolley full of bottles of red and white wine at the other end of the office.

Some of our team did a pitch today and they came back buzzing. Let’s hope we get it - it looks like a great account that I would be interested in working on if they want AE support.

Lots of work, but they give us wine. And we are off to the pub to bid farewell to a colleague in a short while.

niggles

Niggle 1

I had a call yesterday from the Colposcopy sister at my hospital. My 6 month follow up has long been scheduled for next Friday, and for the past couple of weeks, I have felt increasingly anxious about it. I suppose that this is only natural, it’s a fear of the unknown. I have only just got back to somewhere near normal, and the threat of the consultant potentially finding something else bad has me het up. I would like to point out here that the success rate for my procedure is very high. Figures vary from place to place, but some 95-98% of women have one treatment and are cured. No more naughty cell trouble again. So, the stats really ARE on my side. But of course, a pessimist is never disappointed, and I am almost too afraid to hope that I will be one of the majority.

But anyway, the sister said that they want me in sooner - erm, tomorrow at 9am to be precise. First thing on a SATURDAY morning? I queried this and said that my appointment was just one week away anyway. “Yes,” she replied, “but we now have this Saturday clinic and want you in for it.” I said that I have managed to get Friday morning off work no problem, and the Saturday appointment would probably be more valuable for a lady who doesn’t have such an understanding place of work. She repeated that they wanted me in, would I be able to come into the unit at 9am? Well, I sighed and agreed.

I know nothing else. Just that apparently they should have seen me after 4 weeks. I am sure she said weeks, although I was a bit confused so maybe she said months. What I don’t understand is that my follow up appointment was scheduled immediately after my operation - it was the hospital that gave me the appointment date - so why have they called to say that it is wrong and I must be seen sooner???? I am trying not to think about it. I will let you know. Fingers crossed for me at 9am!

Niggle 2

Last night they (being people I won’t specify) gave out NINETEEN Honorary Life Memberships!!! Fucking ridiculous!!! It’s supposed to be a coveted prize for hard work and dedication to the organisation and Dumb Blonde gave out 19, making a mockery of the entire thing and diluting the worth of the honour. Stupid, stupid bitch. Argh. And I thought I didn’t care. At least this dumbarse lot make us look better, but still… all that hard work… down the fucking toilet at the hands of utter imbeciles!!!

egg-straordinary! yes, but why bother…?

This has gone around the office this morning, and left us all a little perplexed.

Taken from here.

Egg Piracy in China

During a recent raid on a wholesale centre in Guangzhou city, the capital of China’s Guangdong province, a large quantity of fake eggs was seized.

Their wholesale price is 0.15 yuan (S$0.03) each - half the price of a real egg.

Consumers have a hard time telling a genuine egg from a fake one. This is good news for unscrupulous entrepreneurs, who are even conducting three-day courses in the production of artificial eggs for less than S$150.
A reporter with Hong Kong-based Chinese magazine East Week enrolled in one such course.

To create egg white, the instructor - a woman in her 20s - used assorted ingredients such as gelatin, an unknown powder, benzoic acid, coagulating material and even alum, which is normally used for industrial processes.

For egg yolk, some lemon-yellow colouring powder is mixed to a liquid and the concoction stirred. The liquid is then poured into a round-shaped plastic mould and mixed with so-called ‘magic water’, which contains calcium chloride.

This gives the ‘yolk’ a thin outer membrane, firming it up. The egg is then shaped with a mould. The shell is not forgotten. Paraffin wax and an unidentified white liquid are poured onto the fake egg, which is then left to dry.

The artificial egg can be fried sunny-side up or steamed. Although bubbles appear on the white of the egg, those who have tasted it say the fake stuff tastes very much like the real thing.

But experts warn of the danger of eating fake eggs. Not only do they not contain any nutrients, a Hong Kong Chinese University professor warned that long-term consumption of alum could cause dementia.

It would be better to save up for a year or so and buy a chicken, surely?

top heroine? top heroin, more like

There is definitely something wrong with the youth of today. Amy Winehouse has been voted the “ultimate heroine” by young people in the UK.

What

The

Fuck?

Insanity is clearly gripping the nation’s kids.

Just LOOK at the woman! What a mess. Young people aspire to be like her? Where the hell is society going wrong?

I rest my case.

I am so sick of this wretched woman. Perhaps sadly, I no longer care that she “has problems”. At first, I wanted her to come through and get the help she needs. A vulnerable and highly creative woman, she escapes her demons through alcohol and drug abuse. She has the money to get expert help. She refuses.

Well, sod her. Her demise, plastered across the tabloids day in-day out, sees my sympathy wane by the day. I hope the photos and news articles turn people off her lifestyle, but I fear that it only serves to glamorise pisshead behaviour to the impressionable wannabe rock stars that look up to her. What kind of role model is this?

Come on Amy. Clean yourself up and be a girl that “done good”, someone to really admire. Then - and only then - we can properly celebrate your talent and success, both musically and in your personal life. If you won’t get your act together, will you please just hurry the fuck up and implode already?! I don’t mean to sound harsh (and I know I’ll probably come in for a verbal kicking for my last comment) but, like Pete “what-a-fucking-shambles” Doherty, you’re getting past the point of ridiculous and your mash head antics spoil my leisurely read of the free-sheets every blasted day that you grace their pages. ENOUGH!

he just doesn’t “get” it

Maybe I will explain tomorrow - but right now it feels like too daunting a task - but I am in the process of ending things with The Mechanic.

What?

I know.

I can’t quite word it yet, but it’s just not for me. He’s lovely and we have a good time together, he makes me happy… but he also irritates the shit out of me because his brain works at a much slower pace than mine. In conversation I will say something and he will often say “why’s that then?” or “what’s that then?” (put on the west country accent too) and it just fucks me off that I have to explain myself when a brighter person would get it.

Take tonight. We’re talking. I mention how very different our lives are. He says: “how’s that then?”

Er…?

DUR!

I live in the capital; He lives in the middle of a field.

I work in an office; He fixes cars.

My social life hinges around seeing friends in bars and discussing the news and men; His is about going to Wincanton races or a point to point and looking at Landrovers.

I find documentaries interesting; He watches The Simpsons every day.

I want to push my career; He’s happy just sitting back and seeing what comes.

