Monday, 26 September 2011

...And then I forgot my purse.

Usually forgetting (or thinking you'd misplaced) such an important item, and a staple of any woman's handbag would cause utter panic.
I have on occasion emptied out the contents of my bag onto the floor, cash desk or end of checkout only to remember quite shame faced that it is infact on my bed/in the glove compartment/ ...actually lost.
I have done all three.
Today however, even if I had my purse, it would not have helped the situation.

I didn't have my purse because I was using my spare key's for Brian.
I had taken my actual keys and purse out of my handbag and left them on the telephone table while I searched for the shopping list.
I didn't even need my purse because Mama Dodd had given me her card to pick up some bits that she'd forgotten.
But I always take it most places, as a security blanket. (Except on Saturday night when I went out with Frank and his friends. I refused to cart around my bag and hadn't thought to pack a clutch bag. So I gave him my driving license and cash!)
In the hunt for the list, I had quite forgotten where I had placed my things.
I got in a huff.
I grabbed the spare keys and list and left the house.

Whilst on my way to the shop, list in hand, I thought to myself "Oh poo!"  - Yes, that was the extent of my expletive.
"Oh poo! Frank still has my driving license."
This wasn't such a strange, non sequitur thought, rather it would be quite sensible given that I was driving. However, considering that I have never been asked to present my license in the four years I have been on the road, perhaps it was more fitting that I remembered my lack of license because the first item on my list was wine.

"Oh it's okay " I continued to think to myself (ah, the nonsensical ramblings of a car loner!), "You are twenty-two and a little bit, you won't be ID'd."

Famous last words.

True to sod's law, (I will congratulate the not-so-moronic person who wrote that law, because in most instances it happens to be undisputably correct) I was asked to present some proof of age.
Now, my younger sister of fifteen may, on occasion, look older than me, but I am pretty sure - infact almost adament that I look older than a mere eighteen years.

Apparently not.
The thing with this "Think 25 " policy (and I know from experience as a electronic point of sale operator aka. checkout staff) that the requirement to "Think 25" is only really necessary when faced with some spotty scrawny adolescent who couldn't possibly be 18. Well that was how I deployed that rule. I think some people just interrogate everyone who walks through their checkout on a drink, knife and glue mission.
The problem with uttering the dreaded words, "Have you got any ID?", is that often once they slip out, you release that the person isn't the age you thought, they're more like 40, but since you asked you now can't rescind them. Proof of age must be provided to satisfy.

Well, this was the last thing I needed. I even knew the girl who asked me for it.
She knew how old I was. We were in the same year at school.
I tried to remember if I had ever said anything mean, or let her leave the school toilets with paper stuck to her shoe and her skirt tucked into her knickers...
No, she was just spiteful.
She told me quite smugly, "I'll hold the shopping for you while you get some proof of your age, or bring someone back with you..."
"No thank you" I said politely but wanting to break my cucumber over her head, "I'll just pick up these bits from somewhere else".

So I did.
In Tesco's. Their wine was on much better offer. The wine cooler was colder and all they asked me was if I would like a bag. Well actually since you asked, yes please.

Saturday, 24 September 2011

...And then I wasn't hit by a satellite.

According to NASA, yesterday's satellite (the one plummeting out of orbit) was presumed to break up into twenty six pieces. This was the equipment that would withstand re-entry.
The NASA scientists had (yesterday morning on the 8.00 news) no idea where these twenty six pieces would land because of the satellites orbit. But if you were in Quebec or Scotland - you would be safe. Apparently.
They couldn't predict exactly where they would land but they had a 1:3200 chance of hitting a human. Thats more likely than winning the lottery. Or being hit by a bus. However the liklihood of you (specifically) being hit was 1:1 trillion.
Quite good odds really!

I won't lie to you all though, I did spend the duration of my drive to Ipswich looking at the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of falling debris. I only found out this morning that it landed in the Pacfic Ocean... it was always going to really since water covers 70% of Earth's surface. Had I been smarter, I would have realised this sooner, without Frank telling me.

So I didn't get hit.
But a rabbit did.
By me.
Or rather by Brian.

Like the woman in "...And then it all went up in a puff of feathers." [July 2011] I was a mess.
I called Frank (hands free) through my uncontrollable sobs. The poor bloke thought I'd had an accident. When he realised that I'd only flattened a bunny, he laughed. Not that he's insensitive (of course not!), just relieved that I was actually perfectly alright - if just a little shaken.

