I'm a wannabe illustrator who muses over life's little oddities and daydreams about that dream job landing in my lap. Whilst I wait for this to happen, I illustrate for my blog, do the odd commission and hold down a 'proper' project management job that pays the bills.
Wednesday, May 02, 2012
I've moved
I have moved my blog to a slightly new address. I can now be found on bighairmetamorphosis.wordpress.com.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Hair removal
In
case anyone is thinking about having their tache and brows threaded (an ancient form of hair removal), be
sure that you have nothing planned after the event. The Ronald
McDonald look isn't too attractive!
Saturday, April 28, 2012
A top city!
So we are into our fourth week in the new pad in Sheffield! The move has tested our relationship, our stamina, our strength and our packing abilities to their limits. I tend to agree when they say the stress of moving is number two on the list of Top Ten Most Stressful Experiences, the first being bereavement!
After the fourth day of trundling along the motorway in the cabin of our white van, littered with empty coffee cups, half eaten sandwiches and yorkie wrappers, emotions were running high. Our muscles complained from countless trips up and down three flights of stairs to our flat, balancing box upon box of 13 years of accumulated clutter.
As the last bag was dragged through the door, we congratulated ourselves on a job well done - it is quite a feat trying to cram the contents of a three bedroom, three story house into a one and a half bedroom flat. Consolidating one's personal possessions into 'can' or 'can't-live-without' piles, is time consuming and tedious especially when one is predisposed to putting everything in the 'can't live without' pile.
I knew things weren't going to be plain sailing when two weeks before the move we tackled our first and smallest cupboard, the 'Sports Cupboard'. This tiny space under the stairs had somehow metamorphosed into a tardis of equipment, half of which I'd never seen or worn before. Buried far far beneath the leggings, the hoodies, the skorts and shorts, the rugby tops, the tennis tees, the fencing gear, the softball pants, the padded cycling trousers, the bag of mismatched socks, the ice skating shirts and boots, the trainers and badminton rackets, was a bag of L's school exercise books and a mountain of teddy bears (origins unkown). It was like an archaeological dig. Much haggling ensued as we set about our mission:
'You can't keep that, it's dated!'
'But it's my cheese cloth shirt from 25 years ago' she says, stating the obvious.
'It wouldn't even make a good dishcloth! And unless you're planning on founding a commune in the woods, it's got to go...give me one good reason why we should keep it?'
She fumbles for a reason...
'You'd forgotten you even owned the rag until we just unearthed it...' I say, remembering the time I purposely buried it in the cupboard, not wanting to throw it away for fear of reprimand but determined to prevent L from ever wearing it again. Out of sight, out of mind.
'But it's one of my faaavourites!' she whines.
'So here's the ultimatum, you can keep that rag if you get rid of the green, oh-so-butchy army pants with the 20,000 pockets!' Yet another item of clothing I purposely banished to bottom of the cupboard.
And so it went on...for two whole hours (that was just the Sports Cupboard!). I hasten to add that both the cheese cloth shirt and the oh-so-butchy army pants made it into the 'can live without' pile. PHEW!
After systematically tackling each cupboard of the house, bartering, arguing and sulking along the way, until we felt thoroughly cleansed. L is now convinced that we could lead a minimalist life but I'm dubious. When you have a collection of over 100 piggy banks and have trouble parting with your favourite socks which are so holey they're practically leg warmers, there's no hope!
So Sheffield, the city of steel! The first stainless steel was invented here in 1913 by a man called Harry Brearley. We've been here less than a month and already I love it! The first thing you notice is that Sheffield is very, very hilly. It has done wonders for my thighs and my cardio vascular fitness.
Whenever one moves to a new city, they inevitably have to start from scratch on the friendship front. Ideally, one should throw themselves into a new team sport, group pass time or creative activity that paves the way for extended conversation, drinks and ultimately friendship! Although pigeon racing - a true Yorkshire activity - might be a good place to start, I'm not sure the participants would necessarily be my future best friends (I'm not talking about the pigeons). So, with no life drawing classes or softball teams to note, what else is there except....AFRICAN DRUMMING! Oh YEAH!
On a whim L and I signed up to a taster session and found ourselves amongst an odd group of people. L's cheese cloth shirt may not have been a faux pas with this motley crew. There was one particularly scary 6ft lady of considerable girth who, in a trance like state, beat the Dundun drums for the full 1.5 hour session, neither missing a beat nor cracking a smile. Her menancing stare was unfortunate, as was her lack of neckline and 5 o'clock shadow. But, don't judge a book by its cover I say.
Run by a man with extraordinary caffeine-induced energy, who has a tendancy to jump up and down whilst yipping to the beat, it turns out that African Drumming is decidedly good fun. It appeals to ones inner tribal warrior. The leader's enthusiasm is infectious, even the quietest and shyest people in the group were soon beating their Djembe drum and jigging along chanting the phrase 'I like cheese' in time with the beat - don't ask!
As yet we haven't identified any new friend material but we have the whole 10 week course to get to know people. A slight flaw in our plan might be that drumming is not conducive to conversation.
There's still much to explore and many walks to discover and I'm looking forward to the rest of the year. For now, Sheffield is living up to its reputation as a diverse city with a rich heritage and soul.
After the fourth day of trundling along the motorway in the cabin of our white van, littered with empty coffee cups, half eaten sandwiches and yorkie wrappers, emotions were running high. Our muscles complained from countless trips up and down three flights of stairs to our flat, balancing box upon box of 13 years of accumulated clutter.
As the last bag was dragged through the door, we congratulated ourselves on a job well done - it is quite a feat trying to cram the contents of a three bedroom, three story house into a one and a half bedroom flat. Consolidating one's personal possessions into 'can' or 'can't-live-without' piles, is time consuming and tedious especially when one is predisposed to putting everything in the 'can't live without' pile.
I knew things weren't going to be plain sailing when two weeks before the move we tackled our first and smallest cupboard, the 'Sports Cupboard'. This tiny space under the stairs had somehow metamorphosed into a tardis of equipment, half of which I'd never seen or worn before. Buried far far beneath the leggings, the hoodies, the skorts and shorts, the rugby tops, the tennis tees, the fencing gear, the softball pants, the padded cycling trousers, the bag of mismatched socks, the ice skating shirts and boots, the trainers and badminton rackets, was a bag of L's school exercise books and a mountain of teddy bears (origins unkown). It was like an archaeological dig. Much haggling ensued as we set about our mission:
'You can't keep that, it's dated!'
'But it's my cheese cloth shirt from 25 years ago' she says, stating the obvious.
'It wouldn't even make a good dishcloth! And unless you're planning on founding a commune in the woods, it's got to go...give me one good reason why we should keep it?'
She fumbles for a reason...
'You'd forgotten you even owned the rag until we just unearthed it...' I say, remembering the time I purposely buried it in the cupboard, not wanting to throw it away for fear of reprimand but determined to prevent L from ever wearing it again. Out of sight, out of mind.
'But it's one of my faaavourites!' she whines.
'So here's the ultimatum, you can keep that rag if you get rid of the green, oh-so-butchy army pants with the 20,000 pockets!' Yet another item of clothing I purposely banished to bottom of the cupboard.
And so it went on...for two whole hours (that was just the Sports Cupboard!). I hasten to add that both the cheese cloth shirt and the oh-so-butchy army pants made it into the 'can live without' pile. PHEW!
After systematically tackling each cupboard of the house, bartering, arguing and sulking along the way, until we felt thoroughly cleansed. L is now convinced that we could lead a minimalist life but I'm dubious. When you have a collection of over 100 piggy banks and have trouble parting with your favourite socks which are so holey they're practically leg warmers, there's no hope!
So Sheffield, the city of steel! The first stainless steel was invented here in 1913 by a man called Harry Brearley. We've been here less than a month and already I love it! The first thing you notice is that Sheffield is very, very hilly. It has done wonders for my thighs and my cardio vascular fitness.
One of Sheffield's best attributes is its location. The city is within spitting distance of the peak district - Hathersage, Longshaw Estate, Frogget Edge, Bakewell and many more scenic villages are all within 30 minutes of our front door. We are enthusiastically exploring the moorland
walks after work and have now created a new cupboard, 'The walking
cupboard', where our previously underused walking equipment has pride of
place. Four weeks in, and we still feel as though we are on an extended holiday.
Most mornings before work, I busy myself exploring the local area, testing coffee shops and breathing in the fresh, peak district air. I'm nurturing ruddy cheeks and have been quite surprised that Yorkshire men do indeed live up to the stereotype. I have seen more whippets in the last four weeks than I ever saw during my 12 years in Nottingham! If you aren't sure what a whippet looks like - it is a small, unnaturally skinny version of a greyhound. They can often be seen wearing a coat to protect their skeletal form from the elements and their sad eyes seem only to communicate one thing, 'Feed Me!' (excuse the drawing, I'm testing my new graphics pad).
