More wind
Next door's fence is the first casualty of the wind that I've seen, other than more rubbish than usual blowing across the lawn.
About an hour ago there was an almighty thump that sent the kitties scurrying away to hide. We'd all been cuddling on the sofa, me with Ellie, Harvey with all the toys he could find, and Frankie with a banana that he'd found in the kitchen. They all shot up the stairs, leaving me to deal with the source of the noise.
Harvey, being the bravest, peered out from the balcony. Frankie was perched on the ladder, waiting to see whether he needed to hide himself or come back down. I found Ellie shaking under the quilt, her tail puffed up to twice its normal size. My poor little scaredy cat.
The wind seems to have calmed down a bit now. Hopefully the cats will now be able to sleep without disturbance. Because they like to let me know if they get woken in the night, and if they can't sleep, then I don't get to sleep. They are kind like that!
Bed time for me.
Wind
We've had the snow, we've had the rain, and now we have the wind.
Wind speed is expected to be in excess of 70 mph tonight so looks like some trees might well breathe their last. After the storm of 1987, 15 million trees were lost (or something like that). That, of course, was the storm that was not meant to be:
"A woman rang the BBC today asking if there was a hurricane on the way. I can say that there is not" Michael Fish, BBC weatherman (and clearly not a very good one as a few hours later the hurricane arrived). Those winds were a tad more powerful than those expected tonight, with those reaching 94 mph over London,
I remember watching the fence take off, and then our tree falling down. I shared a room with my sister, and my bed was along the wall under the window. I was terrified, and ended up having to get into bed with her. We had no school that day as most of the roof tiles were decorating the playground. Driving home we could see just how much damage had been done. Several roads were blocked by fallen trees and most houses had some roof damage.
Most sad of all, our pet hedgehog, Spikey, didn't survive the falling of the tree. The dog missed him - he used to carry him in his mouth around the garden. He did often come in with spikes stuck in his face, but they did seem to like each other.
Anyhoo.............
The kitties are hiding in their respective hiding places:
Harvey - my feet (so not really that well hidden!);
Frankie - his bed;
Ellie - my bed, hidden in the quilt;
as they don't seem to like the howling noise. However, Harvey is snoring so I don't think he is overly upset by it. Not much fazes him, with the large and blonde exception of the Boy. I don't always blame him, as the Boy can be a bit rough with him. The Boy is used to playing with a rottweiler, so I can see why Harvey gets a little upset with some of his games.
Harvey has so far sworn, spat, hissed and bitten the Boy. Despite this, the Boy still adores him. Quite often, I can catch him chatting away to him about his day. Admittedly, Harvey is backed into a corner and swishing his tail rudely, but the Boy doesn't see that, because he doesn't understand that his unpredicatability can be frightening to a cat. Very cute to watch, especially when Harvey miaows back. I know he is saying "Get him away from me, you stupid woman!", but the Boy thinks that Harvey is answering him back, and the look on his face is just a pure joy.
I gave the cats their flea treatment today. Frankie was resigned and Ellie was wriggly, but both were treated with minimal bloodshed. They are good cats.
Harvey has also spat, sworn, hissed and bitten me today. The treatment didn't go down too well with him. As soon as he saw the vial coming out of the cupboard he went on the offensive. His favourite vantage point for an attack is on top of the heating unit. So up he scrambled (knocking down keys, paperwork and money in the process) and sat eyeing me very warily.
We've done this before. Harvey isn't fooled by the offer of cat treats, or fresh chicken. He scorns these. Up comes the paw, claws extended menacingly, to block access to the scruff of his neck. The look on his face tells me that blood loss is inevitable if I get any closer.
Time for a new tactic. I pretend that I am going to put it on his tummy instead (that wonderful white, fluffy tummy that no-one is ever allowed to touch). He immediately tries to bite my hand, and that gives me the chance to push his head down and squirt the contents of the vial onto his neck. Cue the agonised screaming and obscene swearing that can, and has, made grown men wince.
I knew that I wasn't going to get away intact from this encounter. At some point, I would have to let him go and face the consequences of my assault. I took a deep breath, steadied myself for the pain of torn flesh, and let go.
Immediately, the claws are tearing at the hand that committed the offence. Blood rushes to the surface with a bubbling intensity, and starts to form little beads that resemble little rubies. I go to push him off the unit and as I do he bites my hand, swears again and leaps gracefully across the room to land on the sofa.
He glares at me, the evil intent gleaming in his large green eyes. The message is clear - get any closer and it won't just be a scratch. I heed his warning and leave him to groom himself back to contentment.
He seems to have managed that quite well, as we just had a lovely cuddle. Lovely cuddles do involve my chest being torn to ribbons, as even in pleasure he uses his claws with intent, but the intensity of his purrs make the pain and the bloodloss worthwhile. Even that caused by his strops.
An unappealing mixture of blood and cat drool is coating my chest, with more than the odd cat hair adhering to the gunge. Cat lovers will understand why this doesn't bother me, but in the interests of hygiene, I am off for a shower.
Where did it go?
What happened to "My Suicide Diary"??
I was hanging on for the last couple of days for the big confession, and now:
"This post deleted by Order of the Sheriff's Department".
Bollocks.
Never again
The Baron and I have just returned from shopping. I need an extremely stiff drink, and a week away at a spa. But I'll settle for a cup of tea and a brownie.
Every time we go shopping together, I swear that I will never, ever go shopping with him again. But circumstances always get in my way.
This evening his car had to go to the mechanics, and since the shop I go to is almost next door we went shopping, so that the Baron didn't have to wait around by himself. I should have just left him there. It would have been for the best.
Let's see, a brief summary of what I have to put up with from a supposed adult.........aimless wandering around the games and dvd's, sulking because the shop is non smoking, putting junk in the trolley, sulking because I take all the junk out of the trolley, sulking because I tell him that junk wasn't on the list, trying to sneak more crap into the trolley, and finally getting embarrassed at the checkout because I argued the validity of my coupons, and leaving me.
I could have belted him by the end of the trip. We ended up spending more than planned because he wanted a bottle of Cointreau (I can't stand the stuff, but he has developed an inexplicable liking for it) and some liqueor glasses.
So once again I say it. I will never go shopping with him again!
Political rant ahead:
The findings of the Hutton report were released yesterday.
For those who don't know, Dr Kelly was a scientist who took his claims that the Government exagerrated the claims of WMD in Iraq to the press; specifically the 45 minute claim. Perhaps not the brightest thing to do, but unlike the Government he was acting in the country's best interest.
So his name was released to the press, an investigation began and in the stress of it all, Dr Kelly supposedly committed suicide.
Anyway, the Hutton inquiry was set up by the Government to find out how things got to this point........not thinking that them lying their pants off about WMD had anything to do with this. Nothing to do with the claims, just how the Government behaved (poorly, per usual - it didn't take me months to figure that out) and how Dr Kelly's name was released and by whom.
Result: A fine fucking whitewash. The Government has been cleared of wrongdoing and the BBC was critiscised for its editorial process. All blame was placed with the BBC. Strange when you consider just who appointed Lord Hutton.
So, the Government has got off scot free and has managed to distance itself from the allegations - which were never examined - by setting up an inquiry to distract the public from the claims. People who haven't followed this closely are left with the impression that the claims were wholly untrue and the Government were right all along.
Journalists will now be extremely reluctant to write anything that contradicts the official line. It is clear just what lengths the Government will go to shift the blame (and attention) elsewhere.
Tony Blair has called the BBC resignations "honourable". This from the man who blindly followed GWB into a war based on complete lies (where are those WMD? Oh, it was all about Saddam all along!), and allowed his staff to hound a man to suicide for doing what he thought was right. He wouldn't know honour if it smacked him in his silly little face, the slimy turd.
The irony is that the report slated the BBC for allowing a report to go through based on one uncorroborated source - the unfortunate Dr Kelly. But he was happy for the Government to make the 45 minute claim based on, you guessed it, one uncorrobated report.
The Government have directly caused the deaths of thousands of people based on misinformation - the infamous stolen thesis, and the distinct lack of weapons of mass destruction- and yet they have the fucking nerve to demand an apology from the BBC over one report?!
The result is as expected. No-one expected anything else. But I feel sick at the grinning faces of the politicians on TV. Something is seriously wrong............
Latest instalment of the snowy saga
The Baron had to abandon the car and walk to the train station. He managed to get a train to the local station and he walked the mile home. He was frozen solid when he got in. He also narrowly avoided being smacked by an out of control double decker bus.
The gritters have had a weeks notice of this weather, but do you think they have gritted anything? Fuck no! So I am watching cars skating across the road from my window. And laughing. If they are stupid enough to go out..................
I went to the Boys house. We had a snowball fight and then started to build a snowman. He got cold and went in, saying he'd be back. He got distracted and never came back, but I made a great 5 foot snowman.
What pissed me off, was the fact that neither my sister or her boyfriend came out in the snow to play with him. My sister was out for five minutes - until I arrived and then she went straight in. She never wants to do this kind of stuff with him. If I didn't live less than five minutes walk away, he wouldn't have had any time out inthe snow at all. He would be sat in front of the X Box instead.
I'm glad I went, but I hate the fact that I am used in this way.
More snow!
There is a full on blizzard outside my window. I've just come inside from playing out there; by myself I might add!
The cats are all sat on the windowsill gazing out at this white stuff blowing around. Harvey is trying to catch flakes through the glass. Frankie is transfixed. I took them out for a minute but they fled to watch it in the warmth. I guess they aren't as silly as I think they are sometimes.........
The Baron has to drive home in it, so I am very worried for him. I drive the newer car, and he has the older. I don't know just how safe that car is - it needs a new gear and clutch, the horn is broken and the MOT is tomorrow. I think it will fail again. It failed last year, and I think the year before as well.
I can't phone him, as all mobile networks seem to be down. I have a T Mobile phone - my personal one, and an Orange phone for work. I can't get either to work even though I have full reception, and since he seems to have the same problem I can't use the home phone to get through to him. I hope he drives carefully. Last year when it snowed like this people took six hours to drive less than he has to, so I'm not expected him anytime soon.
