Insert your own title here.

The audit appears to have fried my brain!  I’ve sat down to write, but keep coming up with…nothing.  I’ve got a couple of things in draft form, but can’t seem to turn them into anything.

So, I will leave you with a few random things that have been going round in my poor little brain today and then I’m off to visit all of your pages.

How come I went skirt shopping this morning, but managed to come back with no skirt and a new pair of shoes?!?

I really love it when it’s been so long since I’ve read a book that when I re-read it, I’ve forgotten the ending.  It’s just like a new one!

Why does cold weather make you want to wee more?

I’m dog and house sitting for Student Nutty Nurse in a couple of weeks.  They also have a donkey.  I don’t know yet if I’m supposed to look after that too.  Maybe my new rule in life should be before I agree to something, find out if a donkey is involved first!!

I really should update my blogroll.  I keep meaning to do this, a job for the weekend perhaps?

That’s it!  It seems that me and my brain are still in need of some more time to relax and recover.  I’m at a friends house for dinner tomorrow night, so I’ll be back at the weekend.

Take care and see you all then.

And relax!

Ok.  The audit is over.  The preliminary report isn’t too bad and there shouldn’t be any surprises in the final report, so it looks like that side of things should be fine.  Everything else also seems to be calming down so it’s time for me to relax.

I’m still knackered so I’m just popping in tonight to say Hi, but will be back properly in the next couple of days.

Oh, what I did want to tell you about was a conversation I overheard this morning in Starbucks. 

The two barristers (is that what they’re called? I’m sure it’s something like that) were talking about the local Christmas display in the shopping centre, complete with Santa’s grotto.  One was making the point that taking your kid to visit Father Christmas is quite an odd concept really.  Her point was that we spend all year telling our kids not to talk to strangers, yet at Christmas we actively encourage them to go and sit on some strange blokes knee.

I’ve never really thought about it before.  On the one hand we have what should be a fun, innocent Christmas tradition, on the other there’s the knowledge of what people can unfortunately be capable of.

I don’t know.  Maybe it’s because I work in mental health and one of the side effects so to speak, is that you can end up seeing the possibility for abuse everywhere but I could kind of see her point.

Still.  I wouldn’t miss seeing the amazement in my niece’s eyes when she was younger and saw the Main Man, for anything.

Duck!

It’s the only thing to do when the shit hits the fan!

Finding the time to blog recently has been a bit of a push and I wanted to let you all know I’m unlikely to be around until next week.  I’ll still be able to check emails and read all of your blogs (thanks google reader!), but commenting and posting my own will be difficult.

It’s bad timing when both your work and personal lives decide to go a bit screwy at the same time.

A combination of clients either in court (naughty boys) or having major surgery (in London!), a colleague resigning with immediate effect and a three day visit from the auditors next week means that I have been (and will be) working all day, in the evenings and at the weekend.  Can anyone explain the concept of free time to me?  I appear to have forgotten what that’s like!

Add to that two friends in crisis, a demanding family, long standing commitments and the occasional need to sleep (I know, very selfish, but there you go!) means that I seem to find myself just moving from one situation to another wishing for a remote control to pause time so I can at least have a cigarette in peace.

What do you reckon the chances are of me finding a scientist on a Tuesday night who would be willing to clone me NOW?!

Oh, and when I get back can someone please remind me to tell you about my day spent in a hospital with staff who appeared to think they were in a Carry On film!

Wish me luck and I’ll see you all as soon as I can!

Ooo, a pretty, shiny thing!

                                  

I have met some wonderful people in the blogosphere.  People that though I have never met them in real life, feel like friends.

I have been awarded the Be The Blog award by one of these people, Stealth.  Her blog is one of my regular reads and there’s always something there to make me laugh.  Stealth – thank you so much for the award.

The Be The Blog awards were created by Mark over at Me & My Drum.  This is a new award for bloggers who “make the blog their own, stay with it, are interactive with their readers and just plain have fun”.

So, in time honoured fashion, it is my turn to award this to other people who ‘are’ their blog.  I am going to award this to three women whose blogs I read as often as I can.  All make me laugh each and every time, are always welcoming and write some great stuff.  So, without further ado, I am passing this on to Fish, Heather and Agnes.

Be still, my beating heart

It’s official.

I’m in love.

The signs have been there for a couple of weeks now – lack of appetite, daydreaming about my affection, sweaty palms, unexplained palpitations…

And now the object of my desire is in my possession.

I have found the perfect pair of boots and I’m in love.  You know the ones – they fit perfectly, make you feel fantastic and you know that this will be a lifelong partnership.  Well, at least until they fall apart or you become unfaithful!

(Sorry for the hype, but I do like a bit of drama occasionally!)