In short, he just doesn’t satisfy me mentally. It’s ok because he lives so far away and I don’t see him much, but I don’t want that from a proper relationship - and that is what he wants. If we lived any closer, he would annoy me all the time.

Sorry.

I like that he is warm hearted and genuine, but still it isn’t the right match for me.

dip

It’s been a hard day. Felt low from the moment I woke up this morning, so I have struggled with everything. Yesterday ended so well that I was in the office by 8.20am but I just couldn’t get the same vibe. Another day of self doubt.

Plus I had to go to see the doctor again after work. Another 5 day course of Nitrofurantoin. How many times??

fix me up

I had a call last night from The Mechanic’s mum letting me know that he had been taken down to theatre and that the consultant advised he would probably be out of the ward for a few hours. She decided to wait with hospital patientline for entertainment (along with Zoo and a magazine about motorbikes that I got him if she got really bored). I later received a message to let me know that he had come around from the general anaesthetic and was alright - really groggy and sleepy, but alright.

He called this morning at a bit gone 7am to speak to me himself and he sounded quite cheerful. He’s got pins and needles in his hand but he said it felt better than before the procedure. Bit odd to have to have someone fixing him rather than him coming to the rescue and he’s going out of his mind with boredom, but seems to be on the mend. He’s mostly annoyed that he can’t ride his motorbike.

Thanks for the best wishes.

us versus them

As part of my geography course at Little City university, I took a unit on cultural geography. It was quite possibly the most interesting degree unit of my entire time there, blending together social geographic theory, psychology, philosophy, history and media. A component of this unit centred around identity, and what it means to have a sense of belonging, be it to a particular country, racial group, social circle, whatever.

An interesting thing that cropped up is that people frequently define themselves by what they aren’t rather than what they are. The sense of identity that forms is an indirect manifestation of picking out what makes them alien and then uniting, just as much as becoming aware of their similarities. This relates to some of the PR theory that my course has unveiled also - the notion of publics, both passive (unaware that they are united) and latent (performing some sort of action in response to their unification).

Anyway, all that is bollocks. Well, not bollocks, it’s just the outline theory behind this post.

Which really begins here. Sales Girl (from The Company) has been away on holiday in Dubai. She has returned to work today and already is in a foul mood, informing me that she is hugely pissed off via email AND text message. The reason amounts to the annual pay review.

It turns out that they have offered her a promotion and pay rise. Good, good. Erm…

Critically, The Company’s poor employee care policy (nothing in writing of course, just the attitude of management to the more junior staff) has resulted in the junior tier(s) of employees coming together and forming a real sense of identity versus The Management. I have already spoken of this sense of “us” and “them” when I used to work at The Company. The idea that we would stick together to help each other out, and would privately go out of our ways to get one over on this director or that director, the gossip that followed keeping us entertained lunchtime after lunchtime.

Since me and Economist Girl resigned, followed the week after by one of the lower level managers who was at war with the directors, this bond appears to have strengthened even more. “The Kids” have now got to the stage that lunchtimes become informal meetings for this particular tier to discuss their upset at the hands of The Management. The Management treat them badly, and this has made them mesh together even more. They have even got to the stage of discussing salaries and other “confidential” information - such as the fact that when I was given my pay review last year, the CEO took me to one side and said not to mention it at all as some people hadn’t received a rise at all - utter bollocks. He told this to everyone so we would think that we were “chosen” and nobody would realise that they were offering us shit money.

All of them know exactly who is on what, they know how both mine and Economist Girl’s salaries increased in line with promotions. Now that the pay review has been finalised, they all know what each other was offered. None of them are happy. Sales Girl, for example, was hired on wage x along with PA Boy. They were both on the same salary at appointment. They have both just been promoted to “senior”. But he got £2k more than she did! Even though he has done reasonably well out of it, he is disgruntled at the attitude this displays - The Company really doesn’t give a shit about most of its employees, even though people like Sales Girl work very hard indeed.

Then there is CRG. She was higher than me when I joined. Then they promoted us and we were both on the same. She has just been given another £2k, even though she does hardly anything at all, and Sales Girl constantly has to pick up her work. Their director knows this. He just ignores it. Yet still CRG gets rewarded.

It does make me wonder what I would have been offered. I would be on more than I am in this new job, that is almost certain, but I would still hate it. I would still check Facebook a million times a day, and know that I was reaching a ceiling, hemming myself in and damaging my future prospects. Here I am busy and increasingly stressed, but my mind is active and I can see places to go in the longer term. I have aspirations again, I am working to get somewhere, to achieve goals, something that dropped off the radar in my last job. The Company has created an internal enemy in a spectacular fashion. I sort of wish I was there to be a part of it, the drama, the shit that will hit the fan when it bubbles over. But by the same token I am so glad to be out of there, to no longer feel trapped and hemmed in, used and abused. It will be very interesting to see how the Junior Monster challenges The Management. I will keep you updated

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accident & emergency - the end of a fragmented friendship

At last.

So, I was in the Middle of Nowhere this weekend as The Mechanic’s best mate, Collett, had arranged to celebrate his 21st birthday in Bournemouth and I had been invited along as The Mechanic’s better half. I headed down there on Friday after work and we spent Saturday milling about the place, fixing his little sister Springs’s motorbike and then treating her to lunch before racing back to Middle of Nowhere to pick up the minibus that would take everyone down to Bournemouth later that evening as it is one of The Mechanic’s work buses.

The Mechanic’s mother fed us and Saily left me hair products and straighteners when she ran out to go to The Races and we were both spruced up for a good night. Collett is a bit of a competitive one, and he had remarked after The Mechanic’s party in January: “Oh, man, I am never going to top this.” I ignored it at the time, but I think it is quite a revealing comment about the twunt that made it.

Please read on.

We drove the bus down to Old Village in time for about 8.30pm and had a couple of drinks before another friend of The Mechanic drove all of us down to Bournemouth in the bus. Collett’s new bit of stuff had come along too. I learnt from her, as the evening progressed, that she had been seeing Collett for a few months. Interesting, as he only dumped his longterm girlfriend last weekend. Another fact that says a lot about him.

In case you are wondering, I am trying to paint a picture of Collett as an utter twunt because that is exactly what he is. I feel stupid for having given him the benefit of the doubt so much. I haven’t really mentioned him before, but he’s a sly character, boastful and full of shit, but I always waved it off with the understanding that he’s a nice guy really, just insecure so behaves in this particular fashion to make himself feel more of the big man. I still think the latter, I just retract the former. He’s just a twunt. There is nothing good about him. And he has a nose like a Raven. Ugh.

