Monday mornings are not a good time to get dressed.
You know it's not going to be a great week when you've been wearing your underwear inside out.
Talk about away with the fairies...
Monday, 9 January 2012
Sunday, 8 January 2012
...And then there was a wonderfully wintery walk.
...Except it wasn't all that wintery since it was quite warm and the layers of clothing and scarves were a little too much for us in the end.
I say us, because I did not walk alone.
My companions for this lovely sunday afternoon stroll were delightful entertainment and proved to keep me in jolly good spirits on the long walk back . Miss Hendo and Miss USA were my motivation to keep my little wellington boot adorned feet moving forward. Poor Charley dog was suffering too, and a bit muddy to say the least.
Miss Hendo and Miss USA were prepped as well as boy scouts on an adventure. They had band-aids, tissues, water, snacks and a pen knife. Between the two of them they could have built a camp for us, should the situation have arisen. I had the mutt's poo bags (she can't carry her own - no opposable thumbs) and an iPhone. Useful tools I'm sure you'll agree.
It was an impromptu plan, something I which, on Friday, I thought would be a truly wonderful idea. It was. But I am now quite sore and know that this is a sign of things to come over the next few days. (But like the mad woman I am, I shall still return to the treadmill tomorrow and burn off some more christmas energy.)
We walked along this pleasant route, a delightful meander through woodland and the River Meon for company. It's a disused railway that runs through the meon valley in Hampshire. It's great because it's flat, making it a popular choice for bike rides for many families with small children or adults on bikes who don't fancy the challenge of the South Downs!
Herman got us to Wickham (because walking there first is just plain ridiculous) and we picked up the train line at the site of one of the old station. This English country walk is also marvellous because there are a number of quaint pubs a long route. The proper kind, with flagstones or bare floor boards, roaring fires, low beams and a pub pooch. Charley likes these pubs too - they've give her a chance to rest her tired paws and if she's lucky she might get a packet of pork scratchings.
We walked a 10 mile round trip, except it was up a straight line and back again, for a good old pint of cider at The White Lion in Soberton.
10 miles!!! And we're each feeling the burn already! The dog collapsed when we got in and I think I have done the same.
I think the extreme tiredness is related to the 5 mile power walk back the car to beat the impending darkness...we didn't take too much notice of the time on the wander up. But we made it back to the car with no welly blisters, without a compass, before the dark arrived properly and the rain set in. We were lucky.
We'd make great boy scouts, as long as we travelled in straight lines.
I say us, because I did not walk alone.
My companions for this lovely sunday afternoon stroll were delightful entertainment and proved to keep me in jolly good spirits on the long walk back . Miss Hendo and Miss USA were my motivation to keep my little wellington boot adorned feet moving forward. Poor Charley dog was suffering too, and a bit muddy to say the least.
Miss Hendo and Miss USA were prepped as well as boy scouts on an adventure. They had band-aids, tissues, water, snacks and a pen knife. Between the two of them they could have built a camp for us, should the situation have arisen. I had the mutt's poo bags (she can't carry her own - no opposable thumbs) and an iPhone. Useful tools I'm sure you'll agree.
It was an impromptu plan, something I which, on Friday, I thought would be a truly wonderful idea. It was. But I am now quite sore and know that this is a sign of things to come over the next few days. (But like the mad woman I am, I shall still return to the treadmill tomorrow and burn off some more christmas energy.)
We walked along this pleasant route, a delightful meander through woodland and the River Meon for company. It's a disused railway that runs through the meon valley in Hampshire. It's great because it's flat, making it a popular choice for bike rides for many families with small children or adults on bikes who don't fancy the challenge of the South Downs!
Herman got us to Wickham (because walking there first is just plain ridiculous) and we picked up the train line at the site of one of the old station. This English country walk is also marvellous because there are a number of quaint pubs a long route. The proper kind, with flagstones or bare floor boards, roaring fires, low beams and a pub pooch. Charley likes these pubs too - they've give her a chance to rest her tired paws and if she's lucky she might get a packet of pork scratchings.
We walked a 10 mile round trip, except it was up a straight line and back again, for a good old pint of cider at The White Lion in Soberton.
10 miles!!! And we're each feeling the burn already! The dog collapsed when we got in and I think I have done the same.
I think the extreme tiredness is related to the 5 mile power walk back the car to beat the impending darkness...we didn't take too much notice of the time on the wander up. But we made it back to the car with no welly blisters, without a compass, before the dark arrived properly and the rain set in. We were lucky.
We'd make great boy scouts, as long as we travelled in straight lines.
Friday, 6 January 2012
...And then there were high winds.
So we've heard about the leaves on the line, and 'wetness' making it impossible for electric trains to function, signal failures, missing carriages, trains stuck at platforms, and single lines making it impassable for trains on particular routes.
But those delightful people at South West trains had a new one today...
...A fallen tree was blocking the line.
Yes my friends, those mighty winds have wreaked havoc in Scotland and the North, but apparently us little southern fairies have not escaped the wrath of Atlantic winds.
This tree on the line (which our train later 'ran over') caused a ridiculous delay and a number of train changes.
Did you know that diesel (cross country virgin trains) can run over trees but little standard (aka. pitiful) electric ones do not possess these super powers? I say, let's convert all trains to diesel if it means they will surpass all changes posed by leaves, wetness, snow etc.
This tree meant that my usual once a month, hour and forty minute commute took me three hours to complete. In actual fact it was long than that since I left home at just before 6.30am and did not arrive in the London office until after 10am. Ridiculous.
Luckily for me I had a certain Miss Hendo to keep me company. How we chatted and laughed once the caffeine had kicked in and we realised the true hilarity of being delayed by a tree. Ah the simple things in life. It's okay commuters, see the funny side, have a coffee and sit back and enjoy the ride... Or stationery viewing carriage (as is perhaps more correct).
However, I came to notice (as I have on many a train journey) .... there are rather a lot Kindle's around. (or Kibble's as I once heard them call. Much to my delight.)
Now I understand the ease, and the lightweight, portable, super slim, amazing aesthetics. But is there really any need to carry around 50,000 books in your bag?
I read a lot. And read multiple books at a a time. ( Not simultaneous page turning, just multiple plots/authors/genres/ etc) But I'm talking... three. Four at the most. Not the contents of the National Library.
And are we really so lazy as to elimate the need to turn a page.
No wonder our obesity statistics are continually increasing. If we can't even lift our thumb and first finger, there's no hope for new Olympic athlete's born of the British commuting public.
I shall not be purchasing one.
Ever.
They've (the generic 'they') have even invented a spray on substance which makes your 'Kibble' waterproof so you can read in the bath.
Personally I quite like the thick, rippled pages that a book gets when accidently dropped into a hot bubbly bath. Where's the fun in electrocuting yourself in the name of R and R?
(that's 'Rest and Relaxation' for all you workaholics with your noses stuck in electronic libraries.)
Anyway. Enough of that. We all know how I feel about books.
So, whilst stuck on a train between stations, Miss Hendo and I had ample time to read (not just skim through) the Metro, only to find out some very bad news pertaining to a particular coffee chain, who's logo is green and relates to the Cosmos and Money (guessed it yet? Well seeing as it's practically Friday and brains are slowing down, it rhymes with "Bar! Duck!")
Unfortunatley this popular coffee house have just changed their loyalty scheme. I'm a huge fan of loyalty schemes and this was the best. Just pre-load a 'gift card' with cash (thereby tying your coffee 'allowance' to them) you get additional free shots of espresso in any drink and also free syrups. As well as fantastic offers and occasionally a free muffin.
Now they've introduced some crazy green star thing. You collect these green stars (the advert, or the webpage it directed you to didn't tell you how you earnt these though. Error!) and then when you have 25,000* you qualify for a free tall beverage and at 50,000* you get free espresso shots/ syrups.
So unless there are 1,000 stars to every penny, perhaps a correct ratio when considering the cosmos, then I am not impressed by this change.
Change is not always good.
* These numbers are random. Plucked from thin air. Please do not quote them...to anyone. And a message for the coffee house this relates too - please do not take me to court. I like caffeine. And I like your coffee chain. Very much. You also produce an exceptionally good skinny blueberry muffin. And thank you for putting a coffee house atthe A3 Guildford Services. It makes me a happy driver. That is all.
And speaking of change (or at least we were) - that is exactly what I had to do.
For the first time ever, I caught the wrong train home at Waterloo. I was totally convinced that it was platform 7 but apparently confusing plaforms, numbers and locations is what happens when you're trying to navigate round commuters, read timetables and write notes for a very important blog.
I realised this at Woking.
Which is the first stop. Luckily. But it took me ten people to leave the carriage, another load to get on, the doors beeping to clarify they were shutting and the announcer voice telling me "...the next station is Guildford..." for me to realise that "Oh Poo! I do believe I'm on the wrong train."
I jumped up out of my chair , collected my belongings (because they cannot be left unattended) and lept through the doors as they were closng for imminent departure, only to land in a crumpled heap on platform 5.
It wasn't quite this theatrical of course. But I did have to move pretty fast, and I was wearing a maroon wide-brimmed hat and camel-coloured cape, so I feel that a little theatricality is never a bad thing.
I was however, very aware of the many pairs of curious eyes who had seen me exit the train at the last minute only to stand there bewildered for a few minutes before working out what to do.
Being a temporary visitor at an unknown station is quite disconcerting. No familiairity. Signs not where they should be. And you actually have to locate the correct platform rather than walking there by default.
What an effort.
Oh and the other change, which is actually like a future action for change, is 'me'. An eagerly awaited package from Zara arrived today. I love that shop, and I thought best to brave the sales by shopping online. Excellent. Coffee in hand. No queues. No pushing. No getting hot and sweaty. But also - no trying on prospective purchases in the changing room to save money and time but not buying and retuning...so everything is a bit of a risk.
It arrived (after an argument with the courier company, but that's a whole other story and will create another increasingly absurd tangent), but unfortunatley my post christmas podge has arrived (a little late, and badly timed. I even went to Pilates yesterday) so these items that definitely should fit, don't.
My plan is to see if the 'podge' is water retention after a weary day travelling and very little hydration in which case I will return to normal size next week, or whether this is actually my new costume for the imminent future....
Only time will tell.
Tune in next week to see if I did return the jeans.
Wow.
Bet you are an excited bunch of fans/readers/fellow bloggers/ bored internet browsers.
I'm sorry that my life can be no more exciting than the prospect of a potentially shrinking abdomen.
But I have taken action this evening. I even made a poster (how school girl chic) for my wall to remind me to do sit ups every night... I actually do want to keep these jeans. And the shoes. Unfortunately I can't shrink my feet and the store ran out of the size that I secretly knew were guaranteed to fit.
But fear not. I will resolve my problems. And you need not worry because it's now Friday (it wasn't when I started) and the weekend is almost upon us.
(I won't mention that statisticaly this is the worst weekend in the year, because it's the first 2-day weekend after Christmas and New Year. There are no parties. It's January. And we all blew this month's pay cheque on paying off the festive season. I won't mention it because it will just make you sad.)
Happy Friday.
But those delightful people at South West trains had a new one today...
...A fallen tree was blocking the line.
Yes my friends, those mighty winds have wreaked havoc in Scotland and the North, but apparently us little southern fairies have not escaped the wrath of Atlantic winds.
This tree on the line (which our train later 'ran over') caused a ridiculous delay and a number of train changes.
Did you know that diesel (cross country virgin trains) can run over trees but little standard (aka. pitiful) electric ones do not possess these super powers? I say, let's convert all trains to diesel if it means they will surpass all changes posed by leaves, wetness, snow etc.
This tree meant that my usual once a month, hour and forty minute commute took me three hours to complete. In actual fact it was long than that since I left home at just before 6.30am and did not arrive in the London office until after 10am. Ridiculous.