Whenever one moves to a new city, they inevitably have to start from scratch on the friendship front. Ideally, one should throw themselves into a new team sport, group pass time or creative activity that paves the way for extended conversation, drinks and ultimately friendship! Although pigeon racing - a true Yorkshire activity - might be a good place to start, I'm not sure the participants would necessarily be my future best friends (I'm not talking about the pigeons). So, with no life drawing classes or softball teams to note, what else is there except....AFRICAN DRUMMING! Oh YEAH!
On a whim L and I signed up to a taster session and found ourselves amongst an odd group of people. L's cheese cloth shirt may not have been a faux pas with this motley crew. There was one particularly scary 6ft lady of considerable girth who, in a trance like state, beat the Dundun drums for the full 1.5 hour session, neither missing a beat nor cracking a smile. Her menancing stare was unfortunate, as was her lack of neckline and 5 o'clock shadow. But, don't judge a book by its cover I say.
Run by a man with extraordinary caffeine-induced energy, who has a tendancy to jump up and down whilst yipping to the beat, it turns out that African Drumming is decidedly good fun. It appeals to ones inner tribal warrior. The leader's enthusiasm is infectious, even the quietest and shyest people in the group were soon beating their Djembe drum and jigging along chanting the phrase 'I like cheese' in time with the beat - don't ask!
There's still much to explore and many walks to discover and I'm looking forward to the rest of the year. For now, Sheffield is living up to its reputation as a diverse city with a rich heritage and soul.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Silent rooms
Yesterday our big fat ginger cat left for a new home and a new life. The decision to give him away seemed sensible given that we will be starting a new chapter in our own lives too. A move to a new city, a new job and a new flat (which doesn't allow pets) meant we had to make a difficult choice.
Since adopting the cat three years ago, he has been the source of many different emotions: annoyance at his 20 minute conversations that consist of 'meow, meow, meow' even after he's been fed and groomed to within an inch of his life; murderous when he tangles himself around your feet if you are in a hurry or carrying pans of hot food across the kitchen; disgust at his tendency to drool whilst purring and padding in contentment on your tummy or worse, when he sneezes the excess drool over your face if something tickles his nasal passages; amusement at his 'mad' half hour when he runs around the house batting anything that moves; delight when he loudly attempts to sneak up on a fat pigeon then visibly sighs when he inevitably fails; but most of all, he made us love him and now he's gone, the house feels empty and the rooms are all quiet.
There's no one to great you as you step through the front door or feline calls of 'is anyone there, I need company?' if we are upstairs busying ourselves in the office. I miss the half hour before bed time when he chooses to sit on my lap and keep me company with a purr like an outboard motor. My big, fat ginger friend has gone and I miss him. So here is a tribute to fatty - I hope they look after you in your new home and appreciate your loveable personality and odd little quirks!
Since adopting the cat three years ago, he has been the source of many different emotions: annoyance at his 20 minute conversations that consist of 'meow, meow, meow' even after he's been fed and groomed to within an inch of his life; murderous when he tangles himself around your feet if you are in a hurry or carrying pans of hot food across the kitchen; disgust at his tendency to drool whilst purring and padding in contentment on your tummy or worse, when he sneezes the excess drool over your face if something tickles his nasal passages; amusement at his 'mad' half hour when he runs around the house batting anything that moves; delight when he loudly attempts to sneak up on a fat pigeon then visibly sighs when he inevitably fails; but most of all, he made us love him and now he's gone, the house feels empty and the rooms are all quiet.
There's no one to great you as you step through the front door or feline calls of 'is anyone there, I need company?' if we are upstairs busying ourselves in the office. I miss the half hour before bed time when he chooses to sit on my lap and keep me company with a purr like an outboard motor. My big, fat ginger friend has gone and I miss him. So here is a tribute to fatty - I hope they look after you in your new home and appreciate your loveable personality and odd little quirks!
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Ageing...
Well isn't getting old a funny thing! Yesterday I saw a couple of boys hanging over the fence that surrounds the primary school near my house. The boys were deep in conversation, gazing wistfully across the playground as children shrieked and laughed during their lunch break. As I passed by, I could hear them talking
"...yeah I heard it's gone down hill since then..."
"do you remember when we used to...", "I can't believe it's been seven years"
A pause whilst they silently reminisced.
"Seven years?!!! has it really been that long?! SEVEN YEARS?!"
It made me smile. 18 years old and wondering where the time had gone.
As my close circle of friends are now predominately in their 40's, the question of 'where has the time gone?' crops up more and more. I have a few years to go but the little changes are starting creep in. It is fatal inspecting yourself in the mirror - when did all these wrinkles start to appear? Why is my chin as downy as a mouse's bottom? And good God, what's with all the salt and pepper in my hairline? I'm only 35!
In my head I'm still an 18 year old. Nothing much has changed except I find myself feeling a little more irritated by the headphone-wearing teenagers who play their music so loud everyone on the bus can still hear it. I have to bite my tongue to avoid tutting at the students who ruin my quiet drink in the pub with raucous, drunken laughter and too much frivolity! The idea of a suburban disco for the person that can't be bothered to go into town, drink until they're seeing double, queue to get into an expensive club that doesn't open until 12am, then stagger home at 5am to sleep off a hangover, is actually quite appealing.
I heard someone on the radio a few weeks ago, she was in her 70's and said "age is like a train and you're standing on the platform watching it whizz by". I quite agree. I shall not try to defeat it but I may try to hide it with a cupboard full of anti-ageing balms, night repairing cream, bag busting gels and pots of hair dye...or maybe I'll just put my feet up, drink a cup of tea and listen to radio 4!
"...yeah I heard it's gone down hill since then..."
"do you remember when we used to...", "I can't believe it's been seven years"
A pause whilst they silently reminisced.
"Seven years?!!! has it really been that long?! SEVEN YEARS?!"
It made me smile. 18 years old and wondering where the time had gone.
As my close circle of friends are now predominately in their 40's, the question of 'where has the time gone?' crops up more and more. I have a few years to go but the little changes are starting creep in. It is fatal inspecting yourself in the mirror - when did all these wrinkles start to appear? Why is my chin as downy as a mouse's bottom? And good God, what's with all the salt and pepper in my hairline? I'm only 35!
In my head I'm still an 18 year old. Nothing much has changed except I find myself feeling a little more irritated by the headphone-wearing teenagers who play their music so loud everyone on the bus can still hear it. I have to bite my tongue to avoid tutting at the students who ruin my quiet drink in the pub with raucous, drunken laughter and too much frivolity! The idea of a suburban disco for the person that can't be bothered to go into town, drink until they're seeing double, queue to get into an expensive club that doesn't open until 12am, then stagger home at 5am to sleep off a hangover, is actually quite appealing.
I heard someone on the radio a few weeks ago, she was in her 70's and said "age is like a train and you're standing on the platform watching it whizz by". I quite agree. I shall not try to defeat it but I may try to hide it with a cupboard full of anti-ageing balms, night repairing cream, bag busting gels and pots of hair dye...or maybe I'll just put my feet up, drink a cup of tea and listen to radio 4!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Commercialised Declaration of Love Day
So you're either an abstainer or a partaker, but do we really need to be told when, where and how to declare our love for someone? On February the 14th, we all rush around like crazed animals trying to searching for that overpriced token gesture that tells our other halves we care when actually, we could do this at any other time of the year for free (or considerably cheaper). And whilst all the couples are panick buying bunches of roses, chocolates and V-day card, those without someone to share Valentine's day have it rubbed in their face every which way. You can't escape, it's everywhere - even on the GOOGLE logo <sigh>!
Sunday, February 05, 2012
Relationships in a mobile age
As I sat in bed the other night with my ipad in one hand and my phone in the other, having just dropped the ipad on my head and reprimanded L for laughing uncontrollably, it suddenly occurred to me that we'd hardly spoken a word to each other all day.
We often have extended conversations via Twitter, Facebook or text, yet put us in a coffee shop together with the intention of having a face to face conversation, and we both instinctively reach for our phones to tweet to the world that we are sitting in a coffee shop and the day is rainy or sunny or windy or snowy and the barista has just made a pretty picture in the coffee froth!
I'm ever so slightly concerned that the panic I feel when I've left my phone at home is an indicator of an addiction. After a short while, I get twitchy and start tapping on any shiny surface that resembles a touch screen. No doubt if I was left without my phone for long enough, I'd resort to conversations that were limited to a maximum of 100 characters or end up speaking in the third person: "Bighair hasn't seen you for a while and wants to know if you've had a good week?" "Bighair is suggesting that you and she go to the pub for a swift pint sometime soon", "Bighair is going offline"!
How did we ever get by without mobile technology and will my ability to hold a real conversation simply fade away? Will human kind evolve to talk only with their thumbs? Who knows - I must now go and tweet this cartoon.
Friday, February 03, 2012
Baltic!
Yes, it is really, really cold. -4C to be precise! Ok, so everything is relative, I mean the conditions aren't on a par with North Pole (yet) but the latest Big Freeze is quite enough to give me an insight, and frankly, unless I had my own supply of seal furs, walrus blubber and an Eskimo, I'm quite happy to continue whinging about -4C.