Where was I?

Ah, yes. So the night was going well. We were in Chavdom, I mean Yates’s, and The Mechanic and I were having a blast. BIt of Stuff didn’t know anyone, but we got on well with her, and the other guys and girls were pretty sound also. It was a good night and Collett seemed pretty happy as he was clearly worried that his birthday do would be a bit of a flop compared to the Field Party. (It was really, a whole bunch of people turned up at Village Pub but then decided not to go on into Bournemouth, so the minibus was only half full).

Anyway, the evening drew on, and The Mechanic nipped to the loo. About a minute after he had gone, everyone started pulling their bits together and heading off. I hurried over to Collett, thinking he must not have realised that The Mechanic had gone for a wee, and asked him to just hold on for five minutes until The Mechanic got back. Collett said: “we’re going. We’ll see you outside.”

This guy is supposed to be The Mechanic’s best mate. He introduced us to Bit of Stuff by saying: “this is my best mate, The Mechanic and his bird, Blue soup.” Yet he couldn’t wait 5 minutes for his mate to return.

So, I waited for The Mechanic on my own at the table we were all sitting at before. The Mechanic returned and looked a little confused. He asked where everyone had gone? I told him, and grabbed an empty glass to tip half of my drink into and hand to The Mechanic. I gave it to him, saying that he had better help me drink up quickly so we could catch them up.

Then Collett reappeared, and he started having a go at The Mechanic over the high back of the booth chair. I was on the other side and the music was loud so I heard none of it, but it was clear Collett was bitching about me. Collett then turned and stomped off. The Mechanic and I left behind him.

Outside on the road, The Mechanic and I got into a row. We had both been drinking, and I was pissed off that Collett had been slagging me off and The Mechanic had allowed it (actually, I hadn’t heard that The Mechanic had in fact told Collett where to get off). The rest of this is a bit hazy but Collett and I were ignoring each other. Then, and I am not sure how this bit happened, Collett and The Mechanic were on the roundabout deep in discussion. Next thing I know, Ash comes over to me and says “you’d better go over there, The Mechanic’s knuckle is inside out.”

The coherent version of this story (as opposed to the drunken confusion I was greeted with) is that Collett and The Mechanic had been rowing. The Mechanic had lashed out in anger and punched a street light (rather than Collett’s face, although I wish he had battered the fuckwit to be honest). His hand was clearly broken.

Yes, it was an idiotic thing to do. But what was done was done and needed dealing with. Trust me, I sobered up pretty quickly. Collett called for an ambulance. This was not an emergency, although it looked like The Mechanic was going into shock. He was pale and shaking, and his hand was giving him a lot of pain. I got him into a taxi and told the driver to take us to A&E straight away. We had a choice, Bournemouth or Poole? Poole was slightly further from where we were, but it is marginally nearer to his house, so I opted for Poole.

The Mechanic and I then spent from 1am until 4am gradually being processed, through the main waiting area, into triage, then into a cubicle, then x-ray, then back to wait for the orthopedic specialist. His right hand is screwed. They need to put him under general anaesthetic tomorrow and go in and pull all the bone straight. Then they need to thread a bit of wire through his hand to hold it in place. As it is quite a significant break (according to the doc), this might not hold it and he might need to have a metal plate bolted in.

Sheesh.

And because he is a manual worker, he’s fucked workwise without his hands. His mum, who he works for, has sorted out something that means he can work full time and still be paid, but be supervising the trainees. It’s going to be frustrating for him, but better than nothing.

My sister was woken by a tearful call from me at about 3am, when the nurse said that the ward were preparing for The Mechanic to be transferred. She came out and drove for an hour to pick me up and then another hour to drop me off at The Mechanic’s house to sleep. I finally went to bed about 5am. Collett didn’t even bother to try and get hold of us. I texted him a photo of The Mechanic’s x-ray and pointed out what a great friend he was to wait by his best mate’s side in casualty all night. I have just had a call from The Mechanic’s mother. She had a call from Collett and he wants to go in at visiting hours tonight. She advised that he keep away for a while. The Mechanic doesn’t want to see him. But knowing Collett, he probably won’t listen, so she’s going back tonight to sit there with The Mechanic in case Collett tries to see him. He’s not getting anywhere near The Mechanic. No way.

So, that is the drama. I am so tired. And this is the damage:

effing public transport (again)

Oh it feels like the good old days with another rant about transport!!

The trains were absolutely bollocksed this morning. No idea what was going on, but when I got to Little Place, people couldn’t even get up the stairs to the platform and there was a huge mass of commuters waiting in the vestibule area, staring up at blue screens that blinked that this train and that train were delayed. I didn’t even bother with going through the barrier, opting instead to experiment with catching a bus instead. There is a bus that goes from Little Place station right to a stop outside where I work which is handy - but it does take 45 minutes. Even though I had gotten up early to get into the office well before a big client meeting today, I was still slightly late! Good job that I had gotten up early I suppose, as if I headed off at my usual time I would have been even later. And that would not have been good.

Still, it is good to know that I have another route into work when trains bugger up. I also worked out that I could bus down to Knife Crime City and then tube up, or get a bus to another nearby train station and then train in from there. The bus route today is the least complicated though, and they probably all take about 45 minutes.

Anyway, I will leave you with something amusing. It appears that loads of us were screwed by the trains this morning, and loads of us were late in as a result. I got into the office to find an email saying “if you thought you had it bad on the trains, spare a thought…” and a link to this. Point taken

PS - yesterday we had our yearly company meeting. It was really interesting and useful for a newbie like me. It also confirmed that this will be hard, but that it is the best decision I have made in a long time!

Less than 1% to go!!!!

Just £20 off my fundraising £2,500 target for Jo’s!!

I have also discovered that PR Agency will match £ for £ the amount I raise (to a maximum of £500) if I pass my probationary period (3 months).

The run is at the end of May. My 3 month probationary ends on 7 July. My fundraising page closes on 26 July so hopefully I can get a donation from them also!