Luckily for me I had a certain Miss Hendo to keep me company. How we chatted and laughed once the caffeine had kicked in and we realised the true hilarity of being delayed by a tree. Ah the simple things in life. It's okay commuters, see the funny side, have a coffee and sit back and enjoy the ride... Or stationery viewing carriage (as is perhaps more correct).
However, I came to notice (as I have on many a train journey) .... there are rather a lot Kindle's around. (or Kibble's as I once heard them call. Much to my delight.)
Now I understand the ease, and the lightweight, portable, super slim, amazing aesthetics. But is there really any need to carry around 50,000 books in your bag?
I read a lot. And read multiple books at a a time. ( Not simultaneous page turning, just multiple plots/authors/genres/ etc) But I'm talking... three. Four at the most. Not the contents of the National Library.
And are we really so lazy as to elimate the need to turn a page.
No wonder our obesity statistics are continually increasing. If we can't even lift our thumb and first finger, there's no hope for new Olympic athlete's born of the British commuting public.
I shall not be purchasing one.
Ever.
They've (the generic 'they') have even invented a spray on substance which makes your 'Kibble' waterproof so you can read in the bath.
Personally I quite like the thick, rippled pages that a book gets when accidently dropped into a hot bubbly bath. Where's the fun in electrocuting yourself in the name of R and R?
(that's 'Rest and Relaxation' for all you workaholics with your noses stuck in electronic libraries.)
Anyway. Enough of that. We all know how I feel about books.
So, whilst stuck on a train between stations, Miss Hendo and I had ample time to read (not just skim through) the Metro, only to find out some very bad news pertaining to a particular coffee chain, who's logo is green and relates to the Cosmos and Money (guessed it yet? Well seeing as it's practically Friday and brains are slowing down, it rhymes with "Bar! Duck!")
Unfortunatley this popular coffee house have just changed their loyalty scheme. I'm a huge fan of loyalty schemes and this was the best. Just pre-load a 'gift card' with cash (thereby tying your coffee 'allowance' to them) you get additional free shots of espresso in any drink and also free syrups. As well as fantastic offers and occasionally a free muffin.
Now they've introduced some crazy green star thing. You collect these green stars (the advert, or the webpage it directed you to didn't tell you how you earnt these though. Error!) and then when you have 25,000* you qualify for a free tall beverage and at 50,000* you get free espresso shots/ syrups.
So unless there are 1,000 stars to every penny, perhaps a correct ratio when considering the cosmos, then I am not impressed by this change.
Change is not always good.
* These numbers are random. Plucked from thin air. Please do not quote them...to anyone. And a message for the coffee house this relates too - please do not take me to court. I like caffeine. And I like your coffee chain. Very much. You also produce an exceptionally good skinny blueberry muffin. And thank you for putting a coffee house atthe A3 Guildford Services. It makes me a happy driver. That is all.
And speaking of change (or at least we were) - that is exactly what I had to do.
For the first time ever, I caught the wrong train home at Waterloo. I was totally convinced that it was platform 7 but apparently confusing plaforms, numbers and locations is what happens when you're trying to navigate round commuters, read timetables and write notes for a very important blog.
I realised this at Woking.
Which is the first stop. Luckily. But it took me ten people to leave the carriage, another load to get on, the doors beeping to clarify they were shutting and the announcer voice telling me "...the next station is Guildford..." for me to realise that "Oh Poo! I do believe I'm on the wrong train."
I jumped up out of my chair , collected my belongings (because they cannot be left unattended) and lept through the doors as they were closng for imminent departure, only to land in a crumpled heap on platform 5.
It wasn't quite this theatrical of course. But I did have to move pretty fast, and I was wearing a maroon wide-brimmed hat and camel-coloured cape, so I feel that a little theatricality is never a bad thing.
I was however, very aware of the many pairs of curious eyes who had seen me exit the train at the last minute only to stand there bewildered for a few minutes before working out what to do.
Being a temporary visitor at an unknown station is quite disconcerting. No familiairity. Signs not where they should be. And you actually have to locate the correct platform rather than walking there by default.
What an effort.
Oh and the other change, which is actually like a future action for change, is 'me'. An eagerly awaited package from Zara arrived today. I love that shop, and I thought best to brave the sales by shopping online. Excellent. Coffee in hand. No queues. No pushing. No getting hot and sweaty. But also - no trying on prospective purchases in the changing room to save money and time but not buying and retuning...so everything is a bit of a risk.
It arrived (after an argument with the courier company, but that's a whole other story and will create another increasingly absurd tangent), but unfortunatley my post christmas podge has arrived (a little late, and badly timed. I even went to Pilates yesterday) so these items that definitely should fit, don't.
My plan is to see if the 'podge' is water retention after a weary day travelling and very little hydration in which case I will return to normal size next week, or whether this is actually my new costume for the imminent future....
Only time will tell.
Tune in next week to see if I did return the jeans.
Wow.
Bet you are an excited bunch of fans/readers/fellow bloggers/ bored internet browsers.
I'm sorry that my life can be no more exciting than the prospect of a potentially shrinking abdomen.
But I have taken action this evening. I even made a poster (how school girl chic) for my wall to remind me to do sit ups every night... I actually do want to keep these jeans. And the shoes. Unfortunately I can't shrink my feet and the store ran out of the size that I secretly knew were guaranteed to fit.
But fear not. I will resolve my problems. And you need not worry because it's now Friday (it wasn't when I started) and the weekend is almost upon us.
(I won't mention that statisticaly this is the worst weekend in the year, because it's the first 2-day weekend after Christmas and New Year. There are no parties. It's January. And we all blew this month's pay cheque on paying off the festive season. I won't mention it because it will just make you sad.)
Happy Friday.
Sunday, 1 January 2012
.... And then 2012 arrived.
So there you have it fellow earthlings, the new year is in.
I trust you all drank the regulation glass, or two, or bottle of champagne?
Feeling the effects today?
Ditto my friends, ditto.
Or rather to be fair, it's not so much hangover more like food coma and sleep deprivation.
After last night's festivities which Frank enjoyed and Miss Hendo joined us for at chez Dodd, today has passes by in somewhat of a blur! David Attenborough on the telly, a comfy sofa and a cheeky nap! ( or two)
I have of course made the statutory resolutions ( a number of them, in the hope that at least one will survive till February). I won't share them because I have a feeling that secret ones are better kept.
I will just say that one involves a transformation into a prima ballerina!
No more questions!
Happy new year everyone - may this year be a fantastic one for each of you ......
I trust you all drank the regulation glass, or two, or bottle of champagne?
Feeling the effects today?
Ditto my friends, ditto.
Or rather to be fair, it's not so much hangover more like food coma and sleep deprivation.
After last night's festivities which Frank enjoyed and Miss Hendo joined us for at chez Dodd, today has passes by in somewhat of a blur! David Attenborough on the telly, a comfy sofa and a cheeky nap! ( or two)
I have of course made the statutory resolutions ( a number of them, in the hope that at least one will survive till February). I won't share them because I have a feeling that secret ones are better kept.
I will just say that one involves a transformation into a prima ballerina!
No more questions!
Happy new year everyone - may this year be a fantastic one for each of you ......
Thursday, 29 December 2011
...And then she returned.
Do not fear, it was only another disappearing act. For most of December.
I could blame it on a malfunctioning computer, manic (and desperate)build up to Christmas, leaving the country, Christmas with Frank’s family, complete and utter tiredness and so much going on that I wouldn’t know where to start.
I could blame it on all of the above. So I will. That and… I was a little bit lazy and out of the habit. See? Honesty for you! Could it be any better?
So.
1) The malfunctioning computer.
It doesn’t work. Okay - It does a bit. But it’s slow. And the backspace key is broken (still). It’s too big and impractical (almost the size of a desktop but for your lap). To be honest (there it is again)– I just don’t like it. I think the time is near for me to enter the world of the netbook/notebook/small computer:- Much more convenient. Would anyone like to donate funds to a worthy cause?
Look at it this way friends, a new computer thingy-ma-bob means that you have more material to read more often, and I will have a shiny new tool for writing. It’s a win/win situation. Yes?
2) The manic (and desperate) build up to Christmas
Usually, I’m game for a little festiveness. But this year ? Well it was just so difficult to find my inner ‘Ho Ho Ho’. I think I’m broken. We have a severe lack of little people and their Christmassy imagination in our home at the moment. (And no, I will not be getting pregnant to fill this void!) My sisters desperation to convince my parents that Father Christmas should still come and visit them doesn’t quite generate the same levels of excitement. There are no high pitched squeals as we count down the days to till the man in the red suit jumps down the chim-bley (I was never able to pronounce that word as a small child). We don’t even leave food as a ‘just in case’. Unless mini-est Dodd leaves a glass of water and a packet of polo’s like she did one year – “ Everyone gives Father Christmas sherry and mince pies”, she said so innocently.
No more midnight visits from the Big Man and his sleigh, and Mumma Dodd’s decision to smash up our kitchen two weeks before Christmas which delayed our Christmas dec’s. Very unhappy.
Christmas scrooge 1 – 0 Christmas spirit.
But there’s always a way to be Christmassy - I had to rely upon the radio to help find my Christmas spirit.
Christmas scrooge 1 – 1 Christmas spirit.
But, there’s only so many times you can listen to Band Aid, Slade, Wham, Mariah Carey and The Pogues before you begin to resent them.
Christmas scrooge 2 – 1 Christmas spirit.
I thought Christmas shopping might help. Mulled wine, festive songs, salvation army playing Christmas carols, sweeties…
Christmas scrooge 2 – 2 Christmas spirit.
But I hated the crowds, the aching feet, and the severe lack of ideas for the perfect Christmas gifts.
Christmas scrooge 3 – 2 Christmas spirit.
Never one for the ‘…that will do’ attitude, I continued my quest.
Christmas scrooge 3 – 3 Christmas spirit.
I queued in traffic, to queue for parking spaces, to manoeuvre round shops like sheep, only to queue again to pay, and then to queue to leaving the car park.
Christmas scrooge 4 – 3 Christmas spirit.
Sometimes I thought it was a good idea to break the mould and to walk the opposite way round the shopping area…
Christmas scrooge 4 – 4 Christmas spirit.
….I ended up with black and blue shins from being bashed with everyone else’s shopping, feeling dejected from the scowls of angry shoppers and being totally exhausted from fighting my way through. (Never try to break the mould in your car – shoppers are even more angry when trying to get home and do not appreciate blocked roads!)
Christmas scrooge 5 – 4 Christmas spirit.
It took me weeks to eventually find something for all my nearest and dearest. I took great care over the wrapping: Traditional brown paper packaging and coloured tissue paper with bright ribbons that were expertly tied. It looked quite pretty
Christmas scrooge 5 – 5 Christmas spirit.
….but I knew that it was purely aesthetic and would be completely destroyed on Christmas morning.
Christmas scrooge 6 – 5 Christmas spirit.
However, Frank did take to me the school carol service, and I heard the whole of the nativity story – something I haven’t heard since I was at school, I’d definitely forgotten bits. I was taken to Berlin for some pre-Christmas fun. I drank lots of mulled wine, and ate roasted cashew nuts. It snowed (albeit VERY briefly and not heavy enough to be called snow). I listened to Michael Buble’s Christmas album. I sat by open fires at Frank’s house. I helped make an assortment of Christmassy nibbles with Mrs Frank . And drank a lot.
Christmas scrooge 6 – 20 Christmas spirit.
Hooray (finally!)
3) Leaving the country
We weren’t extradited. Or fleeing the mafia. We didn’t elope. Or run away. Frank and I decided back in February that by December we would need a casual city break to escape the madness. What a fantastic decision. It was definitely my idea.