It is so quiet outside. The main road is pretty much deserted, and barring a few warmly dressed children (the Boy's friends) playing outside, there is no-one in sight. Lots of faces at windows though. Its still coming down, but it is more sleety now than proper snow. If this keeps up, I won't be going to work tomorrow either. Knowing my luck though, it will all melt overnight.
Miss Ellie is teething. Like a baby, this involves lots of crying and dribbling (actually, I think that is just her) and lots of biting of things. The (expensive) wooden 6 foot blind, my hand, my antique pine bookcase, the legs of the loft bed, my nose, Frankie's tail. She doesn't mind what she bites, and biting is usually prefaced by lots of headbutts and purring, until she sinks those razor sharp little fangs in. So bleeding skin and drool covered clothes are de rigeur here.
The Beef Thief struck again yesterday. It was my fault, as I forgot to cover it whilst it was cooling. Uncovered food is fair game for a cat. This time I am using it - I didn't tell the Baron what happened, so what he doesn't know won't kill him. I retrieved it from one very happy looking furball, gave him some and stuffed it into the fridge.
That's enough from me........time to get my own back on those little children throwing snowballs at my window. They won't know what's hit them........actually they probably will!
Titbits
3 Brits die each year testing if a 9v battery works on their tongue.
142 Brits were injured in 1998 by not removing all pins from new shirts.
58 Brits are injured each year by using sharp knives instead of screwdrivers.
31 Brits have died since 1996 by watering their Christmas tree while the fairy lights were plugged in.
19 Brits have died in the last 3 years believing that Christmas decorations were chocolate.
British Hospitals reported 4 broken arms last year after cracker pulling accidents.
18 Brits had serious burns in 1998 trying on a new jumper with a lit cigarette in their mouth.
A massive 543 Brits were admitted to A&E in the last two years after opening bottles of beer with their teeth.
And finally...........
In 1997 eight Brits cracked their skull whilst throwing up into the toilet.
Land of Hope and Glory, Land of the Free............................sniff sniff.
I'm so proud to be British.
SSSSNNNNNOOOOOOOWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!
I've taken the day off, and I have just come in from throwing snowballs at the cats (in my pyjama's). They have never been out in the snow before and they are having a great time.
If my mood picks up, you might even get a ramble out of me. Not promising anything though.
For Amy
A brief ramble just for Amy on her very special day. Only because its your birthday, mind.
Two Boy related occurrences.
1) He has had a hard day. He has "bran" new shoes, which in itself is a scary thought, but since he hasn't got the "hanger" of the laces yet, you can't help but sympathise.
2) A "joke" from the Boy:
Knock knock?
Who's there?
The Boy?
The Boy who?
The Boy who loves you.
Pretty much melted me there and then. Right in the middle of grocery shopping. Not good.
Another service announcement
It is unknown when service will return to normal. Please listen for further announcements.
Service update
I lied about the regular service. If WAGN can tell porkies like that, then so can I.
Ellie is poorly and I have a lot of vomit to clean up.
Service announcement
Regular service will be resumed tomorrow.
A not unusual day here
The promised cold spell seems to have arrived. I am freezing cold. The cats are snuggled down into my quilt, and all I can see is the tips of their ears peeking out.
I had the windscreen replaced this morning. It was fun to watch, but even more fun to watch the bloke struggling to do his job with the help of Harvey and Frankie. Harvey insisted on following him to and from the van, and even had to inspect the contents of the van to make sure that they met with his approval. He also had to check that the correct tool was being used. When I tried to catch him, he buggered up the nearest tree and watched from there.
Frankie was more interested in trying to jump onto my new windscreen, which was spread across a large trestle. Since I wanted a non cracked screen to replace my cracked one, I spent a lot of time trying to stop him jumping on it him and get him indoors. Of course, while I was busy with Frankie, Harvey snuck back down the tree (he hasn't figured out I can see what he does when there are no leaves on the tree), and tried to get back in the van.
I grabbed Frankie just as he was about to pounce (and most likely shatter) my new windscreen, and posted him through the cat flap. Harvey watched on, tail swishing. At that point the Autoglass bloke took out a can from the van and gave it a good shake. Harvey thought it was some kind of giant flea spray and dived back into the safety of the van. I yanked him out and tried to get him in the house. He escaped from my grasp with the aid of some nifty claw work and sat in front of the van, his eyes never leaving the supposed giant flea spray.
I turned to face him, and made to grab him. Harvey swore and fled under the van. Unfortunately for him, the van had high suspension and I reached round the rear wheel and grabbed the scruff of his neck. He swore again, spat for good measure and was dragged out kicking and screaming. The Autoglass bloke looked on in complete shock as I hauled him out and picked him up. I held on to him tightly, and offered him for a cuddle. Autoglass bloke beat a hasty retreat and contined with his work, muttering something about psychotic cats.
Harvey was also posted without ceremony through the cat flap, accompanied by indignant wails. He is now sleeping peacefully, no doubt dreaming of his revenge.
Which reminds me. We have roast beef planned for lunch tomorrow. Full security measures will be in place to prevent any feline related loss. The Beef Thief will be thwarted in any attempts to filch the leftover joint.
The Baron and I have decided that we will go to the US this year. It is against our better judgement, but for the sake of family harmony and the chance to give my mother a wonderful surprise we have decided to put our personal feelings aside and go.
So, to assuage my (considerable) guilt caused by abandoning my principles, I will be making myself some T-shirts with some pertinent logo's. I don't really want to get arrested (actually, part of me does, just so I can cause an international incident!), so they won't be offensive, unless viewed by a terminally pathetic person, but will just be an expression of free speech.
One will have a picture of a cat's paw, claws unsheathed, saying simply "Don't Mutilate; Manicure!". I wanted to add a picture of a thorn bush on the back, with the logo saying "Mutilate a Bush instead" but the Baron has vetoed that idea. That is as far as I have got, but I have until August to work on them.
I'm going to try to put the heating on. I'm losing the feeling in my fingers. Oh and the nails are turning blueish. Not so good.
Story time
I'm sat at my desk, nursing my favourite morning concoction - half coffee (decaf as I am trying to cut out caffeine where possible) and half hot chocolate.
The theory is that calories in the milk and the chocolate will somewhat compensate for the lack of breakfast this morning. I ran out of milk this morning, and the bread was mouldy. I was paid today (yippee!) so I am going shopping as soon I get out of my meeting this afternoon.
We don't usually run out of anything (I am the Queen of the Stocked Cupboards) but I have a very small freezer, so I can't keep extra milk or bread. And I only go shopping once a week because otherwise I spend way too much money - I love food shopping with a passion.
I have to admit though, the theory isn't working. I am hungry, and nice as the chococoffee is, it isn't quite enough.
So, it's finally Friday. A few hours left, and then the weekend starts. The Baron and I are going to the Imperial War Museum on Sunday, which should be fun. I haven't been in years - last time I went in the air raid simulation 4 times in a row! We would go tomorrow, but my windscreen is finally being replaced so I have to wait in for the bloke to come and fix it. It will be nice to have full visibility again!
The Baron has developed a strange and slightly unhealthy obsession with Spitfires (which prompted the idea to visit the museum on Sunday). It started with his latest game, Battlefield 1942, and progressed when he started modelling his own to import into the game, and staying up most of the night to do so. Now he is reading a book on them (and the Baron emphatically does not read books) and watching a TV series where after a lengthy selection process, one lucky person is now learning to fly a real Spitfire. I don't mind though - we are going to one of my favourite museums, and I get to go in the bookshop. Not bad at all!
Right. Off to do some work, me thinks.
**********
Well, that didn't last too long. Sometimes, I don't think I am cut out for the Working World. I just don't really care enough - other than that my pay arrives each month. I do like what I do, but I would prefer not to work at all. And that makes it hard to bother on a day where all I have to do is attend a meeting at 2pm and ask a few questions. Two hours to go.
I wish I had the inspiration to write, but I have never had much imagination. I used to hate writing stories at school, because I find it so hard to come up with a character that I like, let alone actually care what happens to. If I don't like the people I write about, then why should anyone else? So writing is pretty much out. Even if I do know about grammar (!).
Must. Go. Do. Something.
**********
I wrote this over lunch. It is the first piece of creative writing I have done since I was 13 years old.
The movement was slight and almost imperceptible. But it was there.
He narrowed his eyes and stared intently. All was still again. He waited, barely breathing. He had to be sure that he was right - he couldn't afford to be wrong about this.
The room was cold. There had been no heat in there for a long time. Everything was cold to the touch. The air felt slightly damp, reflecting the deep fog that enveloped the building.
He exhaled slowly. Had he been mistaken after all? His tense body began to relax slightly, and he lay back down, savouring what little body heat he had.
It was completely quiet. He had heard a train rumble past, but he had no idea where the tracks were. That had been a few hours ago, and he had heard nothing else since.
There it was again! Another movement, and definitely stronger than before. He raised himself back up to get a clearer look, careful to keep hidden in the shadows. He didn't want to take any chances at all.
She was hidden by a great mound of covers. Covers that she shouldn't be needing anymore.
Her features were obscured in the darkness, but he could see that her eyelids were flickering. She was trying to open her eyes.
He made a snap decision. He had to end this now, before she opened her eyes. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. This was it.
He threw himself across the bed, and landed on the mound of covers just under her head. Her eyes jerked open and he could see the shock in her face as she registered the pain of his impact. She was completely taken by surprise. Her hands came up from under the covers as if to defend herself, but he blocked them with his body and her feeble attempts to push him away were easily resisted.
As he applied the necessary pressure to her throat, her eyes began to close again. He tightened his grip more and her hands came free and tried in vain to remove him from her throat.
Victory was his. It was all over.
He began to purr with contentment as she ran her hands through his fur and down his back. He nuzzled his whiskers into the warmth of her neck and relaxed into her arms as she cuddled him tightly, his little body vibrating with the intensity of his purrs. His hunt was over.
The End!
OK, I do know that it is crap, but it was fun to write. It took ages to find just the phrases that I wanted, but it was a nice challenge for me. And it is something that happens every night.
Off to my meeting. That won't be fun, but at least then I can go home
The truth of cats......