GET IN!!! I feel so great today.

bag lady

Perhaps I have something wrong with my face? Now, woah there people! Before the onslaught begins, I’m simply saying so because there must have been something seriously offensive about me this morning. Did I smell? Was there a big snot bogey hanging from one of my nostrils - could I have done with having the suit jacket of the Tory leader handy to wipe it on? Food in my teeth? (Although the latter is highly unlikely as I don’t eat until I get to work in the morning)

Whatever it was, there must have been something about me that was upsetting the woman that I got stuck next to at Little Place station this morning, and then again as we crammed into the sardine tin masquerading as a suburban commuter train.

She had this bag, you see. Not a particularly HUGE bag by any means, but she just couldn’t seem to stop bashing it into me. As we were gathered there in our little door-awaiting huddles on platform 2, she repeatedly boshed me in the legs with it, gradually forcing me inch by inch down the platform. Maybe she thought I was in the optimum position for the doors or something and thought that by edging me to the left ever so slightly with each shunt of her bag, she could steal my spot? If this was her intention, the train driver scuppered her plan and left me grinning smugly to myself; He stopped the train slightly short of the usual stopping point, meaning that her repeated bag beating antics actually only served to move me to the perfect spot for this particular service.

Ok, perhaps I am reading too much into this ever so slightly.

Or am I? For it didn’t stop there! She continued her impression of a soldier with a battering ram at a barricaded fort door when we got on to the train and pulled away from Little Place station. No amount of sighing and looking pointedly down at my legs and her bullying bag provided me with any relief from the attack. Some people have a nervous twitch or a lazy eye. Maybe this woman was afflicted with a bag-swinging tic. I don’t know if Tourettes stretches to cover that, but I certainly think it ought to. Thankfully for me, she disembarked at the next station, leaving the second half of my journey to be bag-bumping free - although the woman who took her place could have represented Britain at the World Sniffing Olympics (if it existed). Just blow your bloody nose woman.

Ah, the joys of London public transport.

Oh, and I am back at work, although out of the office for most of the day at meetings. Rah.

wifebeater

Polly loves Stella.

Or do I mean Artois?

Because nobody’s going to be able to tell it’s the same product of course…

(I am not feeding alcohol to my pet rat. I just busted her on the worktop sitting on top of a little lamp and licking the rim of a bottle I drank last night).

pride

They say that it always comes before a fall.

In this instance, I hope not. I was up late last night doing some background research for a new campaign. I didn’t really have to do this last night, mind you - and certainly not until midnight - I could have gotten away with not doing this until today and banging out a couple of ideas this morning to whiz over to my SAD at lunchtime.

But that’s where pride came in.

What started out as casual background reading while half-watching Nothing Much on telly and engaging in random chit chat on Facebook, turned into a thoroughly enjoyable brainstorm which saw many pages of rough ideas churned out and then bullet pointed down to key notes to consider. I was going to add “at the planning stage” to the end of that last sentence, but I suppose the planning has already begun in a way. It’s actually really nice to DO planning. At The Company, I was constantly flying by the seat of my pants. Sure, it underlined my brilliance at fast thinking under pressure (er, and I’m not sure I am joking), but my diploma course highlighted the real need for coherent planning, joined up thinking, taking the time to just think around a campaign more than surface issues. Admittedly, there’s not a huge amount of time, but at least planning is well on the radar even if you have to be very strict with yourself about making time to do it when you have X to do or Y to speak to (and X and Y need sorting out immediately of course - like everything does).

Anyway, I slept well last night. I went to bed really happy with some of the research I noted and the thoughts it threw up in my mind.

Let’s just hope that my pride in this particular document (and of course I won’t be showy about it!) doesn’t turn out to be my downfall and that my SAD likes it as much as I do. Oh my, real pride in real work. It really does exist! How long will it last?

09.16

And I’m scanning the Daily Express this morning. Joy.

But I have already had two portions of fruit today, so I’m giving myself a treat and settling down with a filter coffee.

The day ahead is going to be horrible in places - but ok in others. Keep your fingers crossed for me for the shit parts.

note to an old friend

If you read anything here that you don’t like - anything that hurts you - I’m sorry.

But it is your own fault. If you will continue to spy on me, you will read some things that I may not be forthcoming about otherwise. Perhaps I am a bad person for not wanting to have particular conversations with you? I just don’t want to be on the other end of the phone - or worse, in your company - when they happen in case they hurt you. If you snoop here, that is your doing.

I am sorry but you promised.

“i give you my heart…”

I just watched the wedding ceremony of a woman who I have never met, but who has supported me tremendously since November last year, and it was just beautiful.

no surprise as speight succumbs to suicide

Missing children’s TV star Mark Speight has been found dead at Paddington Station. He had not been seen since last Monday, when he disappeared following an inquest into the death of his fiancee Natasha Collins. Natasha, as you have probably read in the news, died in January after a drink and drugs binge at the home she shared with Speight. According to reports, she was found in the bath with scalds covering about 60% of her body and a “very significant’ amount of cocaine in her system at the time”.

Speight found her body. Understandably “devastated” by her death, his emotional stability has been the subject of intense scrutiny ever since. His death is being treated as suicide.

Of course it is suicide. We can’t possibly imagine how the poor man must have been feeling. Some have had harsh tongues about the “consequences of dabbling in drugs” in a ‘well, look at where it gets you’ way but of course, nobody really needed to adopt this accusatory tactic. Why apportion blame? Speight is acutely aware that just one night of illegal drug taking and alcohol abuse can destroy multiple lives. Sadly, like so many, he discovered this far too late, through the untimely death of the woman who he had described as “the love of his life”.

The blame he must have heaped on his own head between the incident and the moment he ended his own life, I imagine, was enormous. You could argue that so it should have been. That reckless evening where two so-called ‘celebs’ pissed about with cocaine and sleeping pills - possibly believing themselves immune to the negative consequences - robbed the world of an aspiring actress, a family of a bright young daughter, an audience of a potentially good role model (of course, her drug taking activities kept well out of the limelight) and a man of his soulmate. Perhaps he should indeed feel empty and repeatedly wish he could turn the clock back?

Collins’s death was a tragic accident. Yes, they should have known better. No, they didn’t mean it. But that is the nature of accidents. Speight’s death - him having been unable to find an outlet for his grief - makes this a double tragedy. Two families will have been ripped apart by these related incidents; the latest awful news comes as a second blow to Natasha’s family, who took Speight in when he felt he couldn’t go home.