Last night I had the misfortune to travel for two hours on a train with no heating! Everyone on board was wrapped up, grown men were shivering and tourists were pulling spare jumpers from their suitcases for extra warmth. It feels like a real winter - we just need some snow.
Last night I had the misfortune to travel for two hours on a train with no heating! Everyone on board was wrapped up, grown men were shivering and tourists were pulling spare jumpers from their suitcases for extra warmth. It feels like a real winter - we just need some snow.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Life drawing
In a recent bid to get myself out of the house more often, I decided to go to Life Drawing lessons with a friend of mine. It's been some time since I sat in front of a naked person (with the intention of drawing them), so I wasn't sure what to expect.
At previous classes, the model has been in the middle of a large room, with plenty of personal space for everyone. This session was rather more intimate and my low chair meant my line of vision was, shall we say...unfortunate.
Funnily enough, and without consciously deciding to, I managed to omit all traces of genitalia from my sketches. It wasn't until I started to draw the scenario in cartoon format that I realised what I'd done. Anyway - I've just spent most of the day drawing this strip instead of doing my tax returns.
At previous classes, the model has been in the middle of a large room, with plenty of personal space for everyone. This session was rather more intimate and my low chair meant my line of vision was, shall we say...unfortunate.
Funnily enough, and without consciously deciding to, I managed to omit all traces of genitalia from my sketches. It wasn't until I started to draw the scenario in cartoon format that I realised what I'd done. Anyway - I've just spent most of the day drawing this strip instead of doing my tax returns.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Cat in window
My friend walks past my house most mornings as she takes her daughters to school. And most mornings my cat spends the hour between 8.00 and 9.00am gazing dreamily out of the window, gawping at passersby. Recently, one of my friend's daughters said she saw 'fatty' (yes that's his name) smiling at her.
I pondered this for a time - perhaps it is like the question - 'do bears S*** in the woods'? We know they probably do, but we never see it happen. So I reckon my cat does smile at the children as they pass by, but only briefly and not while the parents are looking.
I have attempted a cartoon strip that illustrates how I think it happens... It needs some work, but here is the first attempt.
I pondered this for a time - perhaps it is like the question - 'do bears S*** in the woods'? We know they probably do, but we never see it happen. So I reckon my cat does smile at the children as they pass by, but only briefly and not while the parents are looking.
I have attempted a cartoon strip that illustrates how I think it happens... It needs some work, but here is the first attempt.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Fat Club
So, pretty much every woman in history has at some point, looked down at their belly and thought to themselves..."Crikey! Where the hell did that come from?!!"
I am no different...and so with the new year spread out before me, I, along with a gazillion other women have given up my 'syns' and taken solace in group therapy for fat people. Yes, Slimming World, Weight Watchers, Fat Burners R Us...whatever you want to call it...January is the signal for women the world over to wave their carrot sticks and commence the annual battle of the bulge.
This is the first time I have tried 'group therapy', partly because I was bored one evening and partly because maybe, just maybe it might work. At the very least it is a delight for the 'people-watcher' within me. Who are these people confessing their deepest, darkest feeding habits to a room full of strangers?!
Our leader says:
"and so how did you do this week Betty?"
Betty (this is not her real name):
"well for the first two days everything was going well, then my grandson had a birthday party and my daughter left me alone in the room with the chocolate cake...I ate it all"
The group make a collective "aaaah" sound and there are several nods of 'we understand your pain'.
The Leader:
"don't worry Betty, you had a blip, we all do from time to time. Now you just need to get back on the band wagon and start again"
A round of applause follows
I think to myself - this is just like Alcoholic Anonymous, but for fat people. "hello everyone, my name is X and I am an overeater".
There is no doubt that the support of a group is beneficial to some people. Last week I lent over to chat to a girl and asked her how she had done this week...'not bad she said'...I pry a little deeper to find that she's lost 5stone in less than 10 months and is the Slimming World Woman of the year! Well if that isn't inspiration, then I don't know what is.
I think this particular group which is heavily weighted (excuse the pun) to the over 50s is seen as a social event. I plonked myself down next to a smiley woman the other week and got into the usual chit chat: 'how did you do this week?' , 'Really! That's great news - you lost half a pound!' I could probably relieve myself and lose half a pound but we still congratulate each other on the effort and she starts offering me tips and advice. It turns out this woman has been coming to the group since 1996 and I wonder whether it has taken 16 years to lose the half pound.
I suppose I have to admit that each week I find myself anxiously awaiting the results of my 'weigh in' and secretly hoping it is more than two pounds so I can 'announce it' to the group and revel in the applause. This week was a bit disappointing, maybe I should have gone to the loo before I went...
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
10 reasons not to work from home
- Even if you start out with good intentions, at some point down the line, you'll develop a habit of waking up with just enough time to have a cup of tea and catch the end of the breakfast news before dragging yourself upstairs to start work...in your pyjamas.
- Your world gets progressively smaller. Every time you leave the house it's as though you've entered another universe (one with people and talking) - even going to the supermarket becomes a mini adventure.
- You find yourself daydreaming, talking to inanimate objects, pets or your own reflection for a bit of company. Sometimes you'll call people for no reason except to hear a voice. Then, when your other half gets home (most likely in need of peace and quiet), you develop verbal diarrhoea.
- Physical activity becomes limited to reaching for the on/off button of your computer and walking up and down the stairs to yet another cup of tea or in my case coffee.
- Housework can actually be a distraction.
- Retired people (and your other half) think you don't really have a job - you're 'in' so surely you are available at short notice to drive them to the airport, wait for a package or nip to the shop for a birthday card.
- Your home becomes your work and your work becomes your home until you don't know if you're having a breakfast meeting or just breakfast. That 'and-relaaaax' feeling you get when you leave the office at the end of the day is non-existent.
- You start to dream up conspiracy theories - 'everyone hates you', 'you're going to get fired' or 'I'm sure they're all having a meeting without me'. Then, as the paranoia sets in, you become too scared to leave your desk and your computer in case someone calls or sends you an email to which you must respond immediately, or get the chop.
- Day time telly sucks (of course I only watch it over lunch, and naturally Facebook, Twitter and the like are reserved for breaks...).
- The line between sanity and insanity becomes very, very thin...which is probably why I feel compelled to write a blog and draw pictures of me fighting zombies with a cat for a sidekick.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
My friend Newt is gathering quite a following. He doesn't know it but he isn't actually a Newt and no-one dares tell him that. He's happy as he is and you can follow him on twitter @newtydanewt. He often moves between Wales and England so I have drawn him a flag for both countries so he can display either/or, depending on where he is.
Welsh Newt:
English Newt:
Welsh Newt:
English Newt:
Quick roundup
So, really? Five years?!!!! has it been that long since I posted? Well without boring you all, here is a brief round up as I re-invigorate my love for drawing and ranting and generally talking nonsense:
- The rabbits are deceased. Flopsy caught the lurgy and had to be put down and Clive met an untimely end when he tried to chat to a fox.
- After a lot of begging, I was finally allowed to have two replacement pets - cats - one of whom died of acute kidney failure, the other who is the bain of my life, is over-weight and irritates me to death - but I still love him.
- I had a brief stint in a design studio but couldn't hack the pressure of trying to please someone else when our artistic ideas were so different. Art is subjective and my ego isn't big enough for the big bad design world. So now I only draw and design on my own terms - or when some nice person decides to pay me.
- After my failed attempt at being a full time designer, a friend helped me out and now I am a project manager and work from home. It's not my favourite job as I miss the office gossip over a cup of coffee and the day-to-day commute which is ripe for observational drawing and writing. To top that off, I'm turning slightly insane with no one to talk to except the cat for the best part of the week.
- The other half is still around but works loooong hours and spends most of her time driving between hospitals. She's working her way up the ladder...and surely the end is in sight. Consultancy is but 15 months away...we hope.
- I have become an aunty!
So, now my new found enthusiasm for telling the world my inner most thoughts has officially been announced, here endeth my first post of 2012.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Current Sanity Status - questionable!
Frustrated! Angry! Bemused! and its all down to the NHS which no doubt stands for 'Not Helpful for Sanity!' The debacle continues:
Up until 10 days before L was due to start her new job, she still hadn’t heard any details about which hospital she’d be working in, who she should report to, what her contract would be or any of the things one should expect before entering new employment.
Naturally a little perturbed, bordering on concern, L phoned the lady she’d had most recent contact with. After explaining the situation and expressing her worries, the voice on the other end stated, with indifference, that she was no longer dealing with L’s details and didn't know who was. After a little coaxing, she suggested L contact hospital X (no names just the hospital)!
When L finally managed to track down the HR person in charge of her new post she was greeted with “THANK GOD you’ve called! We’ve been waiting for you to ring us because don’t seem to have any of your contact details. All I have here is your last name and the department you'll be working for!” Followed by “we still can’t confirm your appointment until we’ve had your references” and “no cause for alarm"!