WRAPPING PRESENTS WITH THE HELP OF A CAT:
1. Clear large space on table for wrapping present.
2. Go to wardrobe and collect bag in which present is contained, and close door.
3. Open door and remove cat from wardrobe.
4. Go to cupboard and retrieve rolls of wrapping paper.
5. Go back and remove cat from cupboard.
6. Go to drawer and collect transparent sticky tape, ribbons, scissors, labels, etc.
7. Lay out present and wrapping materials on table, to enable wrapping strategy to be formed.
8. Go back to drawer to get string, remove cat that has been in the drawer since last visit, and collect string.
9. Remove present from bag.
10. Remove cat from bag.
11. Open box to check present, remove cat from box, replace present.
12. Lay out paper to enable cutting to size.
13. Cut the paper to size, trying to keep the cutting line straight.
14. Throw away first sheet because cat tried to chase the scissors and tore paper.
15. Cut second sheet of paper to size by putting cat in the bag the present came out of.
16. Place present on cut-to-size paper.
17. Lift up edges of paper to seal in present, wonder why edges now
don't reach, and find cat between present and paper. Remove cat and retry.
18. Place object on paper, to hold in place, while cutting transparent
sticky tape.
19. Spend next 20 minutes carefully trying to remove transparent sticky
tape from cat with pair of nail scissors.
20. Seal paper down with transparent sticky tape, making corners as neat
as possible.
21. Look for roll of ribbon; chase cat down hall and retrieve ribbon.
22. Try to wrap present with ribbon in a two-directional turn.
23. Re-roll up ribbon and remove paper that is now torn, due to cat's
enthusiasm in chasing ribbon end.
24. Repeat steps 12-22 until down to last sheet of paper.
25. Decide to skip steps 12-16 in order to save time and reduce risk of
losing last sheet of paper. Retrieve old cardboard box that you know is right size for sheet of paper.
26. Put present in box, and tie down with string.
27. Remove string, open box and remove cat.
28. Put all packing materials in bag with present and head for lockable room.
29. Once inside room, lock door and start to re-lay out packing materials.
30. Remove cat from box, unlock door, put cat outside door, close door and re-lock.
31. Lay out last sheet of paper. (Admittedly this is difficult in the small area of the toilet, but try your best!)
32. Seal box, wrap with paper and start repairs by very carefully sealing down tears with sticky tape and decorate with bows to hide worst affected areas.
33. Label, then sit back and admire your handiwork, congratulating yourself on making good of a bad job.
34. Unlock door, and go to kitchen to make drink and feed cat.
35. Spend next 15 minutes looking for cat, before coming to obvious conclusion.
36. Unwrap present, untie box and remove cat.
37. Retrieve all discarded sheets of wrapping paper, feed cat and retire to lockable room for last attempt, making certain you are alone and the door is locked.
38. At time of handing over present, smile sweetly at receiver's face, as they try and hide their contempt at being handed such a badly wrapped present.
39. Swear to yourself that next year, you will get the store to wrap the darn thing for you.
Dilemma
We got some interesting news last night.
Dad is planning a surprise trip to Florida for my Mum, and part of the surprise is that we will all be there (me, the Baron, the Boy, my sister and her boyfriend). He is even willing to pay for us all to fly out, and the villa that we will stay in, leaving us just food, car hire and entertainment to pay for.
Which is great. Apart from one small itty bitty thing.
It is America, and both the Baron and I vowed we would not be returning. Whilst I like pretty much every American I have ever met, and I have always had a nice time when I have been over, I loathe what the country stands for, and what it has done in recent history. I do not want to go to a country that acts in a manner so diametrically opposed to my beliefs.
There are so many things about America that piss me off (and the fact that the UK follows so blindly against the will of the majority also really pisses me off too). It isn't the people per se, although the mindless millions who blindly support Bush as he works on destroying the world whilst eroding their personal freedoms also piss me off. People too stupid to see what is happening deserve all they get, it's just that the rest of the world is being swept along too.
The introduction of fingerprinting new arrivals, the backing out of the Kyoto treaty, the steel tariffs, Iraq, Afghanistan, Guantanemo Bay, Homeland Security, cat declawing, the incredible legal drinking age, corporate greed, the gun laws, and of course Bush himself are just the first in a long long list of things I detest about the States that comes to mind.
How can we possibly go? It would make hypocrites of us both, after all we have said. How can I, a cat lover, visit a nation that legally allows the amputation of a cat's toes for no damn reason? I didn't know of such barbaric customs when I last went, or I wouldn't have gone then either. Scratching the furniture is no fucking reason. Teach the child not to annoy the cat - too much fucking work so mutilate the cat instead. Can't have the cat scratch the child now, can we? Arm the population to its teeth, but deprive an innocent cat of its natural defence - where is the logic there?
Interestingly, studies point frequently to the fact that serial killers started their careers by mutilating animals. But mutilation is allowed by US law so what does that say about Americans? Coupled with the vast personal arsenals tucked away in the homes of millions of citizens, and the support for attacking pretty much defenceless countries, I have to wonder.
How can I, as a reasonably decent person, visit a country that holds people accused of a made up charge in such horrific conditions (whilst condemning China's human rights record), and spend my time there having fun going to parks?
How can I visit a country that pays no respect to the rest of the world - pollutes it, bombs the crap out of it, ignores it when it doesn’t heed to America's whims, taxes it, and then actually pay for the privilege of going there?
Do I really want my fingerprints on record just for a holiday?
My Mum would be over the moon if we went, but it feels so completely wrong to even sit and contemplate it. Of course, the pressure is already being put on us both to accept, and it is churlish to refuse such a gift, and the opportunity to give my Mum the surprise of her life. Pants.
How is it that I get two invitations abroad in one year and I really don’t want to accept either! What are the odds of that?
Grismal day
I brought in a shepherds pie to reheat for my lunch, because it is such a miserable day. Sandwiches just don't cut it when it is drizzly and dreary. I have just found out that there is no microwave, so that means no lunch unless I venture out into the rain and buy some.
The only problem with that is that I am not paid until Friday. When you think that I was last paid on the 23rd October 2003, and that I didn't sign on whilst not working, it is pretty clear why we currently have no money. The Baron's pay has all gone on house related expenses, and hasn't covered everything, hence the astronomical overdraft we now have.
I keep some emergency biscuits in the car. I may have to eat those. It's half ten in the morning and I am hungry already. I won't be home until at least five this evening, so it looks like a long day. I'm scared that my stomach may digest itself just to keep busy.
I spent the evening with the Boy yesterday. He wasn't as melodramatic as he was on Monday night (his cold is getting better), but he still has a bee in his bonnet. The subject changes hourly, but the bee stays firmly put.
Last night's major strop was that it is my birthday before his. I did try to explain that he should take that up with his mother and my mother as the people who had some input into that, but he still thinks that it is my fault and that we should swap birthdays so that it is his first. He knows that he is a Very Important Person and so he thinks he should come first in everything.
I'm in no hurry to turn twenty six, so if it were down to me, I personally would agree. But as the law probably wouldn't, I had to tell him no and that it would have to be my birthday first. So he cried.
And the upshot? We will pretend that it is his birthday now and in August, and he gets to open all but one of my presents. Again. Because I haven't opened my own birthday presents since 2000, which was when he was one and a half and had discovered the joys of present opening. This way I get to open one present a year (yes, he opens my Christmas presents for me too). The trials and tribulations of Auntydom.
A little later...........
I have just had a very unusual conversation:
"Do you have a thing about using two spaces after a full stop?" Says colleague peering over his laptop, glasses slightly askew and hair showing the effects of this morning's exposure to the rain and damp.
"Urm. Yes, I do." Picture me with a very quizzical expression - more Penfold than DMouse.
"Why?" Asks colleague, staring at me like I have announced that I am in fact a man in drag and that my name is Pete.
"Because it is standard to use one space after a comma, and two after a full stop. That is what you are supposed to do." Duh"
Is he crazy? Is he having me on? Is this his strange idea of a joke?
"I didn’t know that - I’ve never heard that before. I've just edited your entire report to remove the extra space. That is how we do it here."
I don’t think he is joking. He is completely serious, and peering over, I see he has indeed edited my entire report. Since he has also disabled the grammar check (arrogantly or ignorantly I don’t know), the screen hasn't filled with the little green lines to tell him of the error of his ways.
"Ok." I can't really think of much else to say to that. What is there to say?
Apparently I need to stop adding a second space after a full stop, because my manager won't like it either, and will edit it himself, or more likely, make me edit them out.
I don't think so. I won’t be changing to rules of grammar to fit in with his misconceptions. The second space stays and that isn't negotiable.
Post lunch..........
I couldn't stand the hunger pangs anymore. I bought a sandwich. The beauty of buying lunch after the rush is that sandwiches are marked down to half price to get rid of them. That made me feel a little better, and I shall have my shepherd's pie tonight for dinner instead. Or maybe the Baron will.
He is off with his pulled muscle, but I wish he wouldn't keep calling me just because he is bored. We lost internet access for a while yesterday due to a technical fault, and he was so edgy the whole time. He has no ability whatsoever to amuse himself (apart from the obvious) and so just annoys me instead.
I'm bored too. I am about ready to call it a day. I want to go home!!!!!!!
Time is passing
I barely got a wink of sleep last night. A certain white furry cat wanted to be cuddled all night long.
His routine involves pouncing on me (and winding me, natch) to wake me up. He requires my full attention at all times during cuddling. So I get my breath back and roll onto my back, and then the kneading starts. He adores it, especially when he headbutts me at the same time. I like it, in that pleasure/pain way. I could live without the bruising that it causes across my chest and neck, but it makes him so happy, and since he is such a miserable bastard of a cat during daylight, well, I can cope with it.
So after a good ten minutes of that, it is time for the hug and roll manoeuvre. He finally lays down on my chest (which is nice and tenderised by this point) and puts his head into my neck. That is my cue to put my arms around him, and roll onto my left side - he hasn't mastered rolling onto my right. He rolls with me, and ends up cuddled along my side with his head on my shoulder and his paws around my neck, all the while purring into my ear. Now I am allowed to sleep again.