It was the most stress-free trip I think I have ever taken (apart from the excessive packing – we were off to Essex when we arrived home to spend Christmas at Chez Frank…I needed a week’s worth of stuff!!!)
The German capital is a fantastic city, and whether it was the festive spirit or just general welcome-ness, everyone was so friendly. We used the tram, and the underground, wandered the streets, visited the sites, found the Christmas markets, drank Glühwein and ate currywurst. We went in an underground bunker, built specifically for 3,000 people to survive a nuclear bomb. Even spoke a little appalling German, “Sprechen sie Englisch bitte?” was about as much as I could manage. Oh dear.
But, when in Rome… you must attempt to be true Berliner’s.
So long story short, if you’ve never been, pack your comfiest shoes, layers (for the cold), sonnenbrille (for the summer time) and be prepared to learn lots. If you need reading glasses, take them. There’s a lot of interesting stuff going on, so you need to act like a sponge and absorb.
4) Christmas with Frank’s family
We arrived bearing gifts for the tree and a pot of Christmas pumpkin seeds that Frank had bought impulsively from a stall at the Weihnachtsmarkt. And we got heavily involved with decorating the house. A really Christmas tree decorated by yours truly (a first for me and very exciting). I made mince pies, sausage rolls and a christmas ham. Surprising since my baked goods turn out awful and the Christmas Ham is a Family Frank speciality – if I got it wrong I’d be sleeping outside with the goose.
But all’s well that end’s well – (I even made one yesterday at home to surprise Family Dodd, not sure if there is any left!)
Mr and Mrs Frank spoilt me with new Christmas jammies and lots of lovely treats, and Frank made a lovely collage of all our photos from Dublin. Oh and he encouraged my inner child by purchasing a couple of Disney films. So exciting! I was drunk by 9am after consuming my Cosmopolitan (courtesy of Miss Hendo) unusually quickly, followed by a champagne chaser and sloe gin! Let’s face it, everyone drinks and mixes at Christmas – its only fair. And I didn’t even have the slightest hangover. Perhaps that’s what Santa gave me for Christmas!!
It was a shame to leave them all on Boxing day. But I promised to return to Chez Dodd for the post-festive madness that ensues.
5) The complete and utter tiredness
So the Chris Rea song evokes a pain-free, exciting and merry drive home for Christmas. Mine was the opposite. It seems that Boxing day morning, the world and his wife go to visit his brothers and their wives. So there’s no one to open a petrol station and the roads were madness. And there was I praying for a quick drive home. Already tired from a late night – it was made worse by guessing how far I could get with my fuel light on (and if the garage would even be open),sitting in traffic, peering through sheets of rain and navigating down narrow country roads and avoiding rabbits that ran out in front of me.
I wouldn’t have been on the country roads if I hadn’t decided to take a detour. And I wouldn’t have had to take a detour if the M25 hadn’t been solid. And the M25 wouldn’t have been solid if everyone drove correctly, left enough space between each other and stopped hogging the middle lane and causing accidents. [Rant complete. Thank you]
So I used my incredible geographical and homing skills and decided to aim for Hastings and the drive along the south coast via Brighton and pop out at home… eventually. I quickly realised that this was an insane detour and would take much longer than the original route. So I reset my friend, TomTom (who I rarely use) so he could escort me along a route that avoided the M25 and would rejoin the A3 and finish my normal journey.
Herman (the new ford) and I had a lovely little road trip, a scenic route, through lots of lovely little Christmassy villages in Kent. And then I drove underneath the M25 and saw that it was moving at normal speed and rather than drive all the way to Croydon as TomTom suggested, I would set it to rejoin the M25 as soon as possible.
Outsmarting your friends who are helping to navigate you through unknown territory is a bad idea.
I drove up and over mountains in thick fog and sat behind tractors, only to rejoin the motorway just as it was slowing down for another accident.
I made it home , in one piece – almost four hours after I’d left. (that’s longer than it takes to drive to Ipswich and I was 40 minutes closer). Stupid Christmas traffic.
Christmas scrooge 10 – 20 Christmas spirit.
So here we are. It’s now the three days between Christmas and New Year. The big day is over. The hype is gone. The presents are open and broken. The turkey is almost finished. Families are starting to drive each other barmy. And it’s skeletal staff in the office because most people had the forethought to book this off as extended leave.
I, was not one of them. But Frank is driving down for NYE,( the biggest excuse for a party that never quite meets expectation) and will be meeting a few more of my family and crazy family friends.
Poor man.
And it’s time to write those dreaded resolutions of course. The ones that last little more than a week, and anyone who gets past a month is clearly exaggerating [a nice word for ‘lying’.]Regularly feature words are:- ‘blog’, ‘more’ and ‘gym’.
Monday, 5 December 2011
...And then cinema tickets became suitable currency.
Alas, another Monday is almost over.
I am tired and achy. But oh it was worth it...
So Friday I was poorly.
Poorly like you've never known it before. Left work infact, only to spend the entire day sleeping like a baby - restless, grouchy and unable to get comfortable.
A poker hot feeling in my tummy and a clammy feeling left me unable to attend an unofficial Christmas do (the official palava is next week).
So I lay in bed, cursing the day I'd chosen to eat rice in a very nice restaurant. Who knew rice could cause problems.
And so I ate only one piece of dry toast over the course of twenty four hours.
Delightful.
Then the panic began to set in...
What if I had to cancel my plans for the weekend?
Now this was a big deal. These specific plans had been pen-ed (not even pencilled) in my little black book months previously.
My delightful London friends were leaving the familiarity of the city and joining me in the suburbs of the south coast.
I had no idea what to do with them - they didn't know that though.
By the powers that be, on Saturday morning I was feeling much better. A bit wobbly but alive enough to leave the comfort of my bedroom. And I needed to. Cabin fever sets in very quickly.
So they arrived.
Dumped bags and assorted sleeping materials.
We did the standard love-y greetings and air kisses.
Drank a quick cuppa and jumped in Herman for a little drive.
By the time we got in the car, I'd made up for my lack of planning and had made some slightly spontaneous, 'not set in stone' plans.
We went to a city of great Naval history. Not that we were there for the boats. We did see that one that the bloke with one eye and the funny hat sailed for a bit.
So we parked (finally) using an amazing system of lights (green = vacant) that you could only see when you drove the right way round the carpark (aka. following the arrows). We had a fairly quick mooch around some outlet stores (not too quick for Charlotte though) and paid for a few games of ten-pin bowling.
Nothting like a bit of the old Flintstone moves to inspire a little friendly rivalry. Competition brings out the best in everyone.
It is worth noting that whilst the boys won the first game, the tables turned for the second and the girls stormed ahead.
Apparently this was the result of the football being on too, "heads not in the game..blah blah blah". Sorry lads, the scores said it all.
Oh and then, because after beer and bowling you must have pizza, we found a very chic pizzeria. Who knew you could have curry on a pizza?
Obviously it was described a little more delicately than that, otherwise no-one would buy it. Or would they?
Bellies full (and a detour via a supermarket where 'every little helps' for more of the evening's sustinence) we arrived back at Chez Dodd for more frivolities and booze.
Next thing you know its 3am, and you're crawling into bed with Carrie.
Carrie and I have to share a bed, its an unwritten rule.
That's why Mr BMW (two wheels not four) had to have mini Dodd's bed. Only it cost me.
In order for mini Dodd to vacate her bed for one night - ONE - I have to take her to see the next installment in that vampire series.
I tell you what, Mr BMW had better have had a good kip.
And
I am tired and achy. But oh it was worth it...
So Friday I was poorly.
Poorly like you've never known it before. Left work infact, only to spend the entire day sleeping like a baby - restless, grouchy and unable to get comfortable.
A poker hot feeling in my tummy and a clammy feeling left me unable to attend an unofficial Christmas do (the official palava is next week).
So I lay in bed, cursing the day I'd chosen to eat rice in a very nice restaurant. Who knew rice could cause problems.
And so I ate only one piece of dry toast over the course of twenty four hours.
Delightful.
Then the panic began to set in...
What if I had to cancel my plans for the weekend?
Now this was a big deal. These specific plans had been pen-ed (not even pencilled) in my little black book months previously.
My delightful London friends were leaving the familiarity of the city and joining me in the suburbs of the south coast.
I had no idea what to do with them - they didn't know that though.
By the powers that be, on Saturday morning I was feeling much better. A bit wobbly but alive enough to leave the comfort of my bedroom. And I needed to. Cabin fever sets in very quickly.
So they arrived.
Dumped bags and assorted sleeping materials.
We did the standard love-y greetings and air kisses.
Drank a quick cuppa and jumped in Herman for a little drive.
By the time we got in the car, I'd made up for my lack of planning and had made some slightly spontaneous, 'not set in stone' plans.
We went to a city of great Naval history. Not that we were there for the boats. We did see that one that the bloke with one eye and the funny hat sailed for a bit.
So we parked (finally) using an amazing system of lights (green = vacant) that you could only see when you drove the right way round the carpark (aka. following the arrows). We had a fairly quick mooch around some outlet stores (not too quick for Charlotte though) and paid for a few games of ten-pin bowling.
Nothting like a bit of the old Flintstone moves to inspire a little friendly rivalry. Competition brings out the best in everyone.
It is worth noting that whilst the boys won the first game, the tables turned for the second and the girls stormed ahead.
Apparently this was the result of the football being on too, "heads not in the game..blah blah blah". Sorry lads, the scores said it all.
Oh and then, because after beer and bowling you must have pizza, we found a very chic pizzeria. Who knew you could have curry on a pizza?
Obviously it was described a little more delicately than that, otherwise no-one would buy it. Or would they?
Bellies full (and a detour via a supermarket where 'every little helps' for more of the evening's sustinence) we arrived back at Chez Dodd for more frivolities and booze.
Next thing you know its 3am, and you're crawling into bed with Carrie.
Carrie and I have to share a bed, its an unwritten rule.
That's why Mr BMW (two wheels not four) had to have mini Dodd's bed. Only it cost me.
In order for mini Dodd to vacate her bed for one night - ONE - I have to take her to see the next installment in that vampire series.
I tell you what, Mr BMW had better have had a good kip.
And
Wednesday, 30 November 2011
... And then it's almost December 1st.
....I have an hour left of November 2011.
To paraphase friends, family and everyone who's talking about it - Where has that year gone?
So now - to get you in the festive mood?
A little original 'poetry'.
A Poem
Santa Claus is on his way
With a gift or two.
Better fill those reindeer up
And make sure they have a poo.
They have to go before they leave,
It's bad to stop mid-flight.
It's not a plane. Is it a bird?
Heads up! It's reindeer s***e.
To paraphase friends, family and everyone who's talking about it - Where has that year gone?
So now - to get you in the festive mood?
A little original 'poetry'.
A Poem
Santa Claus is on his way
With a gift or two.
Better fill those reindeer up
And make sure they have a poo.
They have to go before they leave,
It's bad to stop mid-flight.
It's not a plane. Is it a bird?
Heads up! It's reindeer s***e.
Monday, 28 November 2011
....And then I almost became a thief.
I say thief, but actually I was almost guilty of breaking, entering and complete humiliation.
Apparently it will take me a while to get used to Herman. And the fact that he is a silver ford fiesta, rather than a black Ka makes it all the more difficult.
I got out of work and wandered round the car park after a loooooooong day. And with keys in hand, unlocked my car.
And unlocked it again.
Then again.
Tried again.
But the door wouldn't open.
I swore and took my phone out of my bag ready to call home and give Papa Dodd an earful for letting me buy a rubbish car that had broken already.
Then I realise Mon-keh was missing. Y'know the little monkey from the teabag advert? ...He lives in my car.
And he wasn't there.
Then I realised what I'd done.
Luckily, there was no one else in the car park - at least none I could see. I found Herman, got in and made a quick get away.