Can I just remind you that this was 10 days before L was due to start. What happened to all those copies of CV’s, reference letters, online references (through the now non-existent online application service) and details she provided for her interview in MAY? Obviously the Not Helpful for Sanity paperwork Pixies had multiplied and were now wreaking havoc with applications! These being the same Not Helpful for Sanity Pixies that stole L’s paperwork three times last year, preventing the Not Helpful for Sanity financial staff from paying L the correct wage for 10 months! I digress…
Wednesday: on the first day of her new job, L knows which hospital she’ll be working at but hasn’t had any details regarding induction or who to report to. Making an educated guess she arrives at her allocated department only to discovers that the induction is being held at a rugby club several miles from the hospital. Undeterred, she rocks up at the club (late) to be greeted by flustered staff who don’t seem to have her name, staff badge nor, for all accounts and purposes, evidence that she exists!
Those cheeky Pixies!
After an excruciatingly tedious afternoon of health and safety talks and ‘in-case-of-fire’ instruction, she still was no clearer as to her rota, her pay, her contract, holiday allowance etcetera etcetera. She also becomes a little uneasy after a hearing several other examples of the Not Helpful for Sanity’s expertise in disorganisation. A the Trust employed 6 new doctors - Two didn’t have up-to-date working visas therefore, four people will now be covering the work of 6. Worse still, one poor girl turned up for the induction only to find that the clinic she was contracted to work for had closed but no-one had bothered to let her know. Several people were still being interviewed 2weeks before their job started (I feel sorry for those with children). L still hasn’t seen a rota or contract…
Thursday: second half of induction, still no contractual information. A rota is apparently being ‘drawn up’. It's becoming clear that the Not Helpful for Sanity Pixies have tied up the entire HR department, kept them in a dark room with no access to a calendar, paperwork or a computer for the last two months.
Friday: First tentative steps into the department – L is developing a nervous tick and after encountering several severe traffic jams on her journey to and from the hospital (3hours travel a day), she has a slighty maniacal look about her.
4pm Friday Afternoon: Still hot from the printer, L receives her rota. She must now cancel all arrangements for the weekend as she will be on call from 8am Saturday morning! I feel the anger welling up and another grey hair spring from my scalp so I can only imagine how L must be feeling. More bad news, she needs to start at 7:30am at least one day a week over the next four months meaning a 5am start to ensure a timely arrival.
Monday am: Phone call from L….”they want me to start at 7:30am every day…” pause “WHAAAAAAAAT!” L’s new consultant is apparently unsympathetic to anyone’s travel issues. On the spur of the moment he decided to change the rota.
Unsurprisingly I am feeling disgruntled. I have seen L (awake) a total of 15minutes since Saturday. She will not be home tonight deciding it was easier to stay in a hotel near the hospital instead of attempting a 5am start. With our house on the market and the aim to move to a bigger house before Xmas, I'm glad we've made the decision to stay in and around Beeston. For the next year (minimum) I will be on my own quite a bit and the idea of being alone, in a new house somewhere in the countryside, miles from friends and everything familiar is not all together appealing. We wait with baited breath for news that the two non-visa doctors are re-employed and the rota becomes less intense.... We could be waiting sometime.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
British Summer
I've just been looking back at the post from April. What seems like eons ago, the sun was glorious, bright and bursting with warmth. The BBQ season came early, the birds were singing and everyone was preparing themselves for a major heatwave.
Well - HOW WRONG WE WERE! I can't, in fact, remember what the sun looks like - It's the middle of summer yet all over the country billions of pounds worth of damage has been caused by torrential rain and flooding. We now have a rubber dinghy and two life savers strapped to the side of the house in case we have to abandon ship and ride the waves.
The tomatoes L planted with enthusiasm in spring have become waterlogged and are rotting in their pots, the bathroom is constantly draped in damp clothes that can't be hung out to dry and the new outdoor run for the rabbits is sadly rusting after minimal use.
We have managed to catch a few bright spells here and there but I can quite honestly say that I've managed to wear my shorts a maximum 5 times this year - four of which were in April. Alas, my legs are as pasty as the day I was born.
Last week we braved the weather to go camping in the Peak District - are we mad you ask? Well... Yes! But, because it had been booked for over 3 months, we felt we couldn't let our friend down on her 40th birthday!
Donned in waterproofs jackets, trousers, wellies and with umbrellas for back up, 16 of us drove through torrential rain to pitch our tents on a mini outdoor swimming pool.
Camping has got to be one of the weirdest activities we folk choose partake in. I mean, why would anyone want to spend several sleepless nights on a hard, lumpy ground, being eaten by all number of blood sucking creatures and unable to make a cup of coffee without having to sit for 20minutes with a kettle over a flame no bigger than a large candle?
Inevitably the tent is pitched a peculiar angle because in the rush to get out of the rain, you paid little attention to the instructions. You then spend 40 minutes adjusting, readjusting, tightening guy ropes, altering tent pegs and swearing under your breath because the once dry interior is now developing a large, muddy welcome mat and you are far wetter than you would have been if you'd taken your time in the first place.
To make matters worse, the toilet is always a five minute walk from camp. So, if you're like me and you've been woken at 4am by the birds singing, the cows bellowing and the sound of torrential rain on your tent, you then have a ten minute dilemma about whether you should 'hold on' until the morning or trudge half a mile up the road in your pyjamas and wielding an umbrella.
Personally, I refuse pee behind the tent unless it's in the dead of night under cover of darkness. But during the summer, it's already light by 4am so this isn't an option. And besides, if you did decide to mark your territory at the end of a guy rope there's always the fear that someone will hear you - god forbid!!
I rant on about it like I hate camping but actually there is something quite good fun about waking up and taking the first peek out of your tent to see what the weather is like even tho you can hear the rain. Then you totter stiffly to your friend's slightly bigger tent to help prepare breakfast for 16 people over a teeny-tiny gas powered stove. There's a sense of camaraderie and 'community', not just with you and your friends, but the whole campsite when you're all suffering from blood-shot eyes, bad backs (if you have a poor quality bed roll) trench foot and the sense that you haven't slept a wink in weeks. Its FUN!!
I have to mention that we did benefit from some great sunshine (for a WHOLE day) which meant we could charcoal slabs of meat and vegetables on a huge BBQ and sit around our make-shift campfire for several hours singing songs and telling jokes. It was certainly worth the effort - we hardly complained at all when we packed away our sodden tent under another rain-cloud! Nor did we bear any hard feelings towards our friend (the birthday girl) who spent the weekend in a B&B!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
One long post... backdated to April!
Some time in April
The sun has been shining happily for the last week! It’s put the whole nation in a good mood and in true British fashion, no matter what the temperature, if the sun is out, everyone gathers to worship it.
It’s an excuse for men to display chests that are so white they’re almost blue, for bikers to take their take their dolly birds out for a spin, for the well off to drive their sports cars with the tops down, for the houseproud to give the garden a make over and fire up the barbecue and for herds and herds of people to flock to the pubs to fight for space in the beer gardens. Even the BBC breakfast news is doing 10 minute slots on mastering the BBQ menu.
I’ve also been taking advantage of the weather, spending time walking, gardening and having picnics with friends – who would have thought it for April?! At the moment no-one is complaining, the air is fresh and crisp, the blossom is on the trees and everyone is joyous - even I could be persuaded that climate change is a good thing (oooh controversial)!!
It’s the first proper sunny spell of the year, but have no fear, come mid –summer, in the sweltering heat of the office, our British penchant for whinging will take full effect. I guarantee there will be news stories about changing the laws for comfortable working temperatures and we’ll probably experience yet another set of hosepipe bans. My water butt is already half empty and there is still no sign of rain (for the moment).
Plenty of things have happened over the last few weeks. L had her first set if interviews for the next stage of her medical career. We were glad that she actually got an interview considering there were only 30 jobs for 273 applicants!! If you’ve been listening to the news you’ll know that the online new system for job applications in the NHS has caused mayhem. L and thousands of other young doctors have had their lives turned upside down and will not find out where their next job is until six weeks before it starts. This gives little time for house buying/selling, moving and settling! And to top it all off the online system accidentally made public every doctors personal details online - a serious breach of the Data Protection Act.
So far L has had two interviews on in Liverpool and the other in Newcastle. We are still waiting to hear if she’ll get another one in Sheffield but since the online saga, the system has been shut down so no doctors can check their details.
Liverpool put us off almost immediately. It was probably partly to do with the fact that we arrived around midnight after a 4.5 hour drive from London. After a good dose of poor-direction-induced-arguments and copious wrong turns, we arrived at a Travel Lodge in the dodgiest part of the city. Still fuming from the journey we were less than happy when we saw the state of the room. Very grungy and basic, the only benefit it offered was being within walking distance of the interviews.
The next day we woke up fully prepared for the greasy misery of a Little Chef breakfast but found that the only food place around was McDonald’s, 15 minutes down the road! With no other choice, we resigned to have a McBreakfast Bagel. At no point did the “meal” represent breakfast or bagel. It might as well have been a McMoldy Flip Flop garnished with Cardboard. We should have known this was a sign of things to come.
L arrived at the interview 5 minutes before the allocated time, smartly dressed in a new suit and a snazzy shirt that said “hey! I’m a professional but I also want you to think I’m a bit quirky”.