That lasts anywhere up to a couple of hours, and then the whole thing starts again. It usually repeats every half an hour, so that means that I get to sleep in 15 minute bites.
Ellie usually comes up as well. I remember last night thinking that Harvey was sleeping on my back (I had rolled onto my stomach) because I could feel a cat. I opened my eyes and realised that Harvey was on my pillow an inch from my face, staring straight at me. That is terrifying at the best of times, but since I thought he was on my back, I was also very confused. I rolled over to see who was on my back and found Miss Ellie doing exactly the same. I jumped about a foot in the air and banged my head on the ceiling. Harvey didn't even move, but Ellie went to seek comfort from Frankie. I lay back down, and cuddled Harvey until my heart calmed down and we fell asleep.
My heart certainly had a workout - that is not my favourite way to wake up. Statistics show that people are most likely to have a fatal heart attack early in the morning. It makes a lot of sense if the victims all have cats.
Time has passed.......
I am trying to book in some work for the next few months. It seems that the whole world is in a meeting at the moment and will get back to me later. I feel all left out.
I don't believe any of them. No-one will call me back today. I will phone them all back after lunch, one by one, and every single one will lie and say that they were just about to call me back. I need to get some work booked in, or I have to go and work in Margate. That is incentive enough!
I take it back. One person has called back, and she was supposed to be on leave today. That is way too much commitment to the job.
More time has passed......(not very quickly either)
I was playing the Hobbit last night. I remember having it on the C64 years and years ago, and I loved it. I never finished it - the bulbous eyes on the road used to drop out of the tree and kill me, or I'd be captured, escape in a barrel (after much waiting) and drown in the Great River. Dad once got to the dragon and nicked all the gold, and we saved it (on cassette, of course, we are talking about the technological Dark Ages) but we always got killed on that road.
So we got ourselves a C64 emulator so I could have another try. I still can't do it, but my gymnastic moves in Summer Games 1 are coming on a treat.
Not enough time has passed.......
I'm reviewing personnel files. It is one of my favourite jobs, being a Highly Nosy Person, and there are some real gems in them. I'm waiting for more information regarding some concerns raised - if they aren't in the file they must be pretty juicy!!
However, the afternoon isn't exactly flying away from me. And no-one else has returned my calls. So my mind is wandering again.
I've tried to work out why Ellie feels the need to steal clean socks to line her basket, especially when she always sleeps on our bed anyway. She doesn't pounce on them or even try to be sneaky - she just brazenly wanders up and trots cheerfully away with one in her mouth.
I've tried to roll my tongue - I still can't do it. I know it is a genetic trait, but absolutely everyone in my family can roll their tongues so maybe I just don’t know how to do it yet! My parentage isn't in question; I have the right gene pool, so it just isn't fair.
I've tried to work out where teaspoons go. There are just never any in office kitchens. I remember once when I was auditing a large (and horrible) charity, that there was a teaspoon amnesty. They had bought 500 to replace all the missing ones and put them out on a Monday, and by 5pm on Friday, only 17 could be found.
They promised no disciplinary action for those people returning spoons. Real incentive, that. I admit to finding several in the audit room, but I didn't steal all of them. I just borrowed a couple, because my manager wasn't wholly impressed with my stirring-with-a-pen technique. It was my pen, in my tea, that I chewed on anyway, so I didn't really see her problem.
I've even tried to beat my own personal best of holding my breath. I didn't.
Still, all things come to an end, and the long afternoon at work was no exception to that. I've driven home (in the drizzle and fog), had bangers and mash with the Boy and am now home listening to the Baron moan and groan about the pulled muscle in his shoulder.
Looks like a long evening as well.
Melodramatic Boys
The Boy has reached new heights of melodrama. He told me today that he hates his life. I'd like to point out that the Boy in question is five years old. This came about because he can't read as well as he would like (which is well as I can), but he hates practising because his books have too many silly pictures. Silly boy!
I told him that he would learn to read and he didn't have to practise all the time. To which he screamed that he wishes that he had never been born and ran out of the room. When I managed to stop laughing, I went to see if he was ok. He was playing with Lego. We had a chat. He says that his brain makes him say these things and he wants to be clever but his brain won't let him. I have no idea where he gets all this from, but he does have a stonking cold and has ingested a lot of snot and Calpol.
He did a wrestling a move on his Grandad earlier this morning and Grandad now claims to be crippled for life. It was hysterical to watch (and Grandad egged him so deserved everything he got) - Grandad was lying down and the Boy just threw himself over him, elbows out and all weight aiming down. Grandad started to yell and was trying not to curse, and I was sat crippled by the giggles.
The Boy isn't supposed to watch the wrestling but Daddy lets him. Daddy lets him do anything he damn well wants. Daddy is a twat, who has never paid a penny in child support, and works cash in hand to avoid having his wages garnished. Complete bastard. My sister was 18, and he was 26 at the time. She had missed years of school due to illness and was emotionally very immature. He swooped in and took advantage. 'Nuff said.
Before the wrestling incident, we were playing Lego. When my sister and I were little, we had a whole village, with houses, a fire, police and ambulance station, a petrol station, an airport, a post office, a fast food place, and various other places. It is being rebuilt for the Boy, but to be honest, I think the rest of us are getting far more fun out of it!
I have had the best evening building spaceships to take over the village and enslave the Lego race for my own evil and subverted purposes. I even had Lego cluster bombs........I think I see where the Boy's weirdness may come from now that I think about it!
Ellie is being a little butthole this evening. I've just found enough lone socks lining her bed to clothe the seven dwarfs, but she isn't parting with them. Everytime I rescue them she just bites me and pops them back in her bed. I think I shall have to kiss them goodbye.
Anyway, I should go hang the sheets out to dry. I forgot about them yesterday so I had to wash them again. Without a tumble drier it is a bugger drying anything at all in winter. I'll just dangle them over the balcony, and hope that the cats don't try to abseil down them like last time.
The Plan
It is one of those January days that whispers to you that spring is on the way. Bright and sunny, and just a feeling in the air that warmer days are coming.
But that isn't my style. Anyway, much as I like the warm weather, the BBQ's, the lazy evenings drinking beer on the front lawn with the neighbours, there is one downside to summer.
Hayfever. The season is getting longer each year - starting earlier and finishing later, and the pollen count seems to reach new highs each year. I need to start my medication (if I choose to take any) in mid Feb now to make sure I am ready for summer. I didn't bother last year as I don't like to take medicine that suppresses an immune reaction. I decided that I would brave it out - things are never that bad in retrospect.
Three days into my hayfever, I seriously regretted that decision. I gave myself two black eyes with rubbing them, and I blew my nose raw. I had a permanently sore throat with the sneezing and coughing and sinuses that throbbed in time to Limp Bizkit. But the worst has to be that itch at the back of the throat that nothing can cure. Ice doesn't do it, scratching the top lip doesn't really help (but that doesn't stop me doing it anyway) and clawing at your throat makes no dent.
So this year, I am prepared. I WILL take it this year. I will not suffer needlessly. Sneezing at 90mph on the motorway is plain scary. I will take my tablets.
Post it note summary
My cold has nearly gone, my windscreen crack grew to a foot and a half but the glass can't be replaced until next week, the Baron did fix my parents computer, and the cats are driving me batty.
Sick day
I've stayed home today.
I actually feel an awful lot better than I did yesterday, but not well enough to spend an hour and a half on the Tube each way. So I am going to stay home, drink tea and bug the Baron until he finds the modem and sets up our old computer for my parents. The cats in turn are bugging me, because Harvey and Frankie want to go out. Ellie just likes making a lot of noise. And mess.
Harvey is back to doing his Lion King impression on the balcony, albeit it's more of a miaow than a roar. Of course Ellie has to then copy him because if Harvey does it, she has to. He managed to climb on top of the fridge yesterday, so Miss Ellie had to join him. Unfortunately for her, Harvey could get down. She couldn't.
How to tell if it is a bad day part deux?
You drop your brand new night and day lens down the sink and can't see it.
You remember that you were only given one pair to trial, so its glasses or cycloptic vision.
You find the lens attached to a gob of toothpaste in the sink. You put it in aynway.
You set off for work, and discover a two inch crack in the windscreen.
You get to work, and find it is now a four and a half inch crack.
Then you find out a new windscreen is £120.
You get cut up by maniac cab drivers in London.
You get completely lost driving in London.
You go home because you feel so deathlike.
Then the heating won't work.
You go to bed with three cats, two more sudafed and another large glass of whisky.
How to tell if it is a bad day?
You call your mum and ask for a tax advisor, because you pressed last call redial instead of dialling.
You are so bunged up with cold that your own mother doesn't recognise you on the phone anyway.
Your sinuses throb beyond belief. And sneezing is pleasurable.
You fill the washing machine with cat kibble instead of washing powder. Because you have the same containers for both.
You forget you take sugar in coffee. And don't in tea.
You run out of water in the car reservoir and have to drive home looking through a dirty screen.
You bring the neighbours cat in instead of your own. Sorry, Smudge.
You wash several tissues.
You drop your laptop.
Your eyes still smart 4 hours after your contact lens appointment because the dye they used in your lens fitting irritates your eyes.
You drop an entire file at work. And everything falls out and gets mixed up.
And that folks, is a brief summary of my day. I am going to take some more Sudafed, a lot of Irish Cream and head for the sofa and my blanket. Minus the cats, if I get my way. If they get their's, then it will be three cats under the blanket clawing my leg if I move.
Bizarre
I've just come out of the kitchen (at the client I'm at today) where I stumbled in bleary eyed to make a cup of tea to go with my extremely healthy breakfast of an orange and a bun, and I was greeted by the sight of one of the client staff washing himself in the sink.
Not just his hands. Top off, soap suds everywhere, and some very enthusiastic singing accompanied a full upper body scrub down. Right there in the communal kitchen. Put me right off the idea of breakfast - the people quickest to get their kit off in public are usually the ones who should be forced by law to keep it on at all times, and the gentleman (and I use that term in its loosest sense) in question today was no exception.