Chances are the security team were watching me on the CCTV, so I'll here all about it when I go in tomorrow. Sure of it.
I'm sure this week will bring me wonderful adventures.
Apparently it will take me a while to get used to Herman. And the fact that he is a silver ford fiesta, rather than a black Ka makes it all the more difficult.
I got out of work and wandered round the car park after a loooooooong day. And with keys in hand, unlocked my car.
And unlocked it again.
Then again.
Tried again.
But the door wouldn't open.
I swore and took my phone out of my bag ready to call home and give Papa Dodd an earful for letting me buy a rubbish car that had broken already.
Then I realise Mon-keh was missing. Y'know the little monkey from the teabag advert? ...He lives in my car.
And he wasn't there.
Then I realised what I'd done.
Luckily, there was no one else in the car park - at least none I could see. I found Herman, got in and made a quick get away.
Chances are the security team were watching me on the CCTV, so I'll here all about it when I go in tomorrow. Sure of it.
I'm sure this week will bring me wonderful adventures.
Sunday, 27 November 2011
...And then Herman came to stay.
Herman is the Dennis who isn't a Dennis.
It turns out my ford fiesta doesn't look like a Dennis.
So he's a Herman.
He seems happy enough on the driveway.
At least it will be nice to drive again.
I'm back on the road!
It turns out my ford fiesta doesn't look like a Dennis.
So he's a Herman.
He seems happy enough on the driveway.
At least it will be nice to drive again.
I'm back on the road!
Thursday, 17 November 2011
...And then there was the one with the Pox.
Tomorrow is Friday. Which means I have only one day to go until I see Frank.
I haven't seen Frank for three and a half weeks. I can't help but think that something might go wrong.
His little car might break down ... or worse still I might contract the chicken pox.
Like poor Phoebe in that television programme about six aquaintances who live in some very expensive apartments in New York.
Her submariner man friend comes to see her for the first time in eight months.
She's super excited but then a small child with two mothers, and one neurotic father, contracts the pox!
Phoebe, alas, is the only one who has not buffed up her immune system to handle that childhood virus.
The plans she had for her man friend are ruined.
They spend the weekend incessantly scratching each other, and are forced to wear comedy oven mitts taped on to their wrists.
What a rubbish way to spend his first weekend above sea.
I've already had the chicken pox so I might be alright. But I will be using a lot of antibacterial gel tomorrow to stop the germies from invading.
I will not be poorly, Frank. I promise.
I haven't seen Frank for three and a half weeks. I can't help but think that something might go wrong.
His little car might break down ... or worse still I might contract the chicken pox.
Like poor Phoebe in that television programme about six aquaintances who live in some very expensive apartments in New York.
Her submariner man friend comes to see her for the first time in eight months.
She's super excited but then a small child with two mothers, and one neurotic father, contracts the pox!
Phoebe, alas, is the only one who has not buffed up her immune system to handle that childhood virus.
The plans she had for her man friend are ruined.
They spend the weekend incessantly scratching each other, and are forced to wear comedy oven mitts taped on to their wrists.
What a rubbish way to spend his first weekend above sea.
I've already had the chicken pox so I might be alright. But I will be using a lot of antibacterial gel tomorrow to stop the germies from invading.
I will not be poorly, Frank. I promise.
Wednesday, 16 November 2011
...And then there was a diary of a working girl
I mean working girl in the truest sense of the word, none of this double entendre nonsense.
So we have the commuting - a bore in itself, unless you're lucky enough to have one of those train buddies. Always highly sought after.
- Never fall asleep on the train. You might perhaps wake yourself up snoring.. or drooling. Or your phone might ring in the silent carriage. Or you might sleep through your stop. Or miss the train. Or...
- No matter how hungry you might be, never buy food at the station. That Chicken Royale never tastes as good as you hoped it would. And you feel just as hungry as you did before you atre, except you also feel greasier. Mmmm. What a nutritous meal for a £5.
And there are the days at the office (conversations at the coffee machines, rolling about on office chairs, looking important as you wander the office with files of paper work, and the brief moments of panic when you can't find your friends in the canteen at lunch and are perhaps doomed to eat lunch alone.)
Then you have the client meetings. Where you actually leave the office to meet people other than colleagues at sales meetings.
These are a fairly new occurence. But involve getting out of bed exceedingly early and painting your face in the dark whilst trying your best to disguise the dark bags under your eyes. Those bags are only there because you forgot to go to sleep early, and the brain wouldn't switch off.
But you get into the company car they have supplied you (which technically is a great chance to test drive different models, but unfortunately they are brand new and therefore totally out of my price range) and begin to drive.
Of course you have allowed for traffic. And lots of it.
And there (of course) isn't any.
So you arrive in the city of meetings two hours early. Very punctual.
You find somewhere to park and pay a lot of money for a ticket - because let's face it you are an outsider and have no idea where the bargain car parks are, or even better... the free ones.
You grudgingly push coins in the machine, knowing that the company will pay you back.
With the car secured, and paid for, you wander in what you suppose is the direction of the town centre. You are desperate for a coffee. You didn't manage to have one this morning because you couldn't afford to be late - funny really, since you are now two hours early.
But you continue to wander, knowing that you will eventually see the comforting green sign that tells you coffee is close. It's might chilly. You'd forgotten that you had to walk about, so the coat you wear isn't thick enough and you aren't wearing layers.
You do have an iPhone which has an app specifically designed for locating coffee houses, however, earlier this morning whilst navigating with a satnav you think you jumped a red light, so you are reluctant to rely upon this method - not that you could do any damage walking. But one can never be too careful.
Ahead of you, through the early morning gloom, the green sign appears, and opposite? Well, well, well ... is that a competitor coffee company, with a burgundy fascia? I do believe I am torn.
But Starbucks make better muffins.
So you sit, in the warmth, nursing a skinny caramel macchiato and a skinny blueberry muffin (it just had to be done). Across from you sits a man talking to himself. You smile to yourself. You always have had a soft spot for these people. You look again, then see the script he is holding.
Ah, the actors of the world.
And next to him you spy an elderly man. You believe he has shares in the Apple store. There is a iPhone charging in the wall, an iPad in his hands and some rather impressive looking headphones, actually 'ear cans'. He looks very content. Breaking the mould. My grandmother doesn't know how to use her basic Nokia and Mumma Dodd has only recently learnt how to use our three television remotes.
The meetings were good, and the drive home was exhausting. Concentrating makes you tired.
You think perhaps the office isn't so bad after all. The coffee is better in the real world.
So we have the commuting - a bore in itself, unless you're lucky enough to have one of those train buddies. Always highly sought after.
- Never fall asleep on the train. You might perhaps wake yourself up snoring.. or drooling. Or your phone might ring in the silent carriage. Or you might sleep through your stop. Or miss the train. Or...
- No matter how hungry you might be, never buy food at the station. That Chicken Royale never tastes as good as you hoped it would. And you feel just as hungry as you did before you atre, except you also feel greasier. Mmmm. What a nutritous meal for a £5.
And there are the days at the office (conversations at the coffee machines, rolling about on office chairs, looking important as you wander the office with files of paper work, and the brief moments of panic when you can't find your friends in the canteen at lunch and are perhaps doomed to eat lunch alone.)
Then you have the client meetings. Where you actually leave the office to meet people other than colleagues at sales meetings.
These are a fairly new occurence. But involve getting out of bed exceedingly early and painting your face in the dark whilst trying your best to disguise the dark bags under your eyes. Those bags are only there because you forgot to go to sleep early, and the brain wouldn't switch off.
But you get into the company car they have supplied you (which technically is a great chance to test drive different models, but unfortunately they are brand new and therefore totally out of my price range) and begin to drive.
Of course you have allowed for traffic. And lots of it.
And there (of course) isn't any.
So you arrive in the city of meetings two hours early. Very punctual.
You find somewhere to park and pay a lot of money for a ticket - because let's face it you are an outsider and have no idea where the bargain car parks are, or even better... the free ones.
You grudgingly push coins in the machine, knowing that the company will pay you back.
With the car secured, and paid for, you wander in what you suppose is the direction of the town centre. You are desperate for a coffee. You didn't manage to have one this morning because you couldn't afford to be late - funny really, since you are now two hours early.
But you continue to wander, knowing that you will eventually see the comforting green sign that tells you coffee is close. It's might chilly. You'd forgotten that you had to walk about, so the coat you wear isn't thick enough and you aren't wearing layers.
You do have an iPhone which has an app specifically designed for locating coffee houses, however, earlier this morning whilst navigating with a satnav you think you jumped a red light, so you are reluctant to rely upon this method - not that you could do any damage walking. But one can never be too careful.
Ahead of you, through the early morning gloom, the green sign appears, and opposite? Well, well, well ... is that a competitor coffee company, with a burgundy fascia? I do believe I am torn.
But Starbucks make better muffins.
So you sit, in the warmth, nursing a skinny caramel macchiato and a skinny blueberry muffin (it just had to be done). Across from you sits a man talking to himself. You smile to yourself. You always have had a soft spot for these people. You look again, then see the script he is holding.
Ah, the actors of the world.
And next to him you spy an elderly man. You believe he has shares in the Apple store. There is a iPhone charging in the wall, an iPad in his hands and some rather impressive looking headphones, actually 'ear cans'. He looks very content. Breaking the mould. My grandmother doesn't know how to use her basic Nokia and Mumma Dodd has only recently learnt how to use our three television remotes.
The meetings were good, and the drive home was exhausting. Concentrating makes you tired.
You think perhaps the office isn't so bad after all. The coffee is better in the real world.
Monday, 7 November 2011
...And then the banging stopped.
And the mutt was able to breathe a sigh of relief as Guy Fawkes night passed for another year.
(Not that I saw a single 'guy' over the entire weekend - do we still burn those effigies?)
Apparently we can set fireworks off as early (?) as Halloween (a hijacked 'festival' if ever I saw one - but that's a whole other conversation to have), but as soon as November 6th shows its tired face, the noises stop. How bizarre!
So having spent saturday morning perusing internet sites for replacement automobiles and partially watching Frozen Planet, I jumped into my borrowed car to zip along to the royal land of Tunbridge Wells.
Ah, and what a weekend of frivolities.
I arrived at Miss P-ray's house mere moments before the arrival of Miss Ray-Ray and her reliable friend Tina, who wasn't allowed in the house on account of being a Ka and too wide for the door.
We were greeted warmly by some lovely parents and the gift of homemade toffee apples.
Now - a little secret for you all. Having never liked Halloween, I never had trick or treat candy, never did apple bobbing (until my second year in Exeter), never toilet papered cars or threw eggs at someone's house. And nor had I had a toffee apple. Ever.
Until Saturday night.
P-ray and Mummy P. had been slaving away in the kitchen to produce some high quality homemade toffee which was expertly poured over granny smith apples.
It was these delightful treats that P-ray, Ray-Ray, Mr.S (Ray Ray's chap) and I munched on as we wandered along to the country park for an epic firework display.
Not only did the toffee hinder our attempts at conversation with it's remarkable ability to stick our jaws together, it could also have been sold as ammo. When fired at high speeds, these chunks of hardened toffee had the potential to be deadly. And this is of course, no disrespect to the hard work and labour of two gifted women - but what would those entrepeneurial dragons think of edible weapons. Too much perhaps?
I would like to apologise to anyone who has a toffee shaped dent on the front left wheel arch of their car. I think it was silver car I hit. I would just like to say that it wasn't fired or intentionally thrown. I was displaying it's stickiness to my amigos by demonstrating how it would stay stuck to my leather gloves when it (the toffee) chose to break loose, reaching its terminal velocity of 'very fast' just before it hit your car.
I did inspect the damage. But it seemed fine.
So onto the fireworks. We now have delightfully sticky fingers, and I feel like a small child. We find a perfect spot to observe the fireworks. There were no crowds and no mud. Then we saw the whopping great tree.