Thinking she’d be about an hour, I decided to make myself busy by, giving the car a wash and a hoover at the local garage. 40 minutes later, just as I was putting away the useless vaccum that didn’t suck so much as gently inhale dust motes, I had a text from L to say she still hadn’t gone in. Hmmm how to make myself busy? Perhaps I’ll go exploring…
2 and half hours later after I’d driven around some of the grungiest streets of Liverpool, read a newspaper, wondered around Albert Docks, briefly visited an exhibition and dozed for 20 minutes Lindsay called to say she was only just about to go in!!! I could feel my blood boiling and my anger was reflected in L’s voice. What kind of system was this?? And what was the point of Lindsay booking an interview slot when they couldn’t even stick to the schedule?
To top it off, they didn’t have the courtesy to give L a full interview, nor did they look at her portfolio so the whole thing was a complete waste of time. Boy were we glad to see the back of Liverpool.
By contrast, Newcastle was much better. We spent time with one of my friends and had a relaxing day walking in the Cheviot hills, rock balancing and enjoying the countryside and the nearby beaches. The interview itself was on time and, according to L, very thorough. We had a good feeling about it and I started fostering images of life in the North… well it will be some time yet before we know where we’ll be posted.
2nd May
Oh my god… today I discovered that one of the large supermarkets in the UK sells packets of dried apricots. This is not odd, I hear you say, but get this, they are individually wrapped!!!! Has this world gone completely packaging nuts???
Last weekend, my friend came to stay. She had been making digs about me refusing plastic bags everywhere I went. She couldn’t understand why I preferred my tomatoes and carrots rolling around in the basket instead of suffocated by a flimsy plastic bag that can’t even be reused as a bathroom bin bag! I wasn’t sure she’d really got my point but one lunch time I think she was finally swayed.
Our Dining place of choice was a well- known takeaway (or eat in) sandwich restaurant called Subway. Now, when I asked the lady not to give me a plastic bag because I was eating it in the restaurant, she said “you HAVE to have one! It the LAW”!! I was really mad… The sandwich was already mummified by metres of wax paper and the plastic bag was used for less than 30 seconds while I walked a yard from the counter to the table. Everyday they give away hundreds of these bags and they just end up in the bin or hanging from a tree or littering lay-bys!! Why don’t they use paper ones??? …Probably because it’s the LAW!
Anyway, that afternoon, I wrote them a stern email expressing my disgust! I haven’t had a response. Not surprisingly! But as my own little protest, I shan’t be going there again!
May 3rd
I have been earning some extra cash by opening and counting votes for the local elections. It sounds rather tedious but actually I had a good time. Apart from having a good old chit chat with some of my old workmates (from the local Council), I was intrigued by the process and was particularly impressed with the ergonomic letter opener. Ooops it somehow managed to find its way into my bag and all the way back to my house!
On the actual day of the elections we were lined up at long, classroom desks laid out boardroom style in a shabby, dark sports hall. We spent seven solid hours verifying votes from around the borough counting and re counting while the councillors peered over our shoulders and being awkward. “STOP, go back three….hmmm…. ok… carry on” as if we were incapable of counting accurately. They’d challenge tiny little pencil marks on the voting sheets and had arguments over whether a single line was classed as a vote! Adjudicators were hurrying to and fro tempering frayed emotions.
I was shocked more than ever to discover the large number of British National Party candidates. They lurked in the corner, talking amongst themselves, looking shifty and bigoted! Actually, most of them looked fairly normal i.e. there was only one skin- head and no one was brandishing the swastika… regardless, their mere presence made my blood curdle …………. they could have been puppy loving, granny caring environmentalists and I still couldn’t have brought myself to talk to them. I can’t believe there are still people in this world who harbour such hideous ideals and I’m sad to say that they actually managed to win an election in one of the local wards. I think it’s disgusting.
Anyway – on the bright side it was a little bit of extra cash…emphasis on little! I think they paid me incorrectly and they charged me tax which I’ll have to claim back because of my student status! Sheesh
14th May
L and I have just spent a fantastic weekend in Dorset in a fabulous old farmhouse on the outskirts of a quaint little village crammed with thatched cottages and surrounding areas that have names like the River Piddle, Puddletown and Durdledoor! The reason? To celebrate my soon-to-be-sister-in-law’s hen do!
Normally the idea of a hen do would put shivers down my spine…. tottering around some city all wearing pink leotards, sparkly tiaras and waving wands while the hen is forced to wear L plates and down as many shots as she can before throwing up and falling unconscious in the middle of the street. At which point she would be rushed to hospital to have her stomach pumped and all the other hens would be sitting in the waiting room for hours, developing hangovers, holding broken wands and looking slightly gothic because of the black streaks of mascara running down their faces. You might think I have a wild imagination but I’m sure it happens! Thankfully this weekend was nothing like that.
Organised by the bride-to-be’s (B2B) closest friends, the weekend was packed with fabulous food, entertainment, dancing, singing (mainly into salt and pepper shakers), a trip to the beach, very competitive games of twister and last but not least, a NAKED butler!
Unbeknownst to the other hens, the naked butler had been organised instead of a stripper… which we were, under no circumstances, allowed to book unless we wanted the B2B to sever all ties with us. Actually, I think the idea of a greased up stripper, thrusting his private parts around the place was a rather un-attractive prospect to most of the girls in our company.
But, I hear you say, the butler was naked! Well yes, he was…except for a strategically placed apron, some cuffs and a bow tie. When he first walked in to introduce himself and offer us canapés, the room fell deathly silent. The temperature rose several degrees with copious amounts of blushing.
Soon the nervous, school girl tittering subsided and was replaced by conversations about the well defined, yet pimply backside of the butler and orders to wash the dishes, mix cocktails to our tastes and pose for photographs. He politely declined to play a game of twister for obvious reasons, but was happy to regale us with stories of more riotous parties he’d attended. I think we were pretty sedate compared to his usual clientele – at no point did anyone try to grab his bum, or untie his apron, no matter how tempted they may have been.
So there are only a couple of weeks left before the big day. L and I have been practicing wearing our high heels. High heels are a new experience for us. We have been clomping around the house in a stiff, ungainly fashion not unlike an extra from Priscilla Queen of the Desert …. in fact a transvestite might do it better!
My mother is probably suffering from raised blood pressure as she worries unnecessarily about which of the three wedding outfits she’s bought will be best. My dad has been dragged on several marathon shopping sprees through every boutique, every department store and every dressmakers Geneva has to offer for a “back up” wedding outfit in case the other three aren’t suitable!
The wedding 26th May
I think I will gloss over this event except to say that it was a truly emotional time. It’s eye opening being part of a wedding and seeing it from the family’s point of view rather than as a guest.
All the ferreting, worrying and organising that goes hand in hand with ‘the best day of the couple’s life’ is exhausting. If you’ve never been part of the behind-the-scenes-action, I don’t think you can quite understand the build up of emotions which suddenly gush to the surface on the day.
My brother was overcome with emotion during his vows taking a good couple of tear-jerking minutes to re-compose himself. He cried so much that the registrar was compelled to ask whether he actually wanted to go through with the marriage.
Once we had all recovered from the ceremony, we were again moved to tears by the first dance. And so it goes on, tears, laughter, more tears, alcohol, more tears and the next day its all over. The bubble pops, the happy couple drive off into the sunset (the driving rain), hop on a plane to Italy and leave the rest of the family feeling slightly and somewhat bereft.
Now we must spend our time reminiscing and mulling over copious photos, dissecting people’s behaviour and choice of dress. Discussing who said what to whom, who argued, who left early, who outstayed their welcome and so on and so on. Next….we wait for news of a grandchild/neice or nephew at which point we can turn our conversations to appropriate children’s names, whether morning sickness is an issue, home births are preferable and the latest Lamaze class.
June 19th 2007
With university off for the summer and L cashing in on her last few days of annual leave, we are holidaying in the sunny county of Cornwall (three days of continuous rainfall so far). L has developed one of her holiday illnesses. Typically after several months of staving off all number of infectious diseases in hospital, the moment she has time to relax, she is consumed with bacteria and her white blood cells give up the ghost.
We are now surrounded by crusty, used tissues, empty packets of paracetemol, cough mixtures and homemade flu remedies. We’ve barely set foot outside the house and are slowly developing cabin fever (literally). I have read one and a half books in the last three days and am contemplating a trip to ASDA just for something to do. Oh the joys of the British Summer.
I must also mention that we are here with L parents so I’m on my best be-polite-and-charming-in-front-of-the-parents behaviour, which is also taking its toll. I have been told I’m a narcissist for pouring my thoughts and stories onto the web for everyone to view. Well, never mind at least someone is reading it and coming back for more.
Over the last two weeks we also dived straight into the challenging process of deciding where our next house is going to be. Things are on the move – the ball is rolling - after 7 years in one our little house and a good deal of itching for change. Why, well L has been offered and accepted a job for the next 6 years (thank god – we had started to discuss joint shifts at Sainsbury’s). I’m busy making arrangements for the house to be valued and choosing suitable upgrades in between worrying about dissertation subjects and what I’m going to do when I finish university. For the most part it is very exciting but it takes far too much time for my liking. Why can’t we just decide where we want to be, sell the house, get a mortgage, move the contents and settle in to a new place in the next month?