Ick. It is cold and raining, the wind is howling and I've just seen a semi naked man in the kitchen. I hope the day improves soon.
Five minutes late.....and the day isn't improving.
Raindrops keep falling on my head.
I am indoors, which makes the above statement that much more annoying. I have moved out of the kitchen, which is a start, and I am in an open plan office at a desk. It's warm in here. It's a nice promotion. Where's the catch?
It is a mobile unit. The rain is drumming down on the roof. It makes a nice soothing background and partially masks out the drone of office life:
"Where is the folder with the blue post it note gone? I had it a minute ago!"
"It's not my turn to make the tea. I made it last time."
"Who didn't fill the paper up in the photocopier?"
The rain allows me the chance to indulge in my favourite workday fantasy of sunshine, heat, a good book, a never-ending bacardi and coke and the Baron rubbing my suntan lotion in.
But every now and then my rain-induced reverie is interrupted by the rude sploshing of a big cold raindrop down the back of my neck. And I am jerked back to the real world of ringing telephones, the smell of ozone drifting out of the photocopier and client staff bustling around with huge piles of paper trying to look busy and therefore very very important. And the most uncomfortable sensation of being seated in a chair whose normal occupant has a much larger bottom than I do. I feel like I've been let loose to sea - the chair has suffered under the previous weight and wobbles precariously, and there are actual buttock imprints in the padding that I do not fit into in the slightest and so I join the chair in its wobbling. Not the best start to another morning in the big bad Working World.
Today's review is a short one, and is just a check that the recommendations made at the last review, and were agreed by management have actually been implemented. I had a meeting with the Financial Controller (I was trying not to wonder about his underwear, I swear. I wish I had never seen that survey), and since every question was met with increasingly nervous giggles and paper shuffling, I think I can safely send him last years report again with a memo saying "Do This Now" and go home.
So in the interest of generating Value For Money - after all the client is paying for my services, even if they choose not to act on anything I say, I am sat here with my open laptop also trying to look busy and very important. It gets very boring after a while.
The lights have started to flicker on and off and the rain is seeping through at an alarming rate. There are mutterings of mutiny amongst the staff. They won't do anything but complain though - no-one ever does anything but moan. The only thing that is guaranteed to get the staff up and actually doing something is running out of milk. Leaking roof? People will sit and moan that their hair and/or papers are getting wet, but no-one will make the supreme effort to call maintenance and get it sorted - it isn't their responsibility. Broken light? Those same people will sit in the dark and moan that they work for a useless company that can't even fix a light, without stopping to think that they can't fix something if they don't know that it is broken. And no-one will call, because it isn't their responsibility, and if they do, someone will fix it and they will have to go back to work.
I know not everyone is that lazy. But sometimes it really does seem that way. The ultimate in lazy, and this really pisses me off, are the people who can't be bothered to put out a new roll of toilet paper when they finish it and instead leave the last two squares attached to the roll. I mean, odds are they have been hiding in there for the last twenty minutes to avoid working anyway, so why not take another thirty minutes to track down the toilet roll and put it on? No, at that point they get a conscience and have to rush back to work, leaving it to the poor sod who comes in next, uses the toilet and then realises that there is no toilet paper and that they don't have a tissue on them.
And the irony of me bemoaning all those who are lazy at work, whilst writing my Blog and not actually doing anything that I am paid for has not escaped me.
A little later............
Unbelievably it is quarter to one already. Where did the morning go? The rain has died away, my pile of paper has grown and my blood caffeine level is slowly rising. My mobile phone is almost out of battery, which should stem the tide of inane phone-calls I have had this morning quite nicely. I don't want a brand new cable TV package, I don't want more insurance to cover my boring life and I am not a sandwich bar taking orders for a large party of vegetarians (very wrong number).
My file is coming on quite nicely. I am one of those sad individuals who gets very excited by highlighters, coloured gel pens and pretty little post-it notes, so in actual fact, I am very suited to the life of an auditor. My file is a work of art; a veritable explosion of colour and post it notes. It's just a shame that the actual commentary consists only of:
"Recommendation not carried out"
"This constitutes a significant weakness that needs to be addressed immediately"
"Sort it out, you twat". Ok, the last one is what I want to put in my file and report, as an example of my feelings towards the FC, and as what I overheard the blunt speaking Director saying on the phone to the FC when I just walked past his desk in search of another caffeine hit, but as I quite like my job, I will probably try to find a more diplomatic phrasing.
The rest of the afternoon will be dedicated to getting even more paper with which to pad out my file, and then the systematic colouring in of the above mentioned so that it bears a striking resemblance to a rainbow. Or a piece of work brought home by a small child - I've been told (more than a few times actually, but my mother's moaning doesn't count here) that my handwriting is about as legible as a scribble.
I admit that it is messy. Sometimes even I have trouble reading what I have written, but that isn't too often. Some people have no problems reading it - my best friend in Uni had no problems reading even my hyperactive middle of lecture scrawl, and she could do that upside down too (the paper was upside down, not her, just in case you were wondering), but some, and unfortunately these are all the people closest to me, cannot read a word I have written. Namely my mother, and the Baron. If I ever leave a suicide note, it will be typed just so they don’t misread it and assume I have gone fly fishing with a lion tamer from North Wales.
Even later........
It is now twenty past two. The day is flying by, and my work is getting done just as quickly. In the words of one of the greatest songwriters of our time:
"Don’t stop me now! I'm having such a good time, I'm having a ball!"
And if you don’t know where that is from, you should be deeply ashamed of yourself.
Lookalikes
I got served in Tesco's today by David Beckham.
Nearly. It was one of his official look alikes who works there. He does bear a striking resemblence ot him. Too bad I'm not a fan.
The Boy - who I bumped into while he was shopping with his mum - was over the moon. He thought it was the real one, and was literally jumping up and down with excitement. Very very cute.
Swimming snippets
We took the Boy swimming today.
Crouching in the cold water of the shallow end getting splashed by overweight children doesn't make for the best Sunday morning, but the conversational snippets I overhead went some way towards rectifiying this.
" Fuck a duck, that woman has fantastic knockers" - two men observing the swimmers.
"No, I said through swim through my legs. You can't come up for air in the middle" - said through gritted teeth by an unfortunate father bent double clutching his groin.
"Mum, mum, mum I can swim!" "No, darling you're standing in two inches of water. You're not quite there yet"
And from me?
"If you pull my top down one more time, I'll stuff this locker key up your bottom"
Cat mediations
Thanks Sarah for posting these cat meditations!
To awaken is a blessing, for it is only then that you can nap again.
It is your nature to climb to high places; it is in theirs to provide silk draperies.
Never walk when you can prowl; never sit when you can sprawl; never eat when you can dine.
The highest form of meditation is total indifference.
Travel on silent feet; the sudden crash of crockery will have greater effect.
What is the sound of six dogs barking at midnight? The sound of a cat fulfilling his responsibility.
Do not yap like the dog, chatter like the bird, or scold like the human: dignified silence will annoy them all.
Enlightenment is worthy; sleep often on a good book.
The master is provided for and always at leisure; the servant provides and is always at labor: therefore know who is master in your house.
To purr is soothing, but a sharp claw communicates clearly.
The thoughtful hunter remembers to offer gifts to his hosts: gopher heads or rat noses are suitable.
The bird takes sudden flight; the fish darts away out of reach; but you can always count on the can opener.
The dog has its master; the horse its owner; the cat, being more fully realized, has its waitperson.
Calculators, contraceptive pills and choirboys
It's gone dark now, and I've done bugger all today except play on here and act as doorman for the cats. Well, I did some stuff, but only because I was forcibly evicted from my bed so early this morning.
For some reason (presumably known to them but not to me) the cats are all sprawled out on the floor next to their cat baskets.
The boys are stretched out to maximum length. Harvey is exposing his furry belly. I want to sink my hands into his fur, but I also want to keep my hands. Ellie is eating her own tail, and Frankie is in a completely different world. He has a similar look on his face to the one he gets when on the litter tray. Given his fetish for earplugs, I shudder at the idea of Frankie's own world.
My calculator hasn't turned up yet. I did have hopes that it was here at home and not stolen, but no such luck. The memorial service will be held tonight at 7. Family flowers only. Donations in lieu of flowers to Calculators Forever.
I'd just skipped off to the little girls room - all this water plays havoc with my bladder, when I heard a small thud from upstairs. In my house, the bathroom is downstairs whilst the computer is upstairs under the bed. I didn't think too much of it; probably a wrestling match or something.
I came back upstairs to find 6 packets (my next 6 months supply) of contraceptive pills being batted around by Frankie, who had jumped up on my desk, knocked everything off and stolen them. Harvey (the cat with issues beyond normal cats) had just pounced on one and was trying to get to the rattling pills inside. Perhaps he thought oestrogen would taste good, I don't know. Maybe he wants breasts of his own (he might stop trying to tenderise mine by walking over them at night).
Frankie is now giving me a very reproachful look now that I have taken them back. Cats definitely subscribe to the "what is mine is mine, and what is yours is mine" school of thought. Tough luck. I don't want to share my pills, and I guess, and this is just a guess, that contraceptive pills aren't really that effective in neutered male cats.
I've certainly had some enlightening comments made about one particular topic in the last few days. I didn't think that it would get that much interest, much less in the direction that things went! I confess that I am more intrigued now. I will admit that after a night's sleep, I am more open to the idea (shush, don't let the Baron hear or he'll hound me to "take it like a choirboy"). Any particular alcoholic drink recommended?!
The. Baron. Is. A. Twat
Breathe deeply. In, out, in out. And relax. And then put cat shit in his shoes.
Stupid bastard is going to a ball tonight (I was invited but politely declined). To make himself beautiful, he decided to shave his head. Would have been ok if he didn't start at three this morning. I woke up when he put the light on, and then started to hoover up the hair. Inconsiderate shit.
So at 7am, his alarm goes off. No response. I don't have to get up, so I batter him. No response. When I whack him in the bollocks, he stirs.