A natural explanation for the vacant area around its perimeter.
So we squeezed ourselves amongst the other royal town's residents and watched the longest fireworks display ever, complete with soundtrack.
I say soundtrack - it was two tracks. The first was the Star Wars theme, followed by the ET theme. On repeat. But obviously it's the attempt at a cinematic wonder that counts, and actually it was a bloomin' excellent display.
Thank you Miss P-Ray for paying for my ticket. It was lovely. Until those god awful girls decided to sing Katy Perry at the tops of their voices. Ladies, just because you have the captive audience of a bottle-necked crowd, it does not mean you must take it upon yourselves to entertain them. This rule is even more important if you are unable to pitch notes correctly.
Now I may not be able to sing (at all!), and am therefore an unworthy critic - but I did yell at you to "Shuuuuuuutup" much to the appreciation of my fellow crowd members. You chose to ignore this polite plea for peace.
And with a quick drive back to the Faro residence (via a corner shop for some vino), and it was time to kick back and relax.
Good job we bought the extra bottles, because one just wasn't going to be enough.
Sunday morning.
Awake at 8.30am.
What is this madness?
I may have had a slightly groggy head. Must remember to drink plenty of non alcoholic fluids, adult bodies don't recover aswell as their student counterparts.
Ladies and Gentlemen, if ever you visit Tunbridge Wells, perhaps on the off chance, a sporadic drive through, or something more planned - you must pop your head into 'Juliets'.
Now I cannot tell where this is, other than at the bottom of the high street just before The Pantiles.
It is the quaintest little tea room without being twee and O.T.T
Mix matched cups and saucers, odd chairs and tables, and room for twenty-five people, tops! But oh, you must go.
Lovely little homemade breakfasts.
Ray-Ray : Eggs Benedict (without the benedict)
Mr S.: Eggs Benedict (as it should be!)
P-Ray: A big fat bacon sandwich on sourdough. Looked amazing. And even better with a couple of splodges of Heinz.
Me: Why, what should one eat when in a very British little tearoom? American style pancakes with fruit and yoghurt of course!
What a feast.
Mr S. made his excuses and left shortly after, something to do with a hockey game. Personally I think he needed a testosterone fix after a very girly weekend. Can't say I blame him. Female conversation is defintely a polar opposite of Male Banter.
With Mr S. abandoning us in the Royal Town, we resorted to using our legs and mooched back to Chez Faro.
Who knew that Tunbridge Wells was so hilly? Well aside from it's residents of course, who I'm sure are very much accustomed to its steep inclines. I think it was worse because in addition to breakfast we also had to squeeze in a bit of homemade cake!
Like Exeter, our educational home, the geography of the land actually improves muscle definition, metabolism, lung capacity and weightloss.
Maybe I should move there, if I can't get to the gym!
Thank you ladies (and gent) for a wonderful weekend of autumnal merriment. We must attempt to synchronise those diaries and a get another date in...free March 2012?
-------------------------------
Also on another completely separate note, but one that I find quite hilareous due it's perfect display of bad timing.
Last night, I drove to the airport to pick up Miss USA and Sailor Bob. I collected my cargo and began the drive home.
I had been speeding (marginally) on the motorway to get there, because I was (marginally) late.
It was an uneventful journey, until a white car with black markings and blue lights on the roof appeared behind me.
Now, I know that I cannot be the only one who panicks when the Police drive behind me. I overcompensate, by trying to drive perfectly and actually end up driving worse.
Exemplary moment #1
Location: dual carriageway / me -outside lane/ white car with blue lights - inside lane just behind.
Situation: "Oh poo, wrong lane!"
Dialogue: "Why won't that stupid car go past me so I can move over." "That would be undertaking Amy. And is illegal."
See, even the foreigners (obviously I mean that in the loosest sense of the word) understand driving etiquette and road law. I, however, had the law on my bumper and completely lost my head.
Luckily I didn't lose my cool ( or what was ever left of it!) I checked all mirrors, and my blind spot, indicated and moved over slowly so as not to cause alarm.
By now the police car has been following me for a little while, and I'm a little concerned that I may have missed a subtle sign from them asking me to pull over.
As I approach the left turn that takes me home I notice two young lads, complete with hooded sweaters standing very suspiciously next to a builder's fence. I saw them. But they didn't see me. Which mean's they didn't see the vehicle I was escorting/ following me (two ways of looking at every story).
They lept over the fence.
Ah the joy. The ignorance and the foolishness. I was lucky enough to see two legs disappear over the top off the fence just as the police car indicated left and pulled over.
"You're nicked son!"
Clearly, he wouldn't have said this, and even if he had I would never have heard - but just for entertainment's value I like to imagine that he did.
I think when I die, I'm going to a bad place for taking an extreme level of satisfaction in this moment.
(Not that I saw a single 'guy' over the entire weekend - do we still burn those effigies?)
Apparently we can set fireworks off as early (?) as Halloween (a hijacked 'festival' if ever I saw one - but that's a whole other conversation to have), but as soon as November 6th shows its tired face, the noises stop. How bizarre!
So having spent saturday morning perusing internet sites for replacement automobiles and partially watching Frozen Planet, I jumped into my borrowed car to zip along to the royal land of Tunbridge Wells.
Ah, and what a weekend of frivolities.
I arrived at Miss P-ray's house mere moments before the arrival of Miss Ray-Ray and her reliable friend Tina, who wasn't allowed in the house on account of being a Ka and too wide for the door.
We were greeted warmly by some lovely parents and the gift of homemade toffee apples.
Now - a little secret for you all. Having never liked Halloween, I never had trick or treat candy, never did apple bobbing (until my second year in Exeter), never toilet papered cars or threw eggs at someone's house. And nor had I had a toffee apple. Ever.
Until Saturday night.
P-ray and Mummy P. had been slaving away in the kitchen to produce some high quality homemade toffee which was expertly poured over granny smith apples.
It was these delightful treats that P-ray, Ray-Ray, Mr.S (Ray Ray's chap) and I munched on as we wandered along to the country park for an epic firework display.
Not only did the toffee hinder our attempts at conversation with it's remarkable ability to stick our jaws together, it could also have been sold as ammo. When fired at high speeds, these chunks of hardened toffee had the potential to be deadly. And this is of course, no disrespect to the hard work and labour of two gifted women - but what would those entrepeneurial dragons think of edible weapons. Too much perhaps?
I would like to apologise to anyone who has a toffee shaped dent on the front left wheel arch of their car. I think it was silver car I hit. I would just like to say that it wasn't fired or intentionally thrown. I was displaying it's stickiness to my amigos by demonstrating how it would stay stuck to my leather gloves when it (the toffee) chose to break loose, reaching its terminal velocity of 'very fast' just before it hit your car.
I did inspect the damage. But it seemed fine.
So onto the fireworks. We now have delightfully sticky fingers, and I feel like a small child. We find a perfect spot to observe the fireworks. There were no crowds and no mud. Then we saw the whopping great tree.
A natural explanation for the vacant area around its perimeter.
So we squeezed ourselves amongst the other royal town's residents and watched the longest fireworks display ever, complete with soundtrack.
I say soundtrack - it was two tracks. The first was the Star Wars theme, followed by the ET theme. On repeat. But obviously it's the attempt at a cinematic wonder that counts, and actually it was a bloomin' excellent display.
Thank you Miss P-Ray for paying for my ticket. It was lovely. Until those god awful girls decided to sing Katy Perry at the tops of their voices. Ladies, just because you have the captive audience of a bottle-necked crowd, it does not mean you must take it upon yourselves to entertain them. This rule is even more important if you are unable to pitch notes correctly.
Now I may not be able to sing (at all!), and am therefore an unworthy critic - but I did yell at you to "Shuuuuuuutup" much to the appreciation of my fellow crowd members. You chose to ignore this polite plea for peace.
And with a quick drive back to the Faro residence (via a corner shop for some vino), and it was time to kick back and relax.
Good job we bought the extra bottles, because one just wasn't going to be enough.
Sunday morning.
Awake at 8.30am.
What is this madness?
I may have had a slightly groggy head. Must remember to drink plenty of non alcoholic fluids, adult bodies don't recover aswell as their student counterparts.
Ladies and Gentlemen, if ever you visit Tunbridge Wells, perhaps on the off chance, a sporadic drive through, or something more planned - you must pop your head into 'Juliets'.
Now I cannot tell where this is, other than at the bottom of the high street just before The Pantiles.
It is the quaintest little tea room without being twee and O.T.T
Mix matched cups and saucers, odd chairs and tables, and room for twenty-five people, tops! But oh, you must go.
Lovely little homemade breakfasts.
Ray-Ray : Eggs Benedict (without the benedict)
Mr S.: Eggs Benedict (as it should be!)
P-Ray: A big fat bacon sandwich on sourdough. Looked amazing. And even better with a couple of splodges of Heinz.
Me: Why, what should one eat when in a very British little tearoom? American style pancakes with fruit and yoghurt of course!
What a feast.
Mr S. made his excuses and left shortly after, something to do with a hockey game. Personally I think he needed a testosterone fix after a very girly weekend. Can't say I blame him. Female conversation is defintely a polar opposite of Male Banter.
With Mr S. abandoning us in the Royal Town, we resorted to using our legs and mooched back to Chez Faro.
Who knew that Tunbridge Wells was so hilly? Well aside from it's residents of course, who I'm sure are very much accustomed to its steep inclines. I think it was worse because in addition to breakfast we also had to squeeze in a bit of homemade cake!
Like Exeter, our educational home, the geography of the land actually improves muscle definition, metabolism, lung capacity and weightloss.
Maybe I should move there, if I can't get to the gym!
Thank you ladies (and gent) for a wonderful weekend of autumnal merriment. We must attempt to synchronise those diaries and a get another date in...free March 2012?
-------------------------------
Also on another completely separate note, but one that I find quite hilareous due it's perfect display of bad timing.
Last night, I drove to the airport to pick up Miss USA and Sailor Bob. I collected my cargo and began the drive home.
I had been speeding (marginally) on the motorway to get there, because I was (marginally) late.
It was an uneventful journey, until a white car with black markings and blue lights on the roof appeared behind me.
Now, I know that I cannot be the only one who panicks when the Police drive behind me. I overcompensate, by trying to drive perfectly and actually end up driving worse.
Exemplary moment #1
Location: dual carriageway / me -outside lane/ white car with blue lights - inside lane just behind.
Situation: "Oh poo, wrong lane!"
Dialogue: "Why won't that stupid car go past me so I can move over." "That would be undertaking Amy. And is illegal."
See, even the foreigners (obviously I mean that in the loosest sense of the word) understand driving etiquette and road law. I, however, had the law on my bumper and completely lost my head.
Luckily I didn't lose my cool ( or what was ever left of it!) I checked all mirrors, and my blind spot, indicated and moved over slowly so as not to cause alarm.
By now the police car has been following me for a little while, and I'm a little concerned that I may have missed a subtle sign from them asking me to pull over.
As I approach the left turn that takes me home I notice two young lads, complete with hooded sweaters standing very suspiciously next to a builder's fence. I saw them. But they didn't see me. Which mean's they didn't see the vehicle I was escorting/ following me (two ways of looking at every story).
They lept over the fence.
Ah the joy. The ignorance and the foolishness. I was lucky enough to see two legs disappear over the top off the fence just as the police car indicated left and pulled over.
"You're nicked son!"
Clearly, he wouldn't have said this, and even if he had I would never have heard - but just for entertainment's value I like to imagine that he did.
I think when I die, I'm going to a bad place for taking an extreme level of satisfaction in this moment.
Saturday, 5 November 2011
...And then the search began for Dennis.
It is the circle of life, as a family of lions might suggest, so when one loses a car to the great scrapheap in the sky, there is another to take it's place.