The worst of this has got to be the de-cluttering/de-personalisation of our house so that potential buyers aren’t put off by our… um…junk. Yes it can only be described as junk… mountains of knick knacks, useless kitchen utensils and tupperware, old books, boxes, cd’s, videos (who watches videos anymore?), half burnt candles, disused bags, shoes, moth-eaten clothes, broken electrical equipment, wadges of my old sketches, notes from university the first time round…my god… HOW HAVE WE ACCUMULATED SOOO MUCH!
Anyway, change is needed and I certainly have my work cut out for me over the summer. I need to find some paid work in Sainsbury’s or Marks & Spencers when what I’d really like to do is live a life of leisure and pray I win the lottery. Dribs and drabs of design work are floating in but I’m sure its not enough to keep the bills at bay – woe is me! I’m going to have to get back the real world.
The sun has been shining happily for the last week! It’s put the whole nation in a good mood and in true British fashion, no matter what the temperature, if the sun is out, everyone gathers to worship it.
It’s an excuse for men to display chests that are so white they’re almost blue, for bikers to take their take their dolly birds out for a spin, for the well off to drive their sports cars with the tops down, for the houseproud to give the garden a make over and fire up the barbecue and for herds and herds of people to flock to the pubs to fight for space in the beer gardens. Even the BBC breakfast news is doing 10 minute slots on mastering the BBQ menu.
I’ve also been taking advantage of the weather, spending time walking, gardening and having picnics with friends – who would have thought it for April?! At the moment no-one is complaining, the air is fresh and crisp, the blossom is on the trees and everyone is joyous - even I could be persuaded that climate change is a good thing (oooh controversial)!!
It’s the first proper sunny spell of the year, but have no fear, come mid –summer, in the sweltering heat of the office, our British penchant for whinging will take full effect. I guarantee there will be news stories about changing the laws for comfortable working temperatures and we’ll probably experience yet another set of hosepipe bans. My water butt is already half empty and there is still no sign of rain (for the moment).
Plenty of things have happened over the last few weeks. L had her first set if interviews for the next stage of her medical career. We were glad that she actually got an interview considering there were only 30 jobs for 273 applicants!! If you’ve been listening to the news you’ll know that the online new system for job applications in the NHS has caused mayhem. L and thousands of other young doctors have had their lives turned upside down and will not find out where their next job is until six weeks before it starts. This gives little time for house buying/selling, moving and settling! And to top it all off the online system accidentally made public every doctors personal details online - a serious breach of the Data Protection Act.
So far L has had two interviews on in Liverpool and the other in Newcastle. We are still waiting to hear if she’ll get another one in Sheffield but since the online saga, the system has been shut down so no doctors can check their details.
Liverpool put us off almost immediately. It was probably partly to do with the fact that we arrived around midnight after a 4.5 hour drive from London. After a good dose of poor-direction-induced-arguments and copious wrong turns, we arrived at a Travel Lodge in the dodgiest part of the city. Still fuming from the journey we were less than happy when we saw the state of the room. Very grungy and basic, the only benefit it offered was being within walking distance of the interviews.
The next day we woke up fully prepared for the greasy misery of a Little Chef breakfast but found that the only food place around was McDonald’s, 15 minutes down the road! With no other choice, we resigned to have a McBreakfast Bagel. At no point did the “meal” represent breakfast or bagel. It might as well have been a McMoldy Flip Flop garnished with Cardboard. We should have known this was a sign of things to come.
L arrived at the interview 5 minutes before the allocated time, smartly dressed in a new suit and a snazzy shirt that said “hey! I’m a professional but I also want you to think I’m a bit quirky”.
Thinking she’d be about an hour, I decided to make myself busy by, giving the car a wash and a hoover at the local garage. 40 minutes later, just as I was putting away the useless vaccum that didn’t suck so much as gently inhale dust motes, I had a text from L to say she still hadn’t gone in. Hmmm how to make myself busy? Perhaps I’ll go exploring…
2 and half hours later after I’d driven around some of the grungiest streets of Liverpool, read a newspaper, wondered around Albert Docks, briefly visited an exhibition and dozed for 20 minutes Lindsay called to say she was only just about to go in!!! I could feel my blood boiling and my anger was reflected in L’s voice. What kind of system was this?? And what was the point of Lindsay booking an interview slot when they couldn’t even stick to the schedule?
To top it off, they didn’t have the courtesy to give L a full interview, nor did they look at her portfolio so the whole thing was a complete waste of time. Boy were we glad to see the back of Liverpool.
By contrast, Newcastle was much better. We spent time with one of my friends and had a relaxing day walking in the Cheviot hills, rock balancing and enjoying the countryside and the nearby beaches. The interview itself was on time and, according to L, very thorough. We had a good feeling about it and I started fostering images of life in the North… well it will be some time yet before we know where we’ll be posted.
2nd May
Oh my god… today I discovered that one of the large supermarkets in the UK sells packets of dried apricots. This is not odd, I hear you say, but get this, they are individually wrapped!!!! Has this world gone completely packaging nuts???
Last weekend, my friend came to stay. She had been making digs about me refusing plastic bags everywhere I went. She couldn’t understand why I preferred my tomatoes and carrots rolling around in the basket instead of suffocated by a flimsy plastic bag that can’t even be reused as a bathroom bin bag! I wasn’t sure she’d really got my point but one lunch time I think she was finally swayed.
Our Dining place of choice was a well- known takeaway (or eat in) sandwich restaurant called Subway. Now, when I asked the lady not to give me a plastic bag because I was eating it in the restaurant, she said “you HAVE to have one! It the LAW”!! I was really mad… The sandwich was already mummified by metres of wax paper and the plastic bag was used for less than 30 seconds while I walked a yard from the counter to the table. Everyday they give away hundreds of these bags and they just end up in the bin or hanging from a tree or littering lay-bys!! Why don’t they use paper ones??? …Probably because it’s the LAW!
Anyway, that afternoon, I wrote them a stern email expressing my disgust! I haven’t had a response. Not surprisingly! But as my own little protest, I shan’t be going there again!
May 3rd
I have been earning some extra cash by opening and counting votes for the local elections. It sounds rather tedious but actually I had a good time. Apart from having a good old chit chat with some of my old workmates (from the local Council), I was intrigued by the process and was particularly impressed with the ergonomic letter opener. Ooops it somehow managed to find its way into my bag and all the way back to my house!
On the actual day of the elections we were lined up at long, classroom desks laid out boardroom style in a shabby, dark sports hall. We spent seven solid hours verifying votes from around the borough counting and re counting while the councillors peered over our shoulders and being awkward. “STOP, go back three….hmmm…. ok… carry on” as if we were incapable of counting accurately. They’d challenge tiny little pencil marks on the voting sheets and had arguments over whether a single line was classed as a vote! Adjudicators were hurrying to and fro tempering frayed emotions.
I was shocked more than ever to discover the large number of British National Party candidates. They lurked in the corner, talking amongst themselves, looking shifty and bigoted! Actually, most of them looked fairly normal i.e. there was only one skin- head and no one was brandishing the swastika… regardless, their mere presence made my blood curdle …………. they could have been puppy loving, granny caring environmentalists and I still couldn’t have brought myself to talk to them. I can’t believe there are still people in this world who harbour such hideous ideals and I’m sad to say that they actually managed to win an election in one of the local wards. I think it’s disgusting.
Anyway – on the bright side it was a little bit of extra cash…emphasis on little! I think they paid me incorrectly and they charged me tax which I’ll have to claim back because of my student status! Sheesh
14th May
L and I have just spent a fantastic weekend in Dorset in a fabulous old farmhouse on the outskirts of a quaint little village crammed with thatched cottages and surrounding areas that have names like the River Piddle, Puddletown and Durdledoor! The reason? To celebrate my soon-to-be-sister-in-law’s hen do!
Normally the idea of a hen do would put shivers down my spine…. tottering around some city all wearing pink leotards, sparkly tiaras and waving wands while the hen is forced to wear L plates and down as many shots as she can before throwing up and falling unconscious in the middle of the street. At which point she would be rushed to hospital to have her stomach pumped and all the other hens would be sitting in the waiting room for hours, developing hangovers, holding broken wands and looking slightly gothic because of the black streaks of mascara running down their faces. You might think I have a wild imagination but I’m sure it happens! Thankfully this weekend was nothing like that.
Organised by the bride-to-be’s (B2B) closest friends, the weekend was packed with fabulous food, entertainment, dancing, singing (mainly into salt and pepper shakers), a trip to the beach, very competitive games of twister and last but not least, a NAKED butler!
Unbeknownst to the other hens, the naked butler had been organised instead of a stripper… which we were, under no circumstances, allowed to book unless we wanted the B2B to sever all ties with us. Actually, I think the idea of a greased up stripper, thrusting his private parts around the place was a rather un-attractive prospect to most of the girls in our company.