My defence for hitting this poor fluffy creature square in the face:
- It was a contra flow on the A12
- I was sandwiched between two lorries (the one behind me was already right up my rear end ... Had he not read yesterday's blogging plea? Perhaps he thought he was exempt because the A12 doesn't constitute a motorway)
- There was no where to swerve
- The animal should have moved. True to form, they really do freeze in headlights.

I've sussed it though. These rabbits that like to dice with death by crossing busy A-roads have got a little plan. Like a suicide plan. By freezing, the driver gets a good look at their little innocent furry face before, wham! Your car bounces over a bump. They know, at least I think they do, that for the rest of the drive, the sensitve drama queen that I am, I would keep replaying that moment. Oh the guilt. Oh the shame.
I can't even bring myself to check the front of Brian for rabbit remnants. Maybe I'll ask Frank!

Perhaps these rabbits want enough people to be disturbed by these killings, so that we will all tell our friends. And our friends will tell their friends about the horrible feeling. About the guilt. About the sleepless nights ( just a small exaggeration!). And then we'll all swerve to avoid these little furry creatures.
The sacrifice of a few rabbits is but a small price to pay for the indefinite guarantee for all rabbits safety on the roads, even at the risk of injuring a few humans.

Or may be they're just aren't particularly clever.
That's what sets us apart. They may breed like ...rabbits, but we are more selective. Thus resulting in less stupidity, we know how to cross roads, and therefore have higher survival rates. And don't need to breed like rabbits to maintain our population.

So I'm sorry Mr and Mrs Rabbit that your son Peter didn't come home last night, but please teach your spawn road safety and I will endeavour to avoid you and your friends. Thank you. ( I will donate some carrots to compensate for your loss)

Thursday, 22 September 2011

...And then I found I could time-travel

 Salutations from the 1940's.

Currently I find oneself sat on my bedspread.Quite comfortable in fact, one might say. And would you quite believe it if I told you, dearest friend, that my hair is in curlers?

Okay, so I'm quite clearly not time travelling. Just being a moron. But my hair is wrapped up. Don't ask and I shall explain.

I decided after a long day at work (and another face painting lesson witha skilled gentleman from the Tom Ford Beau-tettes) I am exhausted and what better way to reach maximum R&R than to wash your hair and wrap it round bits of foam with a scarf tied on top.
As mini Dodd so kindly put it,
"You've aged 20 years"

Personally , I think it's more than that, but a mere 20 years is far more flattering.
To be honest I have no idea how my mop will look in the morning, having never tried this particular 'curling' technique before. So I will be dragging myself from my bed much earlier than usual just to make sure I have plenty of time for damage control. I'm hoping for loose waves, modelled perfectly by Miss Keira Knightley in Pirates of the Caribbean. But I'll think it'll be more "electrocuted fuzz"...

I will also be dragging my tired and weary body from the comfort of my pillows and duvet so that I can pack my bag. Indeed friends, tomorrow is Friday. It took long enough arriving, and I can't wait to see Frank.
Just a quick plea while I'm here as it would be rude not to make full use of this broadcasting facility:

"Dear M25 users, 1) stop hitting the brakes and just step off the gas, 2)stay off the arse of the car infront and 3) get out of the middle lane. Follow these simple, simple rules or a crazy looking angry girl in a black (and battered) KA will hunt you down. Thank you"

I don't know how many drivers read this, and indeed I don't know how many of those spend Friday's on the UK motorway network-   so as a precautionary measure Frank has been instructed to have a gin and tonic on ice ready for the moment I step in the door.
He's well trained now, having seen me arrive frazzled and frustrated often enough. When you don't see your girlfriend for two or three weeks the last thing you want it to have her cursing and spitting feathers when she arrives. Alcohol, it seems,  has medatitve qualities and eventually shuts me up and knocks me out.

If indeed these hair curlers do have time travelling capabilities, I would happily walk into work tomorrow morning at 9am proudly sporting this ridiculous look, and poof! suddenly arrive fresh faced, calm and collected in Ipswich for 9.30pm. (30 minutes covers the time difference, and gives me time to remove these foamy worms from my head.)

Scientists, I'd love it if you could work on this for me please. Call it a favour!

Wednesday, 21 September 2011

...And then it was wasabi Wednesday.