And so we say farewell to Brian, and begin the search for Dennis.
I'm not sure what Dennis looks like, nor where he lives, but I know that when we meet I will know immediately.
So the search begins on the internet.
I feel like I'm car dating. Checking out the credentials and suitability before going to meet him.
It could be a long process.
And so as I lounge here listening to the soothing tones of David Attenborough presenting 'Frozen Planet' ( a programme I have many episodes to catch up on), I wait for the parents to return to aid my search.
Later, I will leave in my temporary car and drive to Royal Tunbridge Wells for a firework display of stupendous magnitude with P-ray and Ray-Ray,
Oh what a night to be had.
Enjoy your bonfires, toffee apples, and fireworks.
And don't forget your gloves when writing your names with sparklers!
And so we say farewell to Brian, and begin the search for Dennis.
I'm not sure what Dennis looks like, nor where he lives, but I know that when we meet I will know immediately.
So the search begins on the internet.
I feel like I'm car dating. Checking out the credentials and suitability before going to meet him.
It could be a long process.
And so as I lounge here listening to the soothing tones of David Attenborough presenting 'Frozen Planet' ( a programme I have many episodes to catch up on), I wait for the parents to return to aid my search.
Later, I will leave in my temporary car and drive to Royal Tunbridge Wells for a firework display of stupendous magnitude with P-ray and Ray-Ray,
Oh what a night to be had.
Enjoy your bonfires, toffee apples, and fireworks.
And don't forget your gloves when writing your names with sparklers!
Monday, 31 October 2011
...And then I left the country for a bit.
I flew for the first time in nearly five years.
Apparently that makes me a nervous flier.
I don't think it helped that the aeroplane was only marginally larger than the tiny ones little boys fly round their heads at the speed of light, making that delightful 'neeeeeeee-awwwww' sound. You know the one? Very irritating.
So yes, a nervous flier and a super excited Frank who had only found out about an hour before boarding that we were flying to Dublin for this birthday surprise. Much better than driving to Scotland which is what I had originally led him to believe.
If I have learnt anything in the last two and a half months, it is that 1) as a blogger you must regularly blog, 2) getting fit requires exercise and 3) I am an excellent (if that can be a good thing) liar.
Poor Frank had no idea and he'd heard so many tit bits of information and mistaken conversations that he really had no idea what I had planned for this birthday.
I must say I am a little smug.
We landed in a somewhat soggy Dublin, do not fear my friends, we are alive and well and arrived post flash flooding. I had eaten even less than when I had boarded the plane and desperately wanted coffee. But alas.
We had to fight our way to the baggage carousel to collect the lone bag I had paid to check into the hold because this little moron is incapable of reading a baggage measure scale thing. When I paid this particular low cost airline who's name coincidently rhymes with my car, an additional £50 for oversized bags - I was reading the 'lb' measure rather than 'kg'. (Much to Frank's amusement as I relayed this to him on the transfer bus from the car park)
I think perhaps I told Frank that it was fine, it was quite funny - but actually I was seething at my level of stupidity.
I have a degree and I am still unable to read scales. Wonderful. That £9,000 proved to be a worthwhile investment.
Anyway - we found our bus to take us to the centre of Dublin. Then we found the hotel. And then we wandered the streets. Aimlessly.
We hadn't yet located a local map.
Being the English tourists we were, Frank and I jumped onto a tour bus. We picked up a set of complimentary head phones and plugged ourselves into the sockets to listen to the tuneful renditions of traditional Irish ditties, as well as insightful facts about important buildings along the route.
Frank will deny it, but I am sure that he shut his eyes and slept part of the way round, we had been up since 6am. He argued his lack of sleep the following day by reboarding the tour bus and reciting each of the important facts before the recorded Irish man could say them. Some say Frank is gifted, others say he is wise. Me? I say that sometimes he is annoying (honestly I don't really Frank!) and I don't know how he does it. If I had been me 'sleeping' - I would have been out for the count, and no version of 'Whiskey in the jar' would stir me.
Frank awoke on Wednesday morning to a little pile of perfectly wrapped presents. These had caused no end of problems in security at the airport - that and the fact that my bag was so overloaded that the scanner couldn't actually see inside it. Oh and I basically had a full body search. Bloomin' ridiculous, how is one meant to smuggle a weapon in skinny jeans and fitted sweater?
So Frank had a lovely birthday morning, I treated him to a very swish breakfast in one of Dublin's oldest cafes. If ever you go - you must visit Bewley's on Grafton Street. It was lovely. Frank wolfed down a good old Irish breakfast (the distinguishing factor from its English counterpart was the absence of bakes beans and the addition of white pudding - bleurgh!)
And then?
Well when in Dublin...
Do as the Irish do.
Drink Guinness in the Guinness Storehouse of course.
Now, I ain't no fan of that heavy stuff, but actually I managed to drink a little more of it than usual without scowling. Maybe it was the fear of being lynched by Irish locals that made me keep it down!
Of course I am joking.
The Irish we encoutered were the most welcoming people I have ever met. Now Frank loves a good natter with anyone, and usually I smile apologetically to people - but here? Well I just let him chat.
In fact, I found myself conversing with strangers, and even with some Canadians.
Did you know that Ireland has the highest population of Americans and Canadians outside of North America?
Obviously I am lying. But it felt like it.
It was quite odd, but very funny to listen to their excited exclamations about "little Irish buildings", oh and the squillions of photos of ... "Me and Chuck by some bricks, me and Chuck on these cute little cobbled streets and ...oh these were good weren't they Chuck? What were they again? Oh yeah, pubs that's right - all those pubs. Here's me and Chuck eating Irish stew and ....."
Oh dear, I actually pity those poor folks back home!
Frank's biggest surprise, perhaps bigger than the actual trip, were the secret tickets to see Lee Evans on his last night at the Dublin O2.
Now, I'm not biased or anything, and he didn't pay me to say this - but he was absolutely fantastic! Frank had a cheshire cat grin throughout the entire stand up, and my tummy hurt from chuckling.
And to all those people who left early - yeah you, the guys who left when you thought it was the end, you know to beat the queues? Well you didn't get your full money's worth did you chaps? Oh no - that little sweaty monkey man continued for another twenty minutes!
We walked back a long the river side into the city centre. The River Liffey was exceptionally high, (because of the floodwater) but had a fat man jumped in - he would have displaced all the water onto the pavements and roads that ran along side.
It was quite a pretty walk. Dublin is very flat. Very pretty. But has a lot less street lights than London. There were a lot of dark patches. And some rather obscure sculptures of what looked like emaciated people.
Hmmm....
And then all of a sudden it was our last day in this lovely little city.
We spent the afternoon in Cafe En Seine, Dawson Street (another little hotspot to visit). It was all art deco and very suave. I felt like Frank should have been wearing spats and a suit and hat, and I should have had finger-waved hair, a fur coat, and a cigarette in a holder between perfectly painted red lips.
But no - we were not so overdressed.
We enjoyed the paper, drank coffee, and maybe a cheeky liquer coffees and then decided after a long afternoon of doing very little, that we really should move on and find somewhere else to consume our very last truly Irish Guinness.
That and the fact that we were being goaded to clear our tab by the waitressing staff who were trying to prepare the bar area for the evening.
Oh dear, we always seem to be in the way.
The only thing to put a little downer on our lovely week, was that Brian - my poor little Brian who was carted off to hospital last Friday, has been fighting a losing battle.
It turns out that his fight with Discovery wasn't quite so victorious. He came away more wounded than any of us would ever anticipate.
He has a damaged chassis.
The mechanic told me he was beyond economic repair.
Naturally I feel a saddness, and ache in my body (perhaps though this is the whiplash), but I know that letting Brian go is the right thing to do.
He will be donating his organs to other needy Ka's who have been injured and need help to recover from less serious incidents or merely to prolong their lives. It's what he would have wanted,.
I will say one last goodbye to Brian tomorrow, collect the last of my possessions from his trusty care. He will wish me all the best for the future.
I shall look longingly back at him as I leave the compoud - playing a montage of images and treasured moments in my mind to a beautiful soundtrack playing softly from his speakers.
(It will have to be softly because, well to be honest, his speakers never worked that well...)
And then back to reality, and the dreaded shopping for a new set of wheels...
Almost as important as purchasing the perfect pair of shoes.
Apparently that makes me a nervous flier.
I don't think it helped that the aeroplane was only marginally larger than the tiny ones little boys fly round their heads at the speed of light, making that delightful 'neeeeeeee-awwwww' sound. You know the one? Very irritating.
So yes, a nervous flier and a super excited Frank who had only found out about an hour before boarding that we were flying to Dublin for this birthday surprise. Much better than driving to Scotland which is what I had originally led him to believe.
If I have learnt anything in the last two and a half months, it is that 1) as a blogger you must regularly blog, 2) getting fit requires exercise and 3) I am an excellent (if that can be a good thing) liar.
Poor Frank had no idea and he'd heard so many tit bits of information and mistaken conversations that he really had no idea what I had planned for this birthday.
I must say I am a little smug.
We landed in a somewhat soggy Dublin, do not fear my friends, we are alive and well and arrived post flash flooding. I had eaten even less than when I had boarded the plane and desperately wanted coffee. But alas.
We had to fight our way to the baggage carousel to collect the lone bag I had paid to check into the hold because this little moron is incapable of reading a baggage measure scale thing. When I paid this particular low cost airline who's name coincidently rhymes with my car, an additional £50 for oversized bags - I was reading the 'lb' measure rather than 'kg'. (Much to Frank's amusement as I relayed this to him on the transfer bus from the car park)
I think perhaps I told Frank that it was fine, it was quite funny - but actually I was seething at my level of stupidity.
I have a degree and I am still unable to read scales. Wonderful. That £9,000 proved to be a worthwhile investment.
Anyway - we found our bus to take us to the centre of Dublin. Then we found the hotel. And then we wandered the streets. Aimlessly.
We hadn't yet located a local map.
Being the English tourists we were, Frank and I jumped onto a tour bus. We picked up a set of complimentary head phones and plugged ourselves into the sockets to listen to the tuneful renditions of traditional Irish ditties, as well as insightful facts about important buildings along the route.
Frank will deny it, but I am sure that he shut his eyes and slept part of the way round, we had been up since 6am. He argued his lack of sleep the following day by reboarding the tour bus and reciting each of the important facts before the recorded Irish man could say them. Some say Frank is gifted, others say he is wise. Me? I say that sometimes he is annoying (honestly I don't really Frank!) and I don't know how he does it. If I had been me 'sleeping' - I would have been out for the count, and no version of 'Whiskey in the jar' would stir me.
Frank awoke on Wednesday morning to a little pile of perfectly wrapped presents. These had caused no end of problems in security at the airport - that and the fact that my bag was so overloaded that the scanner couldn't actually see inside it. Oh and I basically had a full body search. Bloomin' ridiculous, how is one meant to smuggle a weapon in skinny jeans and fitted sweater?
So Frank had a lovely birthday morning, I treated him to a very swish breakfast in one of Dublin's oldest cafes. If ever you go - you must visit Bewley's on Grafton Street. It was lovely. Frank wolfed down a good old Irish breakfast (the distinguishing factor from its English counterpart was the absence of bakes beans and the addition of white pudding - bleurgh!)
And then?
Well when in Dublin...
Do as the Irish do.
Drink Guinness in the Guinness Storehouse of course.
Now, I ain't no fan of that heavy stuff, but actually I managed to drink a little more of it than usual without scowling. Maybe it was the fear of being lynched by Irish locals that made me keep it down!
Of course I am joking.
The Irish we encoutered were the most welcoming people I have ever met. Now Frank loves a good natter with anyone, and usually I smile apologetically to people - but here? Well I just let him chat.
In fact, I found myself conversing with strangers, and even with some Canadians.