But, I hear you say, the butler was naked! Well yes, he was…except for a strategically placed apron, some cuffs and a bow tie. When he first walked in to introduce himself and offer us canapés, the room fell deathly silent. The temperature rose several degrees with copious amounts of blushing.
Soon the nervous, school girl tittering subsided and was replaced by conversations about the well defined, yet pimply backside of the butler and orders to wash the dishes, mix cocktails to our tastes and pose for photographs. He politely declined to play a game of twister for obvious reasons, but was happy to regale us with stories of more riotous parties he’d attended. I think we were pretty sedate compared to his usual clientele – at no point did anyone try to grab his bum, or untie his apron, no matter how tempted they may have been.
So there are only a couple of weeks left before the big day. L and I have been practicing wearing our high heels. High heels are a new experience for us. We have been clomping around the house in a stiff, ungainly fashion not unlike an extra from Priscilla Queen of the Desert …. in fact a transvestite might do it better!
My mother is probably suffering from raised blood pressure as she worries unnecessarily about which of the three wedding outfits she’s bought will be best. My dad has been dragged on several marathon shopping sprees through every boutique, every department store and every dressmakers Geneva has to offer for a “back up” wedding outfit in case the other three aren’t suitable!
The wedding 26th May
I think I will gloss over this event except to say that it was a truly emotional time. It’s eye opening being part of a wedding and seeing it from the family’s point of view rather than as a guest.
All the ferreting, worrying and organising that goes hand in hand with ‘the best day of the couple’s life’ is exhausting. If you’ve never been part of the behind-the-scenes-action, I don’t think you can quite understand the build up of emotions which suddenly gush to the surface on the day.
My brother was overcome with emotion during his vows taking a good couple of tear-jerking minutes to re-compose himself. He cried so much that the registrar was compelled to ask whether he actually wanted to go through with the marriage.
Once we had all recovered from the ceremony, we were again moved to tears by the first dance. And so it goes on, tears, laughter, more tears, alcohol, more tears and the next day its all over. The bubble pops, the happy couple drive off into the sunset (the driving rain), hop on a plane to Italy and leave the rest of the family feeling slightly and somewhat bereft.
Now we must spend our time reminiscing and mulling over copious photos, dissecting people’s behaviour and choice of dress. Discussing who said what to whom, who argued, who left early, who outstayed their welcome and so on and so on. Next….we wait for news of a grandchild/neice or nephew at which point we can turn our conversations to appropriate children’s names, whether morning sickness is an issue, home births are preferable and the latest Lamaze class.
June 19th 2007
With university off for the summer and L cashing in on her last few days of annual leave, we are holidaying in the sunny county of Cornwall (three days of continuous rainfall so far). L has developed one of her holiday illnesses. Typically after several months of staving off all number of infectious diseases in hospital, the moment she has time to relax, she is consumed with bacteria and her white blood cells give up the ghost.
We are now surrounded by crusty, used tissues, empty packets of paracetemol, cough mixtures and homemade flu remedies. We’ve barely set foot outside the house and are slowly developing cabin fever (literally). I have read one and a half books in the last three days and am contemplating a trip to ASDA just for something to do. Oh the joys of the British Summer.
I must also mention that we are here with L parents so I’m on my best be-polite-and-charming-in-front-of-the-parents behaviour, which is also taking its toll. I have been told I’m a narcissist for pouring my thoughts and stories onto the web for everyone to view. Well, never mind at least someone is reading it and coming back for more.
Over the last two weeks we also dived straight into the challenging process of deciding where our next house is going to be. Things are on the move – the ball is rolling - after 7 years in one our little house and a good deal of itching for change. Why, well L has been offered and accepted a job for the next 6 years (thank god – we had started to discuss joint shifts at Sainsbury’s). I’m busy making arrangements for the house to be valued and choosing suitable upgrades in between worrying about dissertation subjects and what I’m going to do when I finish university. For the most part it is very exciting but it takes far too much time for my liking. Why can’t we just decide where we want to be, sell the house, get a mortgage, move the contents and settle in to a new place in the next month?
The worst of this has got to be the de-cluttering/de-personalisation of our house so that potential buyers aren’t put off by our… um…junk. Yes it can only be described as junk… mountains of knick knacks, useless kitchen utensils and tupperware, old books, boxes, cd’s, videos (who watches videos anymore?), half burnt candles, disused bags, shoes, moth-eaten clothes, broken electrical equipment, wadges of my old sketches, notes from university the first time round…my god… HOW HAVE WE ACCUMULATED SOOO MUCH!
Anyway, change is needed and I certainly have my work cut out for me over the summer. I need to find some paid work in Sainsbury’s or Marks & Spencers when what I’d really like to do is live a life of leisure and pray I win the lottery. Dribs and drabs of design work are floating in but I’m sure its not enough to keep the bills at bay – woe is me! I’m going to have to get back the real world.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
THREE OOOOOH
Guess who's who? Oh how graceful!I have a fan!! Well I’m assuming he’s a fan - yes he may be a friend, and yes he may spend far too much time on the computer, but when he asks why there hasn’t been an entry for 2 weeks then suggests I crack on with it, I think he officially becomes a fan, don’t you?
The problem is, I was not born a writer. This stuff doesn’t just splurge onto parchment from my feather quill - I have to wait for inspiration and sometimes it doesn’t hit for weeks on end even with the copious amounts of coffee and the thinking I do. Writing also requires a good deal of brain power of which I have very little to spare. And lastly, I have to live a life! But seeing as my fan base has chided me into writing something – and you know who you are - I suppose I should get on with things.
Hmmmm what to write about? Well it’s been three days since I hit the big THREE OOHHH. I found another wrinkle, L has been tweezing out some grey hairs (mine not hers) and my boobs have moved another notch closer to my kneecaps but all in all I still feel the same! I have however, started to spend way too much time considering the meaning of life? Why do we spend so much time working to pay the mortgage, raise the kids, buy snazzy cars and go on fancy holidays when life is over before you can blink? I know it’s a bit morbid but if, lets say, I live to 60 then…. I’m now officially MIDDLE AGED!!!!
In our relatively short lifespan, what contribution do we actually make to the world? We take much, much more than we actually give. We use more than our fair share of natural resources, destroy the existence of other living creatures by removing their habitats and killing off their food sources, we over fish, over farm and pollute the earth with allsorts of waste such as methane, C02, plastic, dead skin and god knows what else. Then, when we’ve taken all we want, we just up and die. “goodbye and thanks for all the fish” I’ll leave you to mull this over…
Now, on to something more light-hearted…. L took me to Crufts last week! For those of you who don’t live in the
I have to say, when L gave me the tickets I was shocked, not because of the nice gesture but because it had to be her idea of HELL. I’m afraid I have an uncontrollable reaction to animals of any sort. Anyone who knows me well will vouch for this but on discovering something cute and fluffy, I can’t stop myself grabbing the closest person to me, pointing to the animal in question and saying “isn’t it CUUUUUTE” in a pitch which is best suited for dolphin communication. I don’t know why, but the words are out of my mouth before my brain can engage. I have often been left stroking a stranger’s puppy and cooing while L saunters on pretending not to know me.
So now you can understand why I was so shocked at the gift – In actual fact, the day turned out to be great fun. Even L seemed to have a good time. The venue was huge and sprawling - after 6 hours of traipsing around we couldn’t possibly have seen everything. L remained patient throughout even though I screeched and pointed for most of the morning. But by midday, after seeing up to 60 dogs of the same breed, when there were over 56 different breeds, even I couldn’t muster an “aaah how cute”.
We amused ourselves watching people brush and fuss their dogs. Some wore ribbons, others had bibs on to stop the drool ruining their hair dos. Collies were practicing their heel work, and Great Danes were looming over their owners but mostly they all looked worn out and fed up with being poked, prodded and mauled by the judges.
We joined the crowds to watch the agility heats and developed a new found respect for Poodles. Don’t knock ‘em, they may look poncey but boy they are masters of the agility course. We ‘Oohed’ and ‘Ahhed’ when the dogs did a round in a particularly fast time or got eliminated by jumping over all the wrong jumps in overwhelming excitement. I cried at the doggy dancing and laughed at the police dog antics. It was all thoroughly enjoyable. And for your perusal, here are just a couple of pictures:
above: Poncy Poodle "look at meeee"
not a great pick but it gives you the idea
not a great pick but it gives you the idea
above: This Dog is famous!! She was one of the
Corgis in the film The Queen!
Corgis in the film The Queen!
above: with a face like that, is there a
reason for living?
reason for living?
above: some people prefer dogs that don't
require much looking after.
require much looking after.
above: this bearded collie was one of the stars
in the film Holiday and some other movie I can't remember.
Watch the video to see what happened when he completed his round!
Over my Birthday Weekend, (this has since been extended to a Birthday Week) I was graced with the presence of BOTH my parents. It’s extremely rare to have a visit from Mum and Dad at the same time! So in preparation for their arrival, I spent two solid days cleaning frantically and chastising the bunny for moulting everywhere. I screamed at L for not doing her fair share, grumbled at the lack of space to hang washing out to dry, and had restless nights worrying about the sleeping arrangements.