The important thing to do now is use this story to highlight the very real dangers that drugs pose, even for people who use them “only now and then”. I remember from when I was at university, there’s a whole raft of middle class kids with the money to waste on drugs like cocaine, who binge drink and dance the night away. They think “ah, I dabble occassionally, that will never happen to me.” They are arrogant and happy to turn a blind eye to the dangers.

What now eh? I never said I had the solution, of course. I never do. Sometimes I just think too much. I just think that someone (who? the media? government? parents?) should now step up and not let this incident go to waste as a way to turn young people off of drugs. Otherwise these two deaths (and countless others) will be an even bigger waste than they already are.

I bid ye good day.

Posts about inane subjects plus the relationship saga and Blue soup’s likely to be introduced “Guide to failing in PR work” will resume soon.

hold on tight

And so another weekend is drawing to a close. I never wanted to be someone who lives for the weekend; Sadly at the moment I am very much that.

Beardy and I were talking on the phone on Friday night. I was drunk having gone out for one glass of wine (that turned into several) with the girls from PR Agency. They are such a lovely bunch, really friendly and really encouraging. I feel better inside knowing that I am on their team. This job is tough - it’s tougher than anything I have had to do workwise before - but they’re not the dog-eat-dog crowd that you apparently find in so many agencies. Anyway, back to Beardy.

We got to talking about our respective love lives. He’s been dating this Curly girl and she, by all accounts, sounds like a very nice girl and much more suitable for him than I could ever be. She’s in to her raving, you see, and I will never be that sort of mindless dancing party animal. Sure, I am a party girl, but I prefer to guzzle wine and talk to people than jump up and down waving my arms around to some “banging hip tunes”. Or whatever.

And then we got to discussing the debacle that is my love life and both The Mechanic and Mr Divorced were covered. I do value Beardy’s opinion. Despite everything we’ve been through, he does know me better than anyone else and for two years he was very much my best friend. While talking to him, I realised that I have to chop Mr Divorced. Bad choice of words, perhaps. But he’s off the radar now. As nice as getting drunk and talking about culture and politics over two bottles of wine may be, I want children to be a part of my future and I don’t care that vasectomies can be reversed. He chose to have one, which says a lot about where he sees his life going, irrespective of whether someone will be able to convince him otherwise. I can’t guarantee it would be me. It could just snuff out in time like so many dalliances do, but to be honest, I can’t even be bothered to try. I don’t want the battle if it came to it, so what is the point in wasting any more of our time now? Perhaps that strikes you as a little harsh, but I’m a waste of his time, and while we may have a lovely time together, it is a waste of my life. This whingey, kid-hating 25 year old does see motherhood in her future, especially given the fright of last year, so I’m done with Mr Divorced.

Especially as he let on that he regarded us as “seeing each other” the other night. It made me realise that, actually, these guys may not be openly pushing for anything, but inside they do want “status reports” - something I will come on to again later. So, our waltz up Clapham Junction platform (er, 12 I think it was), will be the last dance. I just have to work out how to put a stop to it once and for all. A pity, as I enjoy his company, but I also realised my heart is somewhere else entirely.

During our conversation, Beardy said: “The Mechanic isn’t the one for you. You know that, right?” And I agreed and said that I just enjoyed having a good time with him and that it was nothing serious. Except, on getting off the phone, I realised I had been talking bollocks. Perhaps it was the chat with Beardy that made me realise, but I can’t imagine NOT having The Mechanic in my life anymore. The idea makes me feel truly miserable. And then I remembered what Zoe (of My Boyfriend is a Twat fame) said:

And when he turned up in his full bike gear with his arm slung loosely through the front of his helmet, a massive rucksack on his back, and his hair all awry, I haven’t felt so happy in, well, in a week.

And then he mended the spotlight in the kitchen. Don’t ask what that means. It was just one of the defining moments in my head.

So, last night, after we wolfed down a spicy chilli con carne (erm, made by my fair hand no less and with cupboard ingredients rather than a Colman’s sachet - Mother I have arrived), and we were curled up on the sofa in the duvet about to watch Pirates of the Caribbean, it sort of broke my heart to see him get tearful (many bottles of Stella and a lovely Campo Lindo red down) and admit that he’s all confused about what is going on.

And there we both were, crying and hugging, and something had to give.

Now he is somewhere between here and his house, riding a battered old Honda CBR 600 that needs bump-starting every time (very amusing in B&Q car park on a Saturday afternoon). And The Transport Planner has sold his car so the driveway at this house is MINE which means that The Mechanic can come tearing up here on his beloved GSXR (er, Rosie) and have her hemmed in by my car and not nicked.

But I wanted to thank Zoe for the last line of her comment. It took a few days, but sense sank in.

ghostly goings on

Well, not really. But working in a high rise building is different from the little office jobby that I was previously at. Plus it is also a great opportunity for me to talk about the weather again, and being British, I just love that.

What a glorious morning! I am on sleeping tablets at the moment (although Lord knows why I can’t sleep even though I was exhausted last night, probably anxiety-related) but I woke at 7am and felt quite fresh. I did the shower, make up thing. Working for a trendy PR company means that I now have to mould myself into one of those effortlessly trendy girls that could make wearing a bin liner look good; I have no idea how to go about this really as I have always been a slouchy jeans and t-shirt plus hoodie kinda girl so it’s proving challenging. Plus I am totally skint until the last day of the month when I get paid (er, if!) In the meantime, I have sorted out my morning routine to include time for make up, which I never used to bother with at all. I don’t wear much, but it takes about ten minutes! That’s ten minutes when I could have been in bed. Boo. But I feel more grown up now in this job, less like a kid playing about. Not that I know what I am doing yet. I fear that it will never “click”.

So, yeah, I headed out early (8am!) down to the station thinking that the sunshine was lovely and feeling a bit light inside. I feel slightly relieved because I have requested to defer my course until the next academic session as it is all too much at the moment. I haven’t had the “ok” back from the CIPR yet, but the course administrator says she will submit a note supporting my request and pleading mitigating circumstances. If that is accepted, I don’t have to worry about it so much and I can try and get my life more settled. If not, well, my lack of essay this assignment will see me marked as a “no show” and I would need to re-sit, whatever that entails, although I gather that is not a lot - just means I have a mark against my name or something.