What I learned today:

- One shot of coffee is more than enough in one mug.
- I don't like the Pain au Chocolat from the staff restaurant.
- My lovely red nail varnish (courtesy of last month's Elle) doesn't like keyboards.
- Filing nails doesn't make chipped nail varnish look better.
- I'm still terrible at typing on my iPhone.
- I've been doing my job for six months now and I'm still making silly mistakes, lik simple addition.
- I can't drink water and walk at the same time.
- I make a regualar habit of leaving things in the print room.
- I still have a bladder that desperately wants the bathroom every time they are closed them for cleaning.
- (If I drink less to avoid the above problem, I get a headache)
- It is 30 steps from my desk to the printer in the office.
- I love Tom Ford lipstick in 'Cherry Lush'.
- A man (who confessed he wasn't a trained make up artist) can apply my make up better than me.
- I love purple eye-shadow. It was the first colour I ever bought aged 12 and I still love it now.
- I think I can I apply it better now though.
- I like wasabi peas.
- I don't like wasabi peas at 10am after a peach yoghurt.
- I can't eat a whole bag of wasabi peas.
- I can, however, eat an entire bag of peanut M&M's.
- Be careful where you put your fingers after eating blue M&M's.
- Neutral trousers are fine, if you plan to only eat beige/white food (plain toast, plain rice cakes, ryvita, weetabix... cardboard)
- I can't wear neutral colours.

Tuesday, 20 September 2011

...And then it was Tom Ford Tuesday.

 For those of you who mistook this for the ageing welsh singer, read again.

Tom Ford is a designer. A top-notch one at that. With beautiful advertisements in Vogue. Oh the beauty. He designs clothes and has a line of fragrances. He launched a fabulous range of lipsticks last Autumn (another reason for a great season). They were hugely popular, in their gold and white casing - not too disimilar to the women's fragrances.
So, now you know a little of the background, you can hear the exciting stuff!

He's launching a full make up line.. postively expensive at £68.50 for four eyeshadows - but we ignore this fact, and concentrate instead on the Tom Ford beauty of it all.
And, the nature of my work in cosmetics means that we share a cosmetic brand. Which means, ( I can't hold my breath much longer) that the training which all the Tom Ford Beauty team have to have ...happens in our office.

And they request make up models. Not real models. But actual members of staff from the office. Actually really! I have watched my friends and cohorts disappear for a couple of hours to return with a perfectly dewy complexion ... and fabulous eyebrows.
Guess who shall be having her face painted with gloriously luxorious products tomorrow by the Tom Ford Beau-ettes?

Secretly I'm most excited about having my eyebrows properly shaped with pencil and shadow. I have longed for Julia Robert's brows for many moon's and fingers crossed, I shall learn the art of faking them!

Monday, 19 September 2011

...And then it was very much Autumn.

It is that time of year, my friends, my favourite season has descended upon the country. 

Yesterday's downpour was an indication of the potentially soggy months to come, but the chill in the air at 5.30pm (this time is not so precise that it is only chilly at 5.30pm, obviously) makes me happy. Almost time for wrapping up in scarves, gloves and little woolly hats to sit outside and drink hot chocolate, or coffee... or push the boat out, combine the two and have a mocha with marshmellows!

The crisp autumn mornings are on their way. A bit of frost. Scraping the car in the morning. And to be honest, I can't wait. Frank's school looks beautiful in Autumn. Just as the leaves turn golden and red. And time to crack out the winter wardrobe. Trench coats, capes, leather boots. Yipee!

The saddest thing about this Autumn is that it took a 'special' event for me to notice it. An event, which in itself is quite disgusting, but very problematic.

So I had partially observed the season's change, but not enough to warrant a significant reaction, when I decided to walk my pooch - Charley Dog. After a failed attempt at having a motivational Monday morning, I needed to escape the house and get some fresh air when I finished work.
Charley Dog and I walked all over the place. She had a good sniff. A rummage in a hole. Chased a squirrel. Casual dog sort of things.
Then we walked through a wooded area. The mutt began to slow, and I grew increasingly frustrated (the result of the Monday Blues). I let her wander and mooch and I whipped out the new gadget to make a phonecall.

Frank's mobile clicks straight to voicemail. Limited coverage in Ipswich, don't you know. I leave a brief message, moaning about Monday's and the like. I hang up and turn around to see pooch squatting.
Delightful, but she has to go. I don't stalk up on her too quick, give her some privacy.