He finally gets up. I roll over and savour having a whole bed (I pretend the three cats lying around me aren't there). Idiot Boy turns on the light. The light blinds me again- when I get up I turn the light downstairs on so as not to disturb him, because I am a Nice Person. No such consideration for me. Not content with destroying my retina's and my chances of getting back to sleep, the Baron proceeds to huff and puff and try to blow the bed down.
"Where is my white shirt?"
"You don't have a white shirt. Now fuck off and let me sleep"
"But I need a white shirt. I can't go without a white shirt. What shall I do?"
"Wear mine then, you stupid twat."
"I'll have to buy one. Can you drive me to work?"
"Piss off and die, you stupid arse."
"I need some money"
End result I am dragged from my nice warm bed to take him to work. It's either that, or have to go tomorrow to retrieve his car, because I'll be lucky if he is conscious when he gets back, let alone sober.
As a rule, I don't drive if he is a passenger, because he is the most annoying passenger in the world. He goes mental if I go one mile over the speed limit, and if there is less than a two mile gap between me and the car in front, he practically has a nervous breakdown right there in the front seat. See my point?
So he starts almost as soon as we set off. After three miles, I told him to get out and walk. I don't have much patience with his behaviour in the car, and three miles was all I could take of his incessant moaning and shouting and swearing. He thinks he can comment on my driving when he sees fit, but heaven help anyone who comments on his driving! He drives like an old woman. Slow and erratic, and I am surprised that no-one has actually got out (wouldn't take long to catch him up!) and punched him. I would.
Anyway. I tell him that I am going home, so if he wants to get to work he'd better get out. He doesn't move. I turn around and head for home. He starts yelling that he will be fired if he is late again and that I have a terrible temper. Look who is doing all the shouting, darlin'!
He then tells me it is my fault that he is late all the time. I try to point out that I might make him late today, but the other days he is late that have lead to trouble at work are all his own doing. Apparently, I am very wrong. It is my fault that he is always late, because I don't wake him up in time. Riiiiiiiiight.
He is nearly 27, but still needs to be woken up in the morning. It is my fault, even when I am not there, that he can't hear an alarm clock and so sleeps all day. Nothing to do with the fact that he goes to bed at 3AM every morning. Not his responsibility at all. The fact that I can get myself up and negotiate 60 miles of motorway and still get to work on time has been lost on him.
I decide that it will be quicker to turn back around and get him the hell out of my car, and my day. I ignore his yelling about my blatent speeding, cutting up of slow lorries and general getting annoyed with idiots who get in my way, and get him to work with ten minutes to spare. And tell him to fuck off out of my car.
I haven't heard from him since. Thankfully, because I don't have anything nice to say to him. He will be back some time early in the morning, so that is another fucked night of sleep and another morning I won't be able to sleep in. Yet another Baron ruined weekend. But imagine the hell that breaks loose if he thinks that his Thursday morning lie in will be interrupted. No - he must be allowed to enjoy his day off, but that doesn't extend to my days off because I have to clean and tidy. He won't - its his day off, and that as we already know, is sacred.
Piss to him.
Procrastination
Ok, I lied when I said I was going to write my report. I couldn't resist the allure of reading some other Blogs. Now what do you think the main topic of Miss "Anal is the new black" Belle de Jour is today??
Now that I have gone mainstream, I am going to write my report now. Honest.
Half day
I am supposed to be writing another report at the moment, which as I am sat here eating a bowl of Rice Krispies and blogging, you can see that I am hard at. Priorities, after all.
I need to relax after my morning labours. I had to drive out to a care home to check cash handling procedures, and it was a total craphole. Then I had to go back to the client office to meet with a couple of people, who both spent more time trying to avoid me than I spent actually asking them questions. But I am fully trained in harassment, and there is no getting away. Hide in the toilet? I'll collar you on the way out. Talking on the phone? I can wait, baby. I am a client's worst nightmare!
(I told you - I take my fun where I can find it. Watching clients trying to hide behind cupboards and under desks is fun. It is even more so making them squirm trying to find the right answer for your evil (and unnecessary, because you already knowthe answers) questions.)
At least the Head of Finance gave me some chocolate, but I still didn't find out about how she knows what underwear the squeaky accountant wears. I suspect that I don't want to either.
So now it is report time. I wish I could slate them; it makes for far more fun, but they only have a few problems, and they knew about those before I arrived. So I have to be nice, and that goes against all my work related principles. Maybe the client next week will be worse......................
Well, I'd better go and do the damn thing. I'd rather watch Quincy, but I don't want to work over the weekend. And that would be just plain sad.
Oh and Chris? Katie? What on earth makes you think I haven't already?!
Typical day
I forgot to take my laptop to work today. I realised when I got to the bridge, and I sure as hell wasn't turning round then. I got an awful lot done though - having it out is just an invitation to do nothing.
My cunning plan to avoid the Fish Lady today worked well - I skipped lunch and went to work in another building. By the time I had finished and come back over even the smell had nearly gone. Result.
There is one accountant at the client who drives me mad. He is perfectly nice, he doesn't smell of fish, he knows what he is doing, and I am as sure as I can be that he isn't wearing womens underwear (I was chatting to the Head of Finance who is leaving soon, and she said that he doesn't wear knickers. We didn't quite make it onto how she knows this for sure, but I will be asking her tomorrow). No, it is his voice.
He has the voice of a 14 year old. High and squeaky, and then it breaks mid conversation. It really bothers me, because he is in his mid fifties and it just sounds ridiculous. Same effect as nails down a blackboard. Cringe.
Bad weather today. I counted three crashes - nine mangled cars, two people being cut free, five police cars, three ambulances and three fire engines. And still people drove up my arse. If only they know I'm not that type of gal. As I keep having to explain to the Baron. He wouldn't disrespect a one way sign on the roads so where is the difference?
Maybe that Crash film was right. See a crash, think of sex. If you are after that, then Belle de Jour is the place for you. I'm British, I'm repressed. Shit, so is she. There goes that excuse.
Anyhoo...........I have to go and retrieve Frankie from the litter tray. He is half way to Australia.
Quiet
Nice and snug at home now. Whizzed home in just over an hour, and arrived here at the same time as the Baron. In true and usual form, he is now sleeping off his dinner.
Ellie is sleeping with him, and both are snoring with abandon. Frankie is in his special doughnut (also asleep) and Harvey is in the sink keeping an eye on things. I can see his bat ears poking up out of the sink. All very normal for around here.
What isn't normal is the lack of washing (all done and drying), and the clean kitchen (dishwasher on). The rest of the house is scarily clean and tidy too. There is a dirty BBQ in the bath thouigh, and I am not cleaning that. The Baron can make himself useful for once, instead of trying to develop bed sores.
I'm going next door.
New style
I thought I'd try a continuous blog today, as I have precious little to do. Not so much Bridget Jones style because I am not a cigarette obsessed singleton, but more keeping me out of mischief, and hopefully out of musings in general. Welcome to my life.
9.28AM
The Auditors Lament.........(imagine an open plan office bursting into song and dance, pseudo Bollywood style, for full dramatic effect)
Where are the documents I requested yesterday, and you promised would be waiting this morning (which is the only reason I didn't take the morning off, when I could have)? Where, in fact, are you? A Post-It Note on your monitor saying that you will be back later isn't helpful.
(Cue wild dancing and teeth knashing whilst client staff twirl giant staplers and hole-punchers around their heads)
I know you are leaving on the 15th of January, and don’t give a flying fuck, but I still need that paperwork you promised. And I have nothing better to do now than harass your department until I get them. I'm an auditor, dammit!
(Time for the wild and evil laughing (from the main character, the hapless auditor), and the dark mysterious music, accompanied by the clients moving their heads from side to side, with an expression of horror. The photocopiers, fax machines and printers all start spewing paper 10 feet into the air, and the paperclips start dancing on the desks)
So, for the second time this week, and it is only bloody Wednesday after all, I am left with little to do until lunch. I have the joy of a meeting at 3pm, which hinders my plans to leave at 3.30, but until those damned documents arrive, I have bugger all to do.
(Client staff begin weeping and wailing, wildly waving their arms about as the office stationery takes on a life of its own, and the auditor starts to rise into the air (strings highly visible). Black smoke emanates from the auditors ears, and a red glow takes over from the light cast by the flickering monitors. The dark and mysterious music reaches its crescendo)
But wait, what is this? A set of management accounts!!! Numbers! Analytical review! Work! Oh the joy will last me at least until 9.44AM.
(Time for the concluding dance scenes. The auditor swoops across the open plan office in a graceful arc, juggling highlighters and calculators, dodging the paper fountains and the client staff leap into their final positions – temps kneeling on the floor, permanent pen pushers onto their chairs and uptheirownarses management onto their desks, for a final and resounding cheer. Everyone then looks a little sheepish and returns to their desks)
Peace and quiet reigns once more.
I can dream, can't I??
10.17AM
It took a little longer to do the analytical review than I expected, mainly because my calculator is nowhere to be found. That calculator saw me through my exam triumphs last year (not to mention the several failures before) and has been declared missing, likely stolen.
However, it had a long and fruitful life, and will deserve entry to Silicon Heaven when it finally expires. Silicon heaven is the final resting place for all electronic lifeforms. It has to be real, for as Kryten says
"Where would all the calculators go?"
Back to the analytical review. Typical pile of pants, with enormous variances that no-one can explains, or more likely, gives a damn about.
In boredom, I have actually looked at areas that aren't in my scope. I'm not joking, without internet access, I would actually rather work (there is only so much time I can spend playing Spider Solitaire). Typically, the most interesting variances are there and I can't go and annoy people by brandishing my annotated set of accounts and asking petty questions. Usually I have better things to do than that, but on days like this, you take your fun where you can find it.
11.22AM
Have been shuffling papers and filling in small sections of my work programme. The erstwhile finance department are apparently due to return from their merriment after lunch. I wonder what that motley crew of mild mannered middle aged accountants have been up to? Despite their reputation for being grey, boring and petty minded, accountants can be the rowdiest and most drunken group of reprobates going.
Did you know that a survey of businessmen once revealed that accountants were the most likely professionals to wear women's underwear to work? I've found it very hard to look at my male colleagues in the same light ever since - are they wearing frilly knickers or boxers? A little diamonte thong or Y fronts? Suspenders?