Oh, I found my keys. They were in my coat pocket all along. I was so sure that I had checked both pockets, but I guess I must have checked only one but done it twice. Dur.

But what I really wanted to say was, just look at the weather this afternoon! There has been hail and lightening! Didn’t notice any thunder though. The high winds race around the outside of our building and sound like howling ghosts! Receptionist and I joked that it sounded like the wolf in that episode of Doctor Who with Queen Victoria!

And that is all I have to say today.

Well, apart from the fact that I am very muddled and generally avoiding thinking about it. I saw Mr Divorced on Wednesday and we went to a pub and drank two bottles of wine. Then when we got back to Clapham Junction station (er, drunk), we did a waltz along the platform and he kept treading on my feet. He is really, really keen to see me again. He’s great company.

I also found out that he has had a vasectomy. Not sure how that came into conversation, but it did.

The Mechanic is coming to visit this weekend.

Oh, and I love Thai Chicken soup. Gorgeous.

the bog of eternal stench

I wonder how many people have been taken back to their childhoods with this post title?

Anyway, it’s not really related to anything, other than that the Bog of Eternal Stench was a swamp in Labyrinth, a top ’80s film featuring the wonderfully bizarre David Bowie.

And I am absolutely swamped at work.

Plus, I was running a bit late this morning (although I made it through the door at the office in time for 9am - just!) and I couldn’t find my door keys anywhere! I have no idea where they are and my room is a tip. I must have them at home somewhere because I managed to get into the house last night!

so, anyway, I had to leave without them in the end this morning, but thankfully my housemate is in for a short while this evening so she has promised to get me back into the premises! I just hope they turn up.

Last night was interesting. I have to blog it. I haven’t got time and I can’t be arsed!! It’s all so complicated.

Back later tonight. Maybe.

message to moron housemate downstairs*

SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO TO BED!!

(*message that I won’t send…)

sometimes these things just sneak up on you…

Aside from the fact that I am now having a serious crisis of confidence (this is since my earlier post!) - can I really do this? My course is going to shit and I am so flunking it. Have I bitten off more than I can chew right now? Why do they seem to think that I am exciting when I really have nothing to back it up with? Am I going to have to defer my entire diploma for a year?

etc etc

The man situation. I just want to get this out, to purge as it were. I am feeling anxious this evening, tired and fearful, unsettled and unsure, and this state of mind is probably directly impacting upon my wobbly romantic state. I suppose that this paragraph is to serve as some form of disclaimer or get-out clause when sanity returns and I change my mind again.

I have been missing The Mechanic to extortionate extremes lately. I know it is utterly ridiculous, but I just want to see him all the time at the moment. Last week I was dreading the fact that I had to work at the weekend to do this fucking diploma essay but then I was granted an extension and the pressure lifted. Well, minutely anyway. But enough to have me on the phone not even ten minutes later asking him to cancel his plans to attack the floor in his bathroom and come up to the Big Smoke and spend the weekend doing very little more than snuggling up in front of the telly and playing with Polly and Sybil.

Today, with my crisis of confidence going on, I really want to just be able to go home and have him just a few miles away so that when he has finished mending person Y’s car, he can jump in his van or get on the bike and come round and give me a cuddle and tell me that it’s going to be alright, that I’m going to be ok. But he’s over 100 miles away, and that is not a trip one can make for just an evening. Plus it is Collet’s birthday today so they’ll be drinking themselves into stupors in the pub all night…

The Mechanic is just so lovely to me. He’s kind and sincere. He doesn’t lie, he always puts my feelings ahead of his own. He treats me like I am worth my weight in gold, he’s big and stereotypically strong, but protective and soppy, like a big hairy dog that loves the family it lives with. He’s not the sharpest tool in the box, he finds throwing chocolate eclairs at Dave amusing to a degree that I just can’t comprehend, sometimes his compliance with whatever I say irritates me. He has horrible teeth and his feet smell unholy no matter how many times I chuck him in the bath with everything from my finest Covent Garden body wash to some sports product designed specifically for whiffy boys. He’s always got a hint of “manly” odour about him, within half an hour of taking a shower! Sometimes it’s not a hint either so much as a wall of man smell. But it’s not nasty. It’s just a boyish musty smell with a sweet lingering of Lynx Africa. I got into bed on Sunday night and my bed smelt warm and sweet, like he does. Can someone smell warm? Does that make sense? Well, he does. Perps has suggested that I like the stability that The Mechanic offers, because he is so different from Beardy and Fire Man.

Maybe.

I don’t know.

I know some of you are wondering about Mr Divorced.

He’s a very nice guy too. If I hadn’t met The Mechanic some 4 months ago, I expect that I would be much more excited about Mr Divorced. I mean, he’s intelligent and interesting, attractive, successful, has a good sense of humour, is clearly taken by me (both in terms of my looks and my personality). I would probably be bouncing off the walls - but maybe it is my detachedness that he is attracted to? The fact that I must appear haphazardly busy, constantly on the move seeing this person or running late for that thing. I rarely respond to texts or emails immediately. I read them, think “oh that’s nice, I’ll reply later” and when I remember, I tap out a response. Maybe this is an insight into how Fire Man felt about me?

My friends think that I ought to chop The Mechanic before I end up getting “in too deep” and it all becomes painful. As it is I have managed to form quite an attachment without realising until too late. He’s young, is happy with his yokel life (and it wouldn’t satisfy me in the long run although right now I just want to up sticks and run away and be an admin assistant at the charity his mum runs), and if we lived nearer to each other, I know the shine would come off and I would tire of him. My friends say I haven’t given Mr Divorced enough of a chance. He willingly came over to where we were drinking on Friday night, even though he knew I was leaving within the hour. I don’t get excited about seeing him, although I do admit that I enjoy his company within a short time of settling into a chat. I really enjoy his company. My mates say I should see him more times and give him a chance. He’s “more suitable” and I should try for a chance at romantic happiness with someone who lives in London.

I do want to do this in a way.

But in another I am so against it.

I don’t want to commit to anything or anyone, but I want The Mechanic there. That’s unfair of course. I don’t want to burn any bridges by getting rid of Mr Divorced - it might just be that I am feeling very unsettled at the moment with my life in general and that I’ll feel more able to sort this stuff out when I am a bit less anxious.