By the time they arrived I was worn out and there was still bunny hair floating around! However, we had a lovely weekend filled with fine dining, walks, card games and a trip to the world’s smallest cinema. With 21 seats and barely enough room to sip your luke warm tea from a polystyrene cup, it couldn’t help but maintain the air of the seedy, peepshow room it once was.
Cinema aside, everything was good fun and the weather added to the occasion by being bright and sunny for the full three days. By the end of it, I was sad to see my parents go... that’s odd. Aren’t we supposed to sigh with relief when our parents leave?
Saturday, March 03, 2007
pedal power
I’m recovering… this is good because on Monday I wasn’t sure I’d make it to the end of the week. Why? Well, L and I have started our latest fat burning, self-flagellating exercise regime.
1) you wear lycra
2) you go for a 60mile cycle for fun!
3) you spend as much on a new bicycle as you would on a new car
4) you have more than one bicycle for different occasions
I think my friends are at the extreme end of the cycling scale, tutting and shaking their heads when I told them I was riding a mountain bike, with suspension on a road!! "Well THAT will get you nowhere". I defended my bike saying at least it worked and although it may not be light enough to pick up with one finger, it's good enough for me!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Student life and daytime television
So it's about time I wrote another installment - I always have things floating around in my head but never seem to get the time to sit down and commit it to paper/my virtual diary. There are a couple of things I wanted to cover. Firstly, I guess I should let you know that I’ve had my first feedback session re my university progress.
Things are better than expected. I was worried I wasn’t up to scratch but without trying blow my own trumpet - more appropriately a penny whistle – I’m on for a high 2:1 which could be pushed to a first if I iron out a few tweaks. My essay work has come back with a first which I’m very pleased about and thankfully we still have another two terms before the marks start to count towards the final degree. So with a little more 'oomph' I might be able to make the grade!
It’s strange how the marks massage my little ego and make me feel like a school girl who’s just been given a gold star! I was clipping my heels and skipping down the street after my feedback. So pat on the back for me!
I am however, starting to slip deeper into student mode and although I’m still getting out of bed around 7 or 7:30am (an obscene hour for a student) and going to bed at 10pm, I seem to be getting a good healthy dose of daytime television. Of course, my fellow students know exactly where I’m coming from when I talk about “bargain hunt”, “to buy or not to buy” or "cash in the attic" but I fear it's lost on my other circle of friends.
There is a vast choice of trashy middle-aged-house-wife type programmes but I’d consider myself a fairly picky viewer, preferring to stick to the programmes that give advice about money, buying new houses or how to cook a sumptuous three course meal. I have set myself standards and will not stoop to watching Ricky Lake (amazingly still going), Divorce Court or Loose Women, however lazy I'm feeling.
Sadly, when I try to engage my hardworking, employed friends in a conversation about my day time television bingeing they usually do one of two things:
a) look at me blankly then change the subject or
b) look at me with a slight narrowing of the eyes and a curl of the lip as if to say “you disgust me you, white, couch-potato trash - how could you stoop so low” and then change subject.
In my defence these programmes are never watched with my full attention as they tend to be background noise while I potter, clean or draw. And hey, if I want slightly more erudite background noise then I listen to Radio 4.
I can't mention TV without saying that I think the BBC Breakfast News programme is dreadful. In fact, I think they should just drop the word ‘news’ completely unless one considers a 15 minute debate on ‘how to wear your scarf’ or a lenghty discussion on ‘whether fashion sneakers with wheels implanted in the heel cause your child physiological damage’ news.
I can't believe they can dedicate 15 minutes of a 'news' programme to three camp men showing you how to tie your scarf when there is a whole world of important news to broadcast. Trivial little interludes are the sort of drivel you'd expect from ITV but NOT the BBC which I..... sorry...... L pays a television license for! And why is everything dumbed down to the level of Dodo IQ? The programme is swamped with over-simplified graphs, moving charts and animated lists to ensure we understand exactly what's being said.... "Yes! I HAVE a BRAIN"!
Oh my god…. I sound like one of those crazy people who have nothing better with their time than to write to Points of View and criticise advertising and TV programmes. I’d better lay that one to rest before I start to rant about the ridiculous worldwide attention recently devoted to one particularly dreadful reality TV show. ARRRRGH ok B-R-E-A-T-H-E
A change of subject now to earning a crust! It's been ages since I've had any paid design work and I was beginning to think I was never going to get another enquiry but in the last couple of weeks I've had two!! One of the jobs I’ve got in the bag – a lot of hard work which I’m not looking forward to (on top of my Uni projects) but at least it will go towards a flashy new Apple MAC…. This is my DREAM! Well, part of my dream. The other part involves a lovely little farmhouse, chickens, ducks, two dogs, a cat, an allotment and a large studio! But that might be a few years down the line yet.
The other job is a bit iffy, I’m just waiting to hear for a full brief but it's basically three large illustrations for an interpretation panel on a nature reserve… COOLIO!
Now, I vowed I would never write another word about my rabbits in case you got the impression that I'm a 21st century Dr Doolittle but I couldn’t resist this.
Today, I went into our utility/rabbit pen/junk room and couldn’t find Clive. After much searching I heard a scrabbling noise and was shocked to find this…..(spot the Rabbit)
Things are better than expected. I was worried I wasn’t up to scratch but without trying blow my own trumpet - more appropriately a penny whistle – I’m on for a high 2:1 which could be pushed to a first if I iron out a few tweaks. My essay work has come back with a first which I’m very pleased about and thankfully we still have another two terms before the marks start to count towards the final degree. So with a little more 'oomph' I might be able to make the grade!
It’s strange how the marks massage my little ego and make me feel like a school girl who’s just been given a gold star! I was clipping my heels and skipping down the street after my feedback. So pat on the back for me!
I am however, starting to slip deeper into student mode and although I’m still getting out of bed around 7 or 7:30am (an obscene hour for a student) and going to bed at 10pm, I seem to be getting a good healthy dose of daytime television. Of course, my fellow students know exactly where I’m coming from when I talk about “bargain hunt”, “to buy or not to buy” or "cash in the attic" but I fear it's lost on my other circle of friends.
There is a vast choice of trashy middle-aged-house-wife type programmes but I’d consider myself a fairly picky viewer, preferring to stick to the programmes that give advice about money, buying new houses or how to cook a sumptuous three course meal. I have set myself standards and will not stoop to watching Ricky Lake (amazingly still going), Divorce Court or Loose Women, however lazy I'm feeling.
Sadly, when I try to engage my hardworking, employed friends in a conversation about my day time television bingeing they usually do one of two things:
a) look at me blankly then change the subject or
b) look at me with a slight narrowing of the eyes and a curl of the lip as if to say “you disgust me you, white, couch-potato trash - how could you stoop so low” and then change subject.
In my defence these programmes are never watched with my full attention as they tend to be background noise while I potter, clean or draw. And hey, if I want slightly more erudite background noise then I listen to Radio 4.
I can't mention TV without saying that I think the BBC Breakfast News programme is dreadful. In fact, I think they should just drop the word ‘news’ completely unless one considers a 15 minute debate on ‘how to wear your scarf’ or a lenghty discussion on ‘whether fashion sneakers with wheels implanted in the heel cause your child physiological damage’ news.
I can't believe they can dedicate 15 minutes of a 'news' programme to three camp men showing you how to tie your scarf when there is a whole world of important news to broadcast. Trivial little interludes are the sort of drivel you'd expect from ITV but NOT the BBC which I..... sorry...... L pays a television license for! And why is everything dumbed down to the level of Dodo IQ? The programme is swamped with over-simplified graphs, moving charts and animated lists to ensure we understand exactly what's being said.... "Yes! I HAVE a BRAIN"!
Oh my god…. I sound like one of those crazy people who have nothing better with their time than to write to Points of View and criticise advertising and TV programmes. I’d better lay that one to rest before I start to rant about the ridiculous worldwide attention recently devoted to one particularly dreadful reality TV show. ARRRRGH ok B-R-E-A-T-H-E
A change of subject now to earning a crust! It's been ages since I've had any paid design work and I was beginning to think I was never going to get another enquiry but in the last couple of weeks I've had two!! One of the jobs I’ve got in the bag – a lot of hard work which I’m not looking forward to (on top of my Uni projects) but at least it will go towards a flashy new Apple MAC…. This is my DREAM! Well, part of my dream. The other part involves a lovely little farmhouse, chickens, ducks, two dogs, a cat, an allotment and a large studio! But that might be a few years down the line yet.
The other job is a bit iffy, I’m just waiting to hear for a full brief but it's basically three large illustrations for an interpretation panel on a nature reserve… COOLIO!
Now, I vowed I would never write another word about my rabbits in case you got the impression that I'm a 21st century Dr Doolittle but I couldn’t resist this.
Today, I went into our utility/rabbit pen/junk room and couldn’t find Clive. After much searching I heard a scrabbling noise and was shocked to find this…..(spot the Rabbit)
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