Did you know that Ireland has the highest population of Americans and Canadians outside of North America?
Obviously I am lying. But it felt like it.
It was quite odd, but very funny to listen to their excited exclamations about "little Irish buildings", oh and the squillions of photos of ... "Me and Chuck by some bricks, me and Chuck on these cute little cobbled streets and ...oh these were good weren't they Chuck? What were they again? Oh yeah, pubs that's right - all those pubs. Here's me and Chuck eating Irish stew and ....."
Oh dear, I actually pity those poor folks back home!
Frank's biggest surprise, perhaps bigger than the actual trip, were the secret tickets to see Lee Evans on his last night at the Dublin O2.
Now, I'm not biased or anything, and he didn't pay me to say this - but he was absolutely fantastic! Frank had a cheshire cat grin throughout the entire stand up, and my tummy hurt from chuckling.
And to all those people who left early - yeah you, the guys who left when you thought it was the end, you know to beat the queues? Well you didn't get your full money's worth did you chaps? Oh no - that little sweaty monkey man continued for another twenty minutes!
We walked back a long the river side into the city centre. The River Liffey was exceptionally high, (because of the floodwater) but had a fat man jumped in - he would have displaced all the water onto the pavements and roads that ran along side.
It was quite a pretty walk. Dublin is very flat. Very pretty. But has a lot less street lights than London. There were a lot of dark patches. And some rather obscure sculptures of what looked like emaciated people.
Hmmm....
And then all of a sudden it was our last day in this lovely little city.
We spent the afternoon in Cafe En Seine, Dawson Street (another little hotspot to visit). It was all art deco and very suave. I felt like Frank should have been wearing spats and a suit and hat, and I should have had finger-waved hair, a fur coat, and a cigarette in a holder between perfectly painted red lips.
But no - we were not so overdressed.
We enjoyed the paper, drank coffee, and maybe a cheeky liquer coffees and then decided after a long afternoon of doing very little, that we really should move on and find somewhere else to consume our very last truly Irish Guinness.
That and the fact that we were being goaded to clear our tab by the waitressing staff who were trying to prepare the bar area for the evening.
Oh dear, we always seem to be in the way.
The only thing to put a little downer on our lovely week, was that Brian - my poor little Brian who was carted off to hospital last Friday, has been fighting a losing battle.
It turns out that his fight with Discovery wasn't quite so victorious. He came away more wounded than any of us would ever anticipate.
He has a damaged chassis.
The mechanic told me he was beyond economic repair.
Naturally I feel a saddness, and ache in my body (perhaps though this is the whiplash), but I know that letting Brian go is the right thing to do.
He will be donating his organs to other needy Ka's who have been injured and need help to recover from less serious incidents or merely to prolong their lives. It's what he would have wanted,.
I will say one last goodbye to Brian tomorrow, collect the last of my possessions from his trusty care. He will wish me all the best for the future.
I shall look longingly back at him as I leave the compoud - playing a montage of images and treasured moments in my mind to a beautiful soundtrack playing softly from his speakers.
(It will have to be softly because, well to be honest, his speakers never worked that well...)
And then back to reality, and the dreaded shopping for a new set of wheels...
Almost as important as purchasing the perfect pair of shoes.
Saturday, 22 October 2011
...And then Brian got shunted.
Yes, you read this correctly.
Brian had his rear ended rudely barged by an orange Land Rover Discovery.
(Who buys an orange 4x4 anyway?)
I was moments away from work, let a pedestrian cross and smash!
Poor Brian.
But somehow the 4x4 came off worse - cosmetically at least. I don't what what Brian looks like inside.
He's gone to hospital to have his bottom checked. It was just a bump but Mumma and Papa Dodd were concerned about invisible damage. So he's gone for an internal examination.
I had mine - just a bit of whiplash but Brian?
Still no news.
I feel like one of those people who pace up and down outside the operating theatre, but obviously with less drama.
And the worst of it all... While Brian is hoisted up in the car hospital and crying out in pain as the mechanics poke about his insides (no anaethestic for inanimate objects), I am cheating.
Yes my friends, cheating on Brian is the worst feeling of all, and with a brand new Corsa. How will my little Ka ever forgive me...
Perhaps if I tell him I thought of him every time I drove the Corsa, and he meant nothing to me?
Will that numb the pain of me deserting him for another who works better?
Oh the shame.
Come back to me Brian.
Brian had his rear ended rudely barged by an orange Land Rover Discovery.
(Who buys an orange 4x4 anyway?)
I was moments away from work, let a pedestrian cross and smash!
Poor Brian.
But somehow the 4x4 came off worse - cosmetically at least. I don't what what Brian looks like inside.
He's gone to hospital to have his bottom checked. It was just a bump but Mumma and Papa Dodd were concerned about invisible damage. So he's gone for an internal examination.
I had mine - just a bit of whiplash but Brian?
Still no news.
I feel like one of those people who pace up and down outside the operating theatre, but obviously with less drama.
And the worst of it all... While Brian is hoisted up in the car hospital and crying out in pain as the mechanics poke about his insides (no anaethestic for inanimate objects), I am cheating.
Yes my friends, cheating on Brian is the worst feeling of all, and with a brand new Corsa. How will my little Ka ever forgive me...
Perhaps if I tell him I thought of him every time I drove the Corsa, and he meant nothing to me?
Will that numb the pain of me deserting him for another who works better?
Oh the shame.
Come back to me Brian.
Monday, 17 October 2011
...And then I learnt a certain amount of etiquette.
( I also wanted to teach some too.)
Today's classroom of learning?
The gym.
Or more specifically perhaps - studio 2.
This evening, in studio 2, I decided to partake in a class. Gone are the aerobics and legs bums and tums that I can't keep up with... replaced with Pilates.
Having done it once or twice, buying a mat and DVD to do at home, and then losing interest, I'm not really sure what inspired me to go back. I think it may have been my lack of motivation to do anything remotely exercise based.
Unless it involved walking the mutt. Which I don't mind. Unless its raining or cold. Both of which it was this evening after work.
But today? Well something came over me.
I ran 2.5 miles on the treadmill in the gym before going down to the studio so I was already suitably exhausted. And incredibly sweaty.
However, I had the forethought to take a change of clothes.
So I mopped the sweat off me, redressed in clean clothes (never that satisfying when your body feels gross) and walked into studio 2.
Lesson #1
Don't take someone else's Pilates space. People are (by nature) very territorial and the exercise studio is no different.
Lesson #2
Arrive early enough so that you don't have to place your mat by the door where you have to listen to the banter of lads preparing for an indoor football game whilst trying to find your centre. (It also means that you will be well and truly surrounded by other Pilates-ers when the person who's space you pinched by arriving early enters the room. This is tatical pilates play and should not be attempted by beginners. An advanced Pilates-er has a much stronger core than you. This is a secret strength and is deadly when used correctly.)
Lesson #3
It is advisable to do a little bit at a time. Don't try and be the best ever, most super pilates-er ever. Never overestimate your stretchiness because my god, does it hurt and you look like a moron huffing and puffing by the door. If at this point, anyone had not realised you were new... they will now.
Lesson #4
Never copy someone else. Chances are they're doing it wrong. The instructer doesn't have the heart to tell the woman who's been attending for weeks that the moves are wrong and actually she isn't doing pilates at all, instead she will tell you. Infront of the whole class and pull/push your body into muscle destroying stretches, while you do your best to hold back the expletives and tears of pain.
Lesson #5
If you have eaten brussel sprouts, beans, bananas, shredded wheat, raisins or any other fibreous food find a way of releasing the trapped wind before entering the class.
Lesson #6
If someone in the pilates class does happen to experience the ever-feared passing of gas - DO NOT laugh. You will be the only one who does so and there will be lots of stern expressions.
Lesson #6a
If the pilates-er who ate brussels was the same person who's space you pinched, laughing will make the situation much worse.
Lesson #7
Position yourself in such a way so that when attempting these core building exercises you do not touch anyone. At all. Pilates-er's do not like to be touched. Even a little foot graze is too much of an invasion of space. Apologise. Sincerely. Without giggling like a school girl and reposition yourself so that you hit the wall every time you move. Thus only injuring yourself without destroying the calm and serene atmosphere.
Lesson #8
Do not offer your towel to anyone else. Regardless of how sweaty they are, or how much you think it might help. They will not only be utterly disgusted (more so by this than the wind with no owner), but they will think you barbaric and uncivilised.
Lesson #9
Avoid drinking lots of water. And if you must (because you did cardio before arriving) at least remember to go the toilet. Pilates is all about core muscles. Core muscles control your bladder. Excessive squeezing and releasing plays dirty tricks on your mind and you may think that you will wet yourself. If this is the case ... grin and bear it. Leaving a pilates class before the end is a sin, and you will be punished by the muscle stretching instructor.
Lesson #10
A true pilates-er does not flick the exercise mat in the air when rolling it up. A true pilates-er knows the health and safety risks of this method and will instead roll it along the floor, thereby removing the risk of whipping a fellow pilates-er in the face.
If you have learnt these 10 basic lessons, you may return to your second class. Or avoid the humiliation and never attend again. Perhaps try yoga instead. Similar exercise but you can start afresh with a new set of people.
And the etiquette lesson I should like to teach?
Lesson #1
An all-female changing does not allow you to walk around starkers. Women may appreciate that they are all-female, but do not need to see it all. Get yourself a towel for the shower (infact make that two towels so that you don't use the only one you have to wrap your hair up) and go into a cubicle.
The locker area is for changing shoes, removing layers and blow-drying hair once dressed, not for stripping down to bare it all.
Many thanks.
Today's classroom of learning?
The gym.
Or more specifically perhaps - studio 2.
This evening, in studio 2, I decided to partake in a class. Gone are the aerobics and legs bums and tums that I can't keep up with... replaced with Pilates.
Having done it once or twice, buying a mat and DVD to do at home, and then losing interest, I'm not really sure what inspired me to go back. I think it may have been my lack of motivation to do anything remotely exercise based.
Unless it involved walking the mutt. Which I don't mind. Unless its raining or cold. Both of which it was this evening after work.
But today? Well something came over me.
I ran 2.5 miles on the treadmill in the gym before going down to the studio so I was already suitably exhausted. And incredibly sweaty.
However, I had the forethought to take a change of clothes.
So I mopped the sweat off me, redressed in clean clothes (never that satisfying when your body feels gross) and walked into studio 2.
Lesson #1
Don't take someone else's Pilates space. People are (by nature) very territorial and the exercise studio is no different.
Lesson #2
Arrive early enough so that you don't have to place your mat by the door where you have to listen to the banter of lads preparing for an indoor football game whilst trying to find your centre. (It also means that you will be well and truly surrounded by other Pilates-ers when the person who's space you pinched by arriving early enters the room. This is tatical pilates play and should not be attempted by beginners. An advanced Pilates-er has a much stronger core than you. This is a secret strength and is deadly when used correctly.)
Lesson #3
It is advisable to do a little bit at a time. Don't try and be the best ever, most super pilates-er ever. Never overestimate your stretchiness because my god, does it hurt and you look like a moron huffing and puffing by the door. If at this point, anyone had not realised you were new... they will now.
Lesson #4
Never copy someone else. Chances are they're doing it wrong. The instructer doesn't have the heart to tell the woman who's been attending for weeks that the moves are wrong and actually she isn't doing pilates at all, instead she will tell you. Infront of the whole class and pull/push your body into muscle destroying stretches, while you do your best to hold back the expletives and tears of pain.
Lesson #5
If you have eaten brussel sprouts, beans, bananas, shredded wheat, raisins or any other fibreous food find a way of releasing the trapped wind before entering the class.
Lesson #6
If someone in the pilates class does happen to experience the ever-feared passing of gas - DO NOT laugh. You will be the only one who does so and there will be lots of stern expressions.