But there we have it. I don’t know how I feel really. Shit tonight. I just want my big Mechanic to turn up and sleep like a dead weight next to me, snoring to the point that I kick him repeatedly until he shuts up.

What. A. Mess.

day 2: new start… new me!

Right well today has been exhausting already but I am feeling good, if still terribly confused. It became clear just how dynamic and fluid this job is really going to be this morning. Yesterday was mostly meetings, trying to take in a lot of information and get as up-to-speed as reasonably imaginable in a seven-hour period.

This morning started with the daily media scan and then Head of Division (henceforth called HoD) called an impromptu brainstorming session. We’re getting to the planning stages of one of the big campaigns, but there is one element that HoD described as like “staring at a big old black hole” and he wanted this cracked within an hour and a half before he would let the rest of the campaign (and bugger me, it is enormous) take even the smallest step further.

What followed was a crazy creative session – yes, like in What Women Want – with ideas bouncing off the walls and being jumped on by other team members and developed in all sorts of directions. Then we were sent off with one subcategory each to do further research and to print random ideas like mad to kick off another more-honed session just 45 minutes later. From this, we narrowed to 4 top ideas, each doled out to one person to develop as a concept to present to the entire department. All I can say is it stretched me and I had to overcome fear of public speaking and be a little off the wall in one go in front of every one of my new team mates. There are buzzwords galore in my head to describe the morning: innovative, outside-the-box, energised, fresh…

This afternoon I have set side for the other campaign that I am on, as there is some real legwork that needs doing and my calendar is (at the moment) clear so I want to get my head down and my teeth into some of that stuff.

A few (unimportant but nice) quirks have also materialised. We get free breakfast every morning as a leading brand is one of our clients so that saves me a bit shy of £200 a year, based on 80p a day spent on toast with Mr TT. It also means that I don’t have to feel the agony of disloyalty in buying breakfast from a new café as obviously I won’t travel to SJP tube just for my morning feast, no matter how fond of The Café Characters I am.

We also get a whole load of free fruit. There’s more fruit than you can shake a stick at! The company runs some healthy eating campaigns and this is all part of that – they reason that they ought to be making it easy for us accounties to eat more fruit and vegetables, which is great for the wallet, and also my health as one of the main reasons I don’t eat fruit is that I just can’t be bothered to buy it. Today I have already had a banana on my breakfast and a kiwi with lunch. I am being really daring and having a pear later! Go me!

And we get as much free tea and coffee as we can drink. None of this grit-like rubbish from push in coffee machines either. The tea is real tea bags, real milk, a selection of sugars (brown, white, sweetener); there is peppermint tea, green tea, camomile tea, fruit tea, tea I have never heard of… And the coffee is proper filter coffee (thanks again to another client) like the stuff that Former Workplace used to only wheel out once in a while for big meetings with external members and which we could only drool over and gaze at longingly from our desks.

We are also allowed on Facebook and to use the internet and email for personal use. For some reason (maybe down to being embroiled in a big creative meeting), I have not had the urge to check Facebook more than once this morning and just now as I gobbled my sandwich. Perhaps this is a form of reverse psychology??

And it took me 25 minutes DOOR TO DOOR this morning! Good job as no doubt the workload and pressure will increase soon and I will be grateful for all that extra time!

So, these are little things, but the little things sometimes matter as much as the big things. My desk feels like my space now, with my little red desk tidy from First Proper Job and my union mug, my Ed Monkton postcards, and my mini hippo stuck on top of my monitor. Polly’s cheezburger efforts are my wallpaper. I am starting to feel like I belong.

And that is that. Naturally it is early days, but first impressions (certainly on my side) are good.

I need to come back at some point and write a post about The Mechanic and Mr Divorced, but it’s all really complicated (as Perps can already confirm) and I am putting off thinking about it for now. That said, I would really appreciate your input when I eventually get it all down “on paper”.

if i’d blinked, i’d've missed it

Bugger me, was that Monday that just whizzed past?

Monday has always been one of those days that I detest because it just drags due to lack of direction from The Boss, with my working week not really picking up until Tuesday when all the tasks for Monday used to come and bash me around the head with a “I needed this yesterday” post-it attached. At PR Agency it appears that everyone hates Mondays… but for entirely the opposite reason: it was totally hectic. There were loads of meetings (worsened by the fact that I had induction meetings and the like) and diary assessments and a million and one tasks to get off the ground or tidied up from the week before. I will never complain that Monday is slow again! Before I knew it, it was lunchtime and what seemed like a matter of minutes after sitting back down to sort out an action sheet, I had an email from one of the girls telling me to “Now. Go. Home!” as staying past 5.30pm on the first day is not allowed.

So, yeah, it was a great day - but I am a little bewildered. They seem to understand that though, and have factored in time for reading and general research as I pick up agency skills that inhouse PR has left me devoid of. I had worried that the agency was actually going to turn out to be just as dog-eat-dog as any other agency that I had understanding of but the culture really does seem to be about a good mix of working hard and ensuring that you have a decent quality of life outside of the office. Of course, this could all be a mask for The New Girl that will gradually slip but I already feel comfortable asking for help and it took me a good month to feel this settled and confident in my role within the team at Former Workplace. That is very reassuring.

It certainly won’t be an easy ride. I am 50%-50% on two huge accounts - campaigns that I have seen in the media on a daily basis myself and that I will now be instrumental in managing. Quite exciting. They’re chucking me in at the deep end with some of the media relations because The Boss used to hog that himself so I need toughening up in that regard, but the best way to learn is to get on with it so it’s all about deep breaths and taking the plunge.

If I fuck this up, it’s not the end of the world. If I do it well, I can go places.

So, the verdict after Day One: good, fast-paced stuff. Looking forward to going back. It’s nice to be busy and have things to learn and think about rather than doing my job with my eyes shut because it’s so easy and not having the motivation to even try and make it harder for myself.

It’s scary, this adult stuff.

(PS - ARGH! Transport Planner is in his room downstairs guffawing into his mobile at a volume which is only one decibel below loud enough for people from Kent to Watford to hear… Tw&t. The sad thing is he is so loud probably due to the sheer excitement that talking to someone gives him, such is his lack of social skills and apparent friendship circle - miaow).

pol-lol-y

I think most readers know that I adore the website I can haz cheezburger? So do my rat babies. See Polly in lolcat mode.

note for non-brits everywhere…

Those of us that live in the overcrowded isle we call Britain have been in high spirits since Friday just gone. Seriously high spirits.