I am so bored.
11.55AM
Time to break out the Spider Solitaire. I'm going to download Simpsons Hit and Run tonight, so I can play that instead. I really do love that game, and this laptop has a 17 inch screen so it should play well (but it is a bugger to lug around. I miss my compact little Dell)
11.58AM
That didn't last. I can have access to the client intranet to download some stuff. But no-one here has password access for the section I need the most. Bloody typical. Still, it is a start on today's work.
12.45PM
I'm waiting in a queue to defrost my lunch (home-made lasagne). This could be the most exciting thing that has happened all day. No sign of the finance department yet. Oh God the woman with the fish is here!
12.51PM
She has prawns today. And yet again she has stunk the entire building out. I am so tempted to blow this afternoon's meeting off and just go home. My lasagne is consolation though - I am a damn good cook!
Holy shit - the finance department has arrived! But now have to leave again to have some lunch.
13.46PM
Finance are still missing despite their brief reappearance. I give up. I am not destined to have a productive day, and I should just give up and go home now, because things aren't going to get any better.
I found a stack of papers by the photocopier which I assume are mine, but after going through them, I can see that half are missing. I'm going to hide them now, because I've just realised that these were printed on the 5th of Jan and I only asked for them yesterday. So unless the computer system has an error (which wouldn't really surprise me) I have stolen and written all over someone’s documents. It might explain why half of the stuff I wanted is missing though.
14.07PM
I was literally just typing that the finance department are taking the piss, when lo and behold they waltz back in again. I'm going to grab the woman I need before she goes home!
14.09PM
Too late. She has disappeared yet again. Bollocks.
14.21PM
Still waiting, none too patiently. I am all packed up, barring my laptop, and when I grab her (hopefully before my meeting at 3pm) I will get my stuff, fling it in the file - I will deal with it tomorrow - and put everything in the car. Then I can wander over to my meeting in the other building, get the paperwork I want from them and then I am going home.
14.26PM
My head is bleeding. Why, I don't know. Maybe my brains are pushing their way out through my skull.
14.39PM
I have stolen someone else's documents. She hasn't done what I asked, and says I have to wait until tomorrow morning because it will take her a couple of hours to get my stuff. So I have shredded the stolen ones and put them for recycling. They were there for two days, so I don't think they will be sorely missed.
14.47PM
I’m going. Meeting first and then home.
Fish
The worst thing about working on a desk in the kitchen is that you are subject to other people's dietary whims and perversions.
For example, today one woman had fish for lunch. Doesn't sound that bad, you say? Well, for once that wasn't the problem (I'll get to that later). It was the smell.
Oh good God, the smell. It was supposed to be steamed cod with rice salad. It looked like that. It smelt like something that had died three weeks ago and had been hung up in a damp musty shed to really get nice and juicy. The whole building, not just the kitchen, reeked of it. I opened the window, but that smell just wasn't going anywhere.
And then you have the chompers. Those people who can't eat quietly, let alone with their mouths closed. I am sure that they are kind souls who, in the spirit of true generosity and kindness, want to share every part of their dining experience (and some take this to extremes by spraying food out to decorate the table, their chin and the poor unfortunate sat opposite), but that still doesn't quell the urge to garotte them with my laptop cable.
And the best bit? Being two feet away from a hot water machine and an endless supply of teabags.
Sadly, this isn't the worse client I have worked at. One, back in the days when I was training in London, put me in a basement with no windows, no water, no toilet for four floors (so the lack of water wasn't my biggest worry), no mobile reception and a sofa with all the springs poking out. The partner on the job used to arrive (on the days he felt like wandering in, that is) at 10AM eating a hot steak and kidney pie, or a sausage roll, and sit and bellow into his mobile phone. All my working papers on that job had huge greasy thumbprints on them, and if you weren't careful, crumbs would scatter themselves about the desk when you opened the file.
Another place I used to go to didn't even have room for a desk, so I had to sit on the floor in the corner reviewing files and batting away the spiders. I know people don't like auditors, but if clients want to endear themselves (and lets face they want a good report at the end of it)then a desk would be a good start. Good tea would come a close second. Then we can talk work.
But for me, work is over for the day. The paid part anyway. The Baron dropped a bottle of beef boullion last night (into the sink) but decided it would be ok to leave it to fester overnight. HarveyCat thought he would roll around in it for a home hair dye effort, and that he would make a good accompaniment to the fliched beef still in the fridge. Frankie decided to try his paw at modern art, and has redecorated my kitchen, from splashback, to cupboards, to painted wall. Lord knows what Ellie did - I certainly don't want to.
Plus as an added bonus, one of them (and I have my suspicions as to who) has rearranged the entire dvd collection. Not, as one might hope, on the shelves, but a rather more unusual method of rearrangement across the floor and under the sofa. As a finishing touch, one was in the doorway when I came in, which I realised shortly after falling over it.
Hmmm. The cats are going crazy. Harvey is fighting with Frankie, who is hissing and wailing like a banshee. Ellie is trying to join and is biting whichever of the boys is nearest. I'm going out. It is at least five and half hours to closing.
Long
The Blog Entry From Hell. All Ye Who Enter Abandon All Hopes Of Finishing Laundry. Still, It Will Take Your Mind Off Food. But A Bathroom Trip Might Be In Order First. Unless Ye Have A Cast Iron Bladder. Enter At Your Own Peril.
Remember that report I wrote over the holidays??? Well as it turns out. I needn't have spent any time on it. The colleague I am working with won't be here until lunch, and thought he'd leave me time to write it. So I am sat here at the clients, with pretty much nothing to do, hence this entry.
The Baron is at home, and in bed. He didn't actually come to bed until 5AM, but unfortunately for him, he needs to get up and go to the warehouse with regards to his application (which yes, I ripped up in a fit of temper). But he doesn't want to. I can't blame him (I like sleep too) but if he insists on going to bed at stupid times, then he will suffer for it.
So what on earth can I do until lunchtime??? For once, I am completely organised, and have nothing outstanding. I don't have an internet connection that I can stay connected to – just brief checks so my usual standby of surfing the net isn't an option. I have a couple of calls that I can make, but I need to wait until I have the room to myself – I am working in the staff dining room/kitchen.
So in all likelihood it will be an epic blog entry today, because I at least look like (to the client) I am working really hard and generating value for money. And that is all they care about.
Day 5 of the Healthy Eating Plan aka crappy diet. I vowed not to call it a diet, because diets don't work. The fact that a whole industry exists to cater to people’s vanity and waistlines is testimony to that fact. The scales haven't budged at all, but I have been really careful about what I eat. That is very depressing, but I know I am eating a whole lot better. And at least I am not obese, just a little rotund.
Maybe I am meant to be this weight – I have maintained it for a while and I just deviate by a pound or so. It took me a month to lose half a stone on a diet last time, although I lost the same in two weeks on holiday – heat, water, little food (stole it to feed to the feral cats) and lots of swimming. Sounds like its time for another holiday! That is a tried and true method. The only bad point is that I wanted to have lost weight before I went away.
I read some studies that suggest that the human body has its own ideal weight that doesn't always correspond to the doctor's charts, and that a person can be in peak health but be two stone overweight, and then lose that weight to fit the medically acceptable range and feel like shit. That sounds reasonable to me, even if it does smack of an excuse for the lack of scale movement. The human body is far too well designed to fit within all medically assigned parameters. And if the body is fit, then what does weight matter? If a person is fit, then it is only vanity and a desire to conform to societies norms that is the drive behind weight loss. And who are behind those media images that are blared to us from the TV, magazines and billboards making women worldwide feel inferior and ugly? Why should we conform to their desires?
Some cultures embrace size. Size is not evil. For many, size is beautiful. African women in particular celebrate their size and their femininity. Women are supposed to have curves. Full breasts and buttocks are beautiful, but in this fat conscious age, too many women are frightened of the fat that that entails. Fashion now dictates what was previously left to genetics.
I find it odd that in a culture of conspicuous consumption, where people want to be seen as having the most, the best, the only, that food is the only item that is shameful. I don't want people to gorge themselves because they can, but the hypocrisy is outstanding. Fashion says you should wear this, buy this, and have that, but make your body look like you can't afford a loaf of bread, even if in reality you can afford, and actually have plenty of food.
Now, having said all that, I still want to lose weight. Partly for health, and partly for vanity. I know that fitness and health are the important issues and those are a major reason why I am embarking on this. But I do want to look better too. I don't think I look bad now, to be honest, but when I see the typical women on TV, well I don't measure up as well as I might. My perception is skewed by what is shown on the TV and in magazines. I know that the average British woman is a size 16, which makes me average. Fine, but I have never wanted to be average! I want to look good as well as feel good, and although I feel good, I could feel a little better about myself with regards to the image in the mirror. Is that hypocritical, after all I have previously said? Yes, I think it is. I recognise that my desire to be thinner is shaped by the desire of the media, but when it boils down to it, I am doing it for me and not for them. Which is why I am putting so much time and effort in to this attempt, even though that effort hasn't been repaid yet.
The other thing I have considered is that it could be thyroid related. I am the clone of my mother, who has low thyroid levels. From what I understand, this slows down the metabolism and makes weight loss harder. She doesn't eat a huge amount, but also finds it hard to shift weight. Since Dad went on the Atkins diet she has lost a little through eating the same as him plus a slice of bread or a potato. Maybe I should go and get tested. I suppose that means confronting my fears over needles. I hate them. With a passion.
Revelation time. Despite my fear, or perhaps because of my fear of needles, I used to work as a phlebotomist. I used to take blood samples at my local hospital, both in and out patient. I thought it might help me get over it (and I was good, because I hated needles so much myself) and it assuaged my guilt that I wouldn’t donate blood, because I was helping out in a different way. It was an interesting job to have, and certainly helped in my degree studies because I had the opportunity to work in all the different pathology departments. Chemistry, haematology, biochemistry, cervical screening, histology and I even had some time in the morgue. It was great, and as I sit here wondering what to do this morning, I wonder what life would have been like if I had stayed in that field.