Lesson #6a
If the pilates-er who ate brussels was the same person who's space you pinched, laughing will make the situation much worse.
Lesson #7
Position yourself in such a way so that when attempting these core building exercises you do not touch anyone. At all. Pilates-er's do not like to be touched. Even a little foot graze is too much of an invasion of space. Apologise. Sincerely. Without giggling like a school girl and reposition yourself so that you hit the wall every time you move. Thus only injuring yourself without destroying the calm and serene atmosphere.
Lesson #8
Do not offer your towel to anyone else. Regardless of how sweaty they are, or how much you think it might help. They will not only be utterly disgusted (more so by this than the wind with no owner), but they will think you barbaric and uncivilised.
Lesson #9
Avoid drinking lots of water. And if you must (because you did cardio before arriving) at least remember to go the toilet. Pilates is all about core muscles. Core muscles control your bladder. Excessive squeezing and releasing plays dirty tricks on your mind and you may think that you will wet yourself. If this is the case ... grin and bear it. Leaving a pilates class before the end is a sin, and you will be punished by the muscle stretching instructor.
Lesson #10
A true pilates-er does not flick the exercise mat in the air when rolling it up. A true pilates-er knows the health and safety risks of this method and will instead roll it along the floor, thereby removing the risk of whipping a fellow pilates-er in the face.
If you have learnt these 10 basic lessons, you may return to your second class. Or avoid the humiliation and never attend again. Perhaps try yoga instead. Similar exercise but you can start afresh with a new set of people.
And the etiquette lesson I should like to teach?
Lesson #1
An all-female changing does not allow you to walk around starkers. Women may appreciate that they are all-female, but do not need to see it all. Get yourself a towel for the shower (infact make that two towels so that you don't use the only one you have to wrap your hair up) and go into a cubicle.
The locker area is for changing shoes, removing layers and blow-drying hair once dressed, not for stripping down to bare it all.
Many thanks.
Tuesday, 11 October 2011
...And then it was 7 days late.
Obviously I'm talking about a post.
Not anything else, don't worry Frank. Or Mumma.
This has post has been a long time coming and I don't even have any exciting news to fill it.
Except that even though I should be the most stressed out person in the world, I'm actually a little too laid back right now - aside from literally reclining into a deep pile of cushions.
I blame it all on my weekend.
I had the most uneventful and stress free journey to Ipswich.
I saw my first most perfect and complete rainbow (practically drove under it, even though I know it's the refraction of light through water droplets in the sky so you can't possibly 'drive under it'... it felt like a girly and magical moment all the same.)
I became one of the people I hate the most on motorways ... not a lane hogger, just a slow driver. And we're talking Grandma slow.
And it meant that I arrived at Frank's calm. There was no anger. No frustration but I was so relaxed I almost fell asleep.
I was taken out for a lovely lunch on a boat. I knew it was posh when I saw tablecloths, fabric napkins, too many glasses and more than one set of cutlery. It was such a treat.
Mmmm and so good. Thanks Frank!
Then we drank a lot in the evening. Call it 'teacher bonding' or 'team development' if you like, I like to call it 'Getting off yer face'. And it was a right laugh. As always.
Sunday was lunch with Frank's family. Good old roast dinner... mmm
I'll I've done is eat.
And its great.
I don't even feel that bad about not going to the gym.
Maybe I'll get around to it later, but I doubt. Too much else going on right now.
Ooh must dash, dinner smells done.
mmmm fish pie!
God I could eat a horse if I wasn't utterly disgusted by the idea/
Not anything else, don't worry Frank. Or Mumma.
This has post has been a long time coming and I don't even have any exciting news to fill it.
Except that even though I should be the most stressed out person in the world, I'm actually a little too laid back right now - aside from literally reclining into a deep pile of cushions.
I blame it all on my weekend.
I had the most uneventful and stress free journey to Ipswich.
I saw my first most perfect and complete rainbow (practically drove under it, even though I know it's the refraction of light through water droplets in the sky so you can't possibly 'drive under it'... it felt like a girly and magical moment all the same.)
I became one of the people I hate the most on motorways ... not a lane hogger, just a slow driver. And we're talking Grandma slow.
And it meant that I arrived at Frank's calm. There was no anger. No frustration but I was so relaxed I almost fell asleep.
I was taken out for a lovely lunch on a boat. I knew it was posh when I saw tablecloths, fabric napkins, too many glasses and more than one set of cutlery. It was such a treat.
Mmmm and so good. Thanks Frank!
Then we drank a lot in the evening. Call it 'teacher bonding' or 'team development' if you like, I like to call it 'Getting off yer face'. And it was a right laugh. As always.
Sunday was lunch with Frank's family. Good old roast dinner... mmm
I'll I've done is eat.
And its great.
I don't even feel that bad about not going to the gym.
Maybe I'll get around to it later, but I doubt. Too much else going on right now.
Ooh must dash, dinner smells done.
mmmm fish pie!
God I could eat a horse if I wasn't utterly disgusted by the idea/
Tuesday, 4 October 2011
...And then there was a walk with the Mutt.
The sky was clouding over.
The wind was picking up.
The dark night was setting in.
But... Well the Mutt can't walk herself.
She might.
But I don't think she'd make it back.
And if she did, it would take hours.
I think she would lose herself in sniffing strange smells.
So I must act as a chaperone.
Actually it was quite a nice walk. I plugged myself into a music playing device and had quite a varied soundtrack.
And I forgot all about the potentially terrible weather.
I even had a bit of a sweat (or glow) on by the time I got home.
What a lovely Tuesday.
And winter is definitely on its way...
The wind was picking up.
The dark night was setting in.
But... Well the Mutt can't walk herself.
She might.
But I don't think she'd make it back.
And if she did, it would take hours.
I think she would lose herself in sniffing strange smells.
So I must act as a chaperone.
Actually it was quite a nice walk. I plugged myself into a music playing device and had quite a varied soundtrack.
And I forgot all about the potentially terrible weather.
I even had a bit of a sweat (or glow) on by the time I got home.
What a lovely Tuesday.
And winter is definitely on its way...
Monday, 3 October 2011
...And then there was an innoculation.
Yes, that's right my friends - this less than sickly child has had a flu jab.
(Much to the disgust of Miss USA who couldn't see the point in protecting myself against three particular strains of flu... out of hundreds, if not thousands of mutations of the flu virus. When put like that - neither can I.)
I'm not really sure why I opted to have a needle jabbed in my arm.
The worst I get is the sniffles.
I've never had a flu jab.
My immune system is pretty hardy.
But what if... what if, this was the year I get struck down by the virus!
So yes, my am may be aching a whole lot more than is perhaps deemed necessary but I'm hoping I'll be healthier than usual.
Watch this space!
(Much to the disgust of Miss USA who couldn't see the point in protecting myself against three particular strains of flu... out of hundreds, if not thousands of mutations of the flu virus. When put like that - neither can I.)
I'm not really sure why I opted to have a needle jabbed in my arm.
The worst I get is the sniffles.
I've never had a flu jab.
My immune system is pretty hardy.
But what if... what if, this was the year I get struck down by the virus!
So yes, my am may be aching a whole lot more than is perhaps deemed necessary but I'm hoping I'll be healthier than usual.
Watch this space!
Sunday, 2 October 2011
...And then there was an omnibus **.
** "...Pertaining to, including, or dealing with numerous objects or items at once..."
Which is precisely what I am doing now, having not written since Monday. A downright shocking attempt at being a regular blogger. However, at least I didn't let it drag into two weeks of silence.
I feel I must begin with the overtly British topic of the weather, since that has been all that has graced various conversations this week. I am aware that we are having lovely weather, and yes I am also aware that yesterday's temperatures make this the hottest autmn on record... but please can we stop talking about it?
I know it's hot.
I don't really like that it's hot.
I want to be wearing boots and scarves please. It was September and now it's October. I want proper autumn clothes please
This morning, I did almost succumb to the heat and consider (albeit briefly) wearing shorts. It meant foraging for them in the depths of drawers and now that our calendar summer is gone, my 'tan' has faded. I say 'tan', really it was a skin shade darker than my natual British glow... or translucence, if I'm being honest.
Rather than display this less than worthy attempt at a summer body, I opted for a simpler (and safer) combination.
I resorted to jeans and a pretty camisole, choosing to save the eyes of the British public. But some did not act with this level of thought or common courtesy. I saw bottom skimming shorts on bottoms that were eating them, and topless men who were sporting larger and considerably more wobbly 'pecs' than some females.
It appears that our judgement of appropriate attire flies out the open window as soon as the sunshine rears its happy yellow face from behind usual English blanket of grey cloud.
I beg you people, please consult a full length mirror before leaving the house... and if in doubt - don't.
Call me harsh, rude, unnecessary, mean, bitchy ... but you will all thank me for the preventative measure since I know (and secretly you do too) that we will never be able to say "Joe/Joanne Bloggs, I don't think you should wear that." It's so much easier to smile (covering the grimace) and say "Oh I like your shorts."
So aside from bizarre wardrobe choices, what other events must I share with you this week?
- On Tuesday, Reese's Pieces (a staple of the American candy store and delivered with love by Miss USA) saved my life at 3 o'clock. Or choc o'clock as it has become known by the team. It appears our sugar levels drop simultaneously so we pull various assortments of cocoa-based snacks from our secret hiding places (never trust sugar deprived women, even if they are colleagues) and enjoy a brief mid afternoon siesta - without the sleep. Except my chocolate stash was empty and I had forgotten to replenish my stores. Apparently Miss USA has two stashes - her draw and her handbag! Excellent planning.
- It was announced this week by the Transport Minister that they were considering raising the speed limit on UK motorways from 70mph to 80mph.
Phillip Hammond, Transport Secretary, was quoted on the BBC Radio 1 news saying
"...We will be bringing all those drivers who regularly speed back on to the right side of the law..."
May I just say that this is a truly wonderful plan. Rather than fining those drivers who speed we'll just raise the limit to encompass them instead.
I will admit, and not proudly, that there are occassions on the M25 when my speedometer is waggling furiously over the 80 mark. And I slow down again. But if we make the limit 80mph, doesn't this mean we'll probably end up doing 90mph before saying "..Whoopsy! I must slow down"
And surely Mr Hammond (not of Top Gear fame - who I'm sure will have something to say about this new plan), increasing the maximum speed will increase the number of accidents. We aren't used to driving at 90mph and will probably underestimate the thinking time and stopping distance...
Don't say I didn't warn you.
Besides Brian can't drive at 90mph, so I'll be one of those annoying drivers. The ones I hate.
- I also needed a hair cut. Nothing extravagent. Nothing exciting. I realised that it was time to face my hairdresser. There were some serious split ends to sort out and I had to admit that I'd been dying my hair myself.
I would happily say I was quite assertive. I'm quite happy to speak my mind. But when faced with a skilled hairdresser brandishing sharp scissors... You say anything to keep your hair safe. I walked out with a perfectly normal hair cut. And an appointment for colour.
It's fine, I can cancel it later.
- There was a moment this week, when I thought I could move out. And rent. Ha. Fat chance. Turns out that I can't do either. My maths skills and saving aren't too great. I thought they were alright. So that was a bit of a reality check. I set a new goal though - so I'll be a grown up little girl soon. (Living on baked beans again.)
- Oh and I don't like Pop Tarts. (Sorry Miss Hendo, I know they came all the way from Vegas)
And here we are... Sunday night.
I'm full up with roast dinner (and a cheeky Wispa), the headache I had is gone, I've done nothing (sometimes that nice)... oh I dyed Mumma Dodd's hair (sorry, I lied) and now? Well I'm sat ready to wait for a bit of Downton Abbey.
Can't wait.
Have a good week everyone - lets fast forward through Monday.
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