Now, do let me explain.

On Friday I went into central London (from comfortable suburbia with its gangs, sink estates and battered out Rovers) to meet up with the guys and girls from my (now!) former place of work. We went to SJP and relaxed on the grass, basking in the deliciously warm sunshine and enjoying watching the cretin tourists in their hoards taking photographs of the plump squirrels which inhabit aforementioned park. It is a wonder that these little blighters haven’t died out - the squirrels that is, rather that the tourists, although I suppose it is a wonder that they haven’t died out either - given that survival of the FITTEST should lead to their being too fat to run from predators/get out of the way of speeding cars on The Mall.

Anyway, the point is, it was a beautiful day and Londoners headed out of stuffy offices in their droves to cover every last green spot of the capital’s stunning parks. I had a lovely sandwich and a carton of Ribena. Trust me, it was pure heaven and so hot that I left my jacket in the cupboard at Former Workplace and need to go and pick it up another time.

Yesterday I pulled the curtains back, bleary-eyed and hungover (another story - to follow sometime), and discovered that south west London was bleak and overcast with spitting rain pattering into the river* that runs behind the patio slab that masquerades as our back garden. Jolly good job I had no intention of actually doing anything with my weekend, and the rest of the day was lost to snuggling under The Duvet and watching Vanilla Sky on DVD. A little later, the pattering noise of the rain became the hammering of hail stones, bouncing off the window ledge and back fence and pelting the ducks that call the river home so that they angrily swam to the safety of a blackberry bush.

This morning, The Mechanic awoke me with the following utterance: “Bloody hell, it’s snowing!”

And it sure was. The snow had been falling for a while, clearly, as it had settled on the football pitches that I can see from my window, and kids could be heard shrieking in the park while chucking snowballs and making snow angels.

Snow? In APRIL?

Well, as I said, dear reader, it has kept us UK-dwellers happy for we have been able to talk about the weather all weekend without simply being typical British stereotypes. Hurrah. We love the weather, we do.

*Technically, it is a river. More like a very small canal, created by a hosepipe (when there isn’t a ban, of course)

good news

I have just heard from The Mechanic. Saily got the job so I am in a really good mood and pleased that our weekend of sailing and photography helped her put together a fantastic presentation. She starts her training on Monday, but the actual job doesn’t begin until summer. Still, it’s great news for her.

I have spent the day feeling rancid, but I re-dyed the red streak because it was fading out and after my shower I felt better. I have also been granted a week long extension on the assignment which is a relief as I have been stressing out about it. I am now trying to make myself feel more human before I head off to meet my new team. Thankfully I have one of the director’s mobile number if (when) I get lost trying to find the bar. I feel very nervous, scared that they won’t like me. What if I am not funky enough for them?

And I currently have a little Polly curled up on my ankle (I am sitting cross legged) and having a snooze. She is so cute.

unemployed trash

I’d like to take a moment to point out that it is 10.45am. I am in bed with Polly, eating crackers with dips, drinking diet Pepsi (from the obligatory drunken stop off at the chicken shop at gone midnight last night) and watching Judge Judy on ITV2. I watched Jeremy Kyle earlier too.

I hate myself for enjoying it so much. You have my permission to disown me.

before… and after

So, this post is time stamped to load at 12.30, the moment I am no longer contractually obliged to do anything for my current company.

My working environment last week…

And the desk I leave behind today…

And so a new era is about to begin…

celebratory breakfast

Today is my last day at work. It’s not even a full day! At half 12, I walk through that door over there and never have to return to this place. I feel really odd. The Boss can’t seem decide whether he’s talking to me or ignoring me. Tomorrow I have to knuckle down and get my 6,000 worder started (and finished by Sunday evening). But now I am starting the day with a celebratory breakfast of strawberry jelly.

guess who’s “not talking” to me?

We had bathtime last night.

Not happy bunnies (or rat babies), I can assure you. Well, for twenty minutes of sulking anyway… then it was back to cuddles.

Sybil hides at the end of the bed and dries on the duvet:

Polly adopts the “fight or flight??” posture:

just “eeeeeeeeks”…!!!

I’ve just had a call from one of my new Account Directors. She says that they are having team drinks on Thursday and would like me to come along to meet everyone before I start at PR Agency next Monday.

I. Feel. Sick.

Of course, I warmly replied that I would love to and that I am excited about starting with them.

Then I hung up the phone and did a little jump up and down in the publications room feeling very frightened.

hats off, purses out

I read about this on tender[hooligan]’s blog here and decided that I wanted to also give this guy some coverage just in case his story touches anyone who reads Blue soup.

Nigel Hearden of Gosport, England, is currently part way through a sponsored walk from Gosport to Rome, a total of 1,200 miles in memory of his late wife Anne who battled cancer several times during her life. On his personal website, he states that there are four main reasons for undertaking this project, called “Return to ROMANCE”, which stands for Return to ROMe for ANne and CharitiEs. These are:

1. To recognise a brave fight borne with tremendous courage and celebrate a wonderful lady who I loved very much
2. To honour a promise made - we were to have spent our 30th wedding anniversary in Rome in March 2006 having spent 4 days there in May 2005.
3. To raise much needed funds for 4 charitable causes that Anne supported.
4. To help me move forward - when you lose someone close, you have to take control of your feelings and undertaking this walk is my way of facing the future.

The beneficiaries of the walk will be

• Action Aid
• Harbour Cancer Support Centre, Gosport
• Friends of Oncology and Radiotherapy Cancer Charity (FORT), St Mary’s Hospital, Portsmouth
• Catholic Church in Gosport, which is twinned with the parish of Mbetta in Cameroon and raises funds for education, health as well as pastoral projects in the area.

You guys all know that I am big on sponsoring worthy causes (although my bank balance hates it) so I thought I would follow in tender’s footsteps and flag this up. Sponsor Nigel here.

Of course, my fundraising is also continuing. At the moment, I am 4% from my target of £2,500, currently sitting at £2,390. I would love to get to £2,500 for Jo’s Trust, so if anyone is feeling generous, please go here to donate. I am now doing not one but two sponsored events - a 3-5km walk at the end of April and the BUPA 10,000 at the end of May.