The water is definitely doing something for me, other than generating exercise by sending me to the bathroom every 20 minutes. My skin has erupted, which it rarely does. I am used to drinking a lot of water, but I have given up Diet Coke as well (which explains the caffeine deprivation headache) so it is having a more profound effect. The icky skin will go soon (it always does) but that just makes me feel worse at the moment. Confidence is everything, but mine has taken a small nosedive of late.
On the up side, I just returned from the bathroom. Now that doesn't sound great, but shows I am getting my water in (although I am having a welcome cup of tea to try and shift my caffeine deprivation headache). Anyway…..there is a mirror in the bathroom (quelle surprise!). But it is a kind mirror, and seems to have removed the pounds that the scale won't budge. And my skin looks fine again. I feel an awful lot better now, shallow though that might seem. It is a welcome boost to my eating plan, which is what I need to resist the piles of chocolates that have been piled onto my desk (in the dining room) to keep them away from the dieters amongst the staff. I will admit to having one Celebration Crunchie (one whole mouthful of Crunchie won’t hurt), but looking at my tuna salad poppy and sesame seeded roll (no butter and reduced fat mayo), low fat yoghurt (equal to three mouthfuls) and a Satsuma, I feel the need for some comfort to cushion the harsh reality of the scales.
I have at least another couple of hours to kill. I wish he had told me about this, because I could have travelled in later and “worked” from home this morning. If I am going to do nothing, I would rather do nothing in the privacy of my own home. Still, I am getting plenty of pontificating time, and the opportunity to set the world at rights within my own head.
Blair paid a surprise visit to Basra yesterday to bolster the troops morale. I can't see how he thought his appearance would cheer people up – he is the reason that they are stuck out there. The whole thing was disgusting – a real piece of propaganda. Every time he goes out there, he has to be photographed with a little Iraqi child giving him a kiss. Sick. Strangely it is never a child missing limbs as a result of bombing. I wonder why?
Cynical me thinks that the surprise visit might just have something to do with the Hutton Inquiry, which releases its report at the end of the month. Whilst I don't think it is going to end his career (although I can dream), I don't think he will look as good as he wants, hence the pre-emptive “I’m a good guy really” act.
What was funny was his speech to the troops, where he seemed to slip into autopilot (otherwise known as compulsive lie mode) and started to make reference to weapons of………whoops he caught himself…..distraction, and I think he said devastation before quickly turning direction. It must be hard to switch tack after so long, although according to some senior Ministers, it was always about removing a despotic leader and not just those pesky (and still to be found) weapons. I love the airbrushing of history – do they really think that we are that stupid? Actually, given the number of people that watch Big Brother, I suppose that a lot of people are that stupid.
In the defence of stupid people, they provide an awful lot of entertainment. Like Britney Spears getting married as a joke, the silly little tart. It is going to be fun watching her trying to annul the marriage without losing any part of her fortune. And then there is George Bush Jnr. Any speech of his is good for a laugh (unless you have to watch your blood pressure, because a stroke isn’t particularly funny). It will be fun watching him try to present himself for re-election as a mild mannered Christian Texan with the ability to string together coherent sentences (after several years as a blood thirsty power lunatic with the amazing ability to put his foot in his mouth most times he opens it). Not that it matters – he cheated last time and I don't think he will roll over and allow the country to choose its own leader this time. Well, only if he is their choice! Not when there are more countries that still need to be bombed into acceptance of the American Way, not when there is still oil in those heathen countries. There is still the Axis of Evil to deal with – most of Iran is still standing after all, the Axis of semi Evil, the Axis of not quite as Evil as the semi Evil Axis, but working on it, the Axis of trying to be Evil but not succeeding………………….
So, stupidity isn't a sin, it just renders education harder. So said Princess Frederick of her eldest daughter. It is true, even if it is a little unkind when in relation to your own child. Whilst the Princess didn’t derive much entertainment from the stupidity of her daughter, history certainly gets a little giggle now and then. But can the same be said for Dubya?? Will he provide giggles for future generations of history scholars, or has he started us on a path that ultimately destroys our future?
Terrorism breeds terrorism. People as a rule don't like having the crap bombed out of their countries for spurious reasons (even if Western leaders think that God is on their side), and then being invaded by the country they hate most in the world. That just creates more resentment and hatred, and just leads to more people willing to sacrifice their lives for something they believe is true. One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter, and the forces in Iraq, and the political forces behind them would do well to remember that.
If our country were to be invaded, would we condemn those who fought to rid us of occupiers? No, we would hail them as heroes, and we would respect and revere them. So why do people think that the Iraqi’s are any different? Why do we (as a nation – I know there are a lot of right minded people who see the truth) condemn them as insurgents, and feel that their deaths by superior man and fire power are justified? They do not want the forces there. They have said this, and they have been ignored. Now they show us and they are still ignored. The only people who seem to think that the continuing occupation is justified is those actually doing the occupying, and former Iraqi’s who have defected.
And what are we teaching the next generation? Hatred for the invaders of their country? That those with the biggest weapons and forces can do what they like? That weapons equal power? That'll end the terrorism, I’m sure.
Enough of that. I can feel my blood pressure rising, and I am trying to be healthy here. I don’t need exploding eyeballs. Think nice thoughts, think nice thoughts.
I just spoke to the Baron. No nice thoughts there – he still hasn't called the warehouse. I could hear my monsters miaowing in the background – they don't sound happy either. I hope he feeds them again before he leaves for work; otherwise I will be ambushed when I get home. I wonder what time we will leave today? Hopefully about 3.30-4PM to miss all the traffic, but we haven't really achieved anything today. Other than this.
It is 12 noon. I have been here 3 ¾ hours, with nothing to do. Still another hour or so to kill before my colleague arrives. I have done what little work I can, and as we all know, have rambled on here at great length. Only another hour. Still struggling on the nice thoughts though – it is far easier to end up ranting inside your own skull.
One thing I have pondered of late, is why do so many mad cat ladies exist? What is it about cats that make some people, and lets face it, they are usually slightly batty old ladies with no children, want to collect them? I have three, and I adore them. I would like one more, but I don't think it would be in the best interests of my current creatures to have any more. I have a stopping point, but clearly some people don't. A woman in Canada died recently, and left 100 cats needing a home. 100 cats. To do her justice, all were neutered and well cared for, and amazingly all were indoor cats. Not the more usual scenario of a house knee deep in cat shit and inbred cats. But still. I don't know whether the keeping of 100 cats, however good the conditions, is fair to the cats. Cats are not pack creatures, and whilst some can live happily together, others suffer extreme stress at being forced to live with other cats.
But ethics aside, what is it about cats in particular? You don't hear of mad dog ladies, or mad canary ladies, just those deranged cat collectors. I know cats are wonderful creatures. They can give so much love and have so much personality in those small warm furry bodies (unless you are into Sphynxes, that is!). They can make you laugh and smile and want to wring their necks all in one moment. Cat ownership has been described as both agony and ecstasy, and I can see their point.
Maybe it isn't the cats I should be focussing on? Plenty of people love cats without going to the extremes of starting a cat exhibition. Maybe it is the women? What is it about them? I personally think it has something to do with thwarted motherhood. Mad cat ladies seem to be frequently childless (whether through accident or design), and cats do fill that need to a certain extent. They cuddle, they depend on you for food and water (to a certain degree), they develop their own little (or in the case of my own HarveyCat, big) personalities and best of all, they don't grow up and leave you. What more could you want? Ok, the litter tray is similar to nappies, but they don't take as long to toilet train as real children, and unlike children they don't need to be forced into the bath every night, unless you are a real masochist.
I can understand it to a certain extent, because by current design we are childless, and having cats does help to dull that ache a little. But 100 cats seems, at least to me, to suggest a deep psychological problem. Huge numbers of cats won’t remove loneliness, it will only mask it.
Thinking along those lines led me to thinking about those women, and thankfully they are few, who compulsively have children year after year (I'm not picking on devout Catholics here). There was a TV programme on not so long ago about Britain’s biggest family, with the two parents and 17 children, and hopes of at least one more. I know I want children, but definitely not that many. It isn't fair to the children (despite the parent’s claim that they all get plenty of love and attention. I believe the love, but not the attention.), it isn't fair to the taxpayers (the father has a job, but I don't care how frugal you are, one job isn’t going to support 15 people – the four eldest have moved out – and family allowance and other benefits must pick up the tab. Why should everyone else pay because one couple don't know when to stop?) and it isn't fair to the earth itself, struggling over a population that is growing exponentially, but using up precious resources like there is no tomorrow. Which thanks to Dubya, there might not be anyway.
What makes a woman want to keep reproducing and reproducing and reproducing? What makes her want to put herself through the biologically arduous process of pregnancy and childbirth? I know lots of very sensible, and maternal ladies, who adore their children beyond reason, but have known when it was time to stop, and focus on the children they already have. I know the decision to stop having children is a personal one, and there are many issues to consider, but I can't see how one can justify putting such a drain on the taxpayer and the earth to satisfy a craving, however strong. I just can't see it, and I think it is selfish.
Although I think it might be sweet justice when I think of how much washing she would have to do. Just imagine the sheer logistics of having 15 children at home – all the shopping, ironing, cleaning, cooking etc. They have to hire a coach to go on holiday (caravanning – can you imagine the cost of a hotel!). Her eldest daughter has a young son of her own, who is older than her youngest child.
And she still wants more? Maybe someone should buy her a cat or two.
I bet you all want out of my head now! I’m sure you will be overjoyed to hear that my colleague has arrived now. Sadly this doesn’t mean any work, because he is reviewing my report (I am his senior, but he has several years experience at this firm and I would be stupid not to take advantage of that) and the work I assumed we would be starting today is in fact due to start tomorrow. So I have a file to set up, lunch to munch and that is pretty much it. Not bad for a first day back at work.
And with that in mind, I would like to add that we have been working on the report review for the last two hours. I have made several slight amendments to bulk it out, and I am still bored. Lunch was munched, the file actually arrives tomorrow already set up and so I am done for the day. Now all that is left is an hour and a half drive home (if I am lucky) and then some peace, quiet, exercise and kitty love. Now that doesn’t sound too bad.