Only I leave it a little too long, and before I can get there, she's walked off the mark and left me scouring the crisp autumnal leaves for a suspicious looking... well you know.
The problem with autumn walks, is that you have to be quick on the scoop up otherwise other people on leisurely walks look at you like you are slightly deranged person peering curiously at fallen leaves.

Honestly, if I didn't spend 15 minutes trying to locate it (I did) then someone would have walked in it and trodden it through the house,then you hear the yells of obscenities, and a cacophony of... "why can't those [insert choice phrase] dog owners pick up their dogs [insert another choice word]?" and children crying (it's more often the children who kick through the leaves, but I've been known to have a good 'scuff.)

But if I pick it up (and take a stupidly long time doing so, because autumn means you have to search for the present)... I still get looked at.
It's a lose/lose situation.

Charley Dog, grow some opposable thumbs and pick up your own in future.

Sunday, 18 September 2011

...And then another week flew by.

What with my body revolting against me again, attending motivational training sessions, joining Team iPhone, jump-starting Papa Dodd's American truck in a monsoon and catching up with 'Dowton Abbey' ... I can't say I'm entirely sure what happened here.

Monday seems so long ago and there it is peering round the corner again. But oh no my friend (or foe), you shall no longer wear me down on those dreary mornings.
Mind over matter and after Friday's refreshing course I will not be beaten.
There are new goals to strive for, and shockingly ... completely unrelated to shoes. And I've even managed to stay off the caffeine this week. Completely. The wine was necessary by Friday night though - its tough to give up coffee and alcohol.

I don't wish to cause a conflict but I am now a converted iPhone user.
Now don't get me wrong, I happily plodded along with my Blackberry (and I loved it) - infact it was quite hard to make the decision, but I think subconsciously I knew that about a year into my new Blackberry contract there would be a blog, "...And then I wished I had an iPhone"...
So I made the decision (surprisingly quickly for a 'die hard berry fan') and have a shiny new gadget in my hand!
Now why didn't I have one of these sooner?

The jump-start? A laugh and a 'arf. Papa Dodd thought he might successfully kick start his whopping V8 monster engine with a solar panel. Funny things about solar panels is that they require sunlight to function... there isn't much of that in the the middle of a thunderstorm, when the sky is black and you've just experienced a heavy hail storm.
So Papa Dodd sat in his car, I sat in mine and had a telephone conversation side by side through two car doors. A bizarre experience since usually you can't see the person on the other end, but I entreat you all to try it.
Then I had a cheeky game of 'Angry Birds', better late than never. And I had to pass duration of the rainstorm somehow. I had inpractically worn flip flops and a white tee shirt and Papa Dodd wasn't up for getting wet. And neither was I!

Good thing is, I may have failed at my first level of the bird game but I can jump start a car ... If you supply jump leads because I currently do not own any. And I don't intend to. I got my hands covered in grease, so I think I might just play the distressed damsal card if ever I need a handy start up.

Apparently Monday is almost here, so I'd better start preparing my new positive mental attitude, it's all about self affirmation ( according to Friday's course). So here goes, wish me luck!

Monday, 12 September 2011

...And then there was a hot water bottle.

I haven't fogotten about you all. Although, I'm sure it appears that way.
There have been a great many projects demanding my attention, and for someone so good at multi-tasking -it appears I have failed.
There will be an update shortly. Hold your breath for a substantial one.
Grab a cup of coffee (tea if you prefer) and meet me here the same time tomorrow.
I bid you Adieu, as I snuggle down with a gloopy and luke warm hot water bottle, and leg warmers.
Until tomorrow.

N.B shutting the windows keeps the gale force winds (hurrincane remnants) out, but it doesn't half make this here little room quite a stuffy place to sit.

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

...And then there was a glass of red

So here I am. Reclining on the couch after a hard day in the office.
Odd for a girl who swore she'd never be office bound.

As a student when I had a lot more time on my hands (comparartively of course, because actually students are pretty busy dontcha know?) I never fully appreciated the moment suspended so delicately in wine.
It was always drink because I can, but now? It's so completely different, it's relaxing and I deserve it. The whole glass. Or two. Sometimes if I feel reckless I make it three... and on Friday's? Wow, well how about an entire bottle...

Or I could really push the boat out and drink a few more glasses on a 'school' night. Then I really would be a student again!
Perhaps it's best that I left the bottle alone. I dont think the office is ready for this hangover.