I saw them a couple of weeks ago.  The most perfect pair of knee high boots – all glossy with their rich chocolately brown leather and suede.  Little buckles down the side…

I’m really not doing them justice – I’ll post a photo when I can.

The only problem is that they are crying out to be worn with a skirt.

The last time I wore a skirt voluntarily was about 7 years ago, the times I’ve worn one since have been few and far between, and has only been achieved with a serious amount of bullying, bribery and blackmail.

But these boots are worth it.  Best Friend and I are going to go skirt shopping in a couple of weeks and maybe I’ll find the perfect skirt to go with the perfect boots.

When I was a teenager, I used to love skirts and dresses. In fact, my standard summer uniform was a little dress and my trusty Doc Martin boots – I loved them.

Most women have something clothes wise that they adore.  I’m really not that fussed about jewellery (though I have some pretty pieces), shoes or the current fashion.  My things are boots.  And bags.

I’ve been known to blow my wages on a bag that I have fallen in love with and have spent hours drooling over boots.  I don’t tend to wear them that often, my job requires practical shoes, so I spend much of my time in converse trainers, but that doesn’t mean that I still can’t harbour desires for my boots and gaze at them with love and affection!

When I’ve found the skirt I will let you know.  One of the times I’m planning on wearing them is for the work Christmas Party, it’ll be interesting to see how people react – I’m not convinced they even think I have legs!

An Open Letter to all those with double standards.

Dear Double Standarder (I know that’s not a real word, so shoot me!)

I feel that it is now my duty to point out to you that having double standards does nothing but make you look stupid and hypocritical.

If you feel that you are in a position where you can openly judge other people on their actions, then it may be an idea to check that you’re not doing the same thing yourself.

If you are going to pick other people up on their manners, then you may want to take the time to examine some of your own.  When you have just spent 10 minutes pontificating about the manners of others and then sit there talking with your mouth full and interrupting other people – well, it just makes you look a bit daft.

If you are going to criticise the way other people may approach a situation and then go and do it the same way yourself, then you may need to acknowledge that you have double standards.  If you went to that person and explained that you had thought about it and now felt that you may have been wrong, then that would be fine, an explanation is all that is needed.

If you are going to spend the majority of your time bitching about someone behind their back and yet are as nice as pie to their face, then that makes you look two faced.  Yes, we all bitch, that’s human nature and none of us are saints, but at least have the courtesy to go and talk to them about the problem.

When you criticise others’ choice of lifestyle and the way they choose to interact with other people, then go and do the same thing yourself, people lose respect for you and your opinion.

We all have double standards about some things, I know I have, but at least I recognise mine and try to do something about it.  For you to have them and not acknowledge them makes your lack of insight very apparent and makes it hard for others to like you, or at least to not get very annoyed with you.

I am not asking you to change, I have no right to do that, I am just asking you to think about this and how it appears to other people.

Yours

Alcoment

I’m sorry for the rant everyone and I know this is unlikely to make much sense to anyone, but, god, that feels better!!

Please excuse me whilst I scream…

Ok. 

I will apologise now and warn you that there is a good chance this blog is going to turn into one long rant tonight.  I don’t even know if it’s going to make any sense.

For some people there is nothing more boring than hearing about other people’s dreams (I quite like them, I love to play analyst!). 

For others, it’s looking at people’s holiday photo’s (again, not something I mind).

The one thing that is guaranteed to have me running out of a room, ready to bash my head repeatedly against a brick wall, is hearing about someones pregnancy, especially if it’s not them who’s pregnant but one of their children.  I’m happy to hear about my friend’s pregnancies, but even then, not all the time. 

One of my work colleagues, The Posh Chav, daughter is pregnant.  I have been told about this.

In minute detail.

Everyday.

For the last two weeks.

Now, I understand that she’s excited for her daughter, and I am happy for her, but

For Gods sake, shut up or else I will not be responsible for my actions.

I am now in possession of such a large amount of information about this that I swear it could be my specialist subject on Mastermind (that or Hollyoaks, but at least I have educated myself about Hollyoaks, being a fan of teenage soaps!).

I know about the morning sickness (everyday, all day, the normal home remedies aren’t working), the hormones (terrible, she cries at TV adverts), the tiredness, the reaction of his parents, the…actually, I’m going to stop there, I’m boring myself now!

I’ve tried leaving the office for cigarette breaks that last an hour, carrying on working on the computer, talking over her and point blank ignoring her.

None of these have worked.  Every time I’ve either come back in or have returned from my daydreams of gags, she’s still talking.

She’s like some kind of unstoppable robot.

With no ‘Off’ switch.

I am considering going into work tomorrow with industrial strength head phones, it might be the only way forward.

Remember, remember…

Ooo, Bonfire Night! 

I love fireworks and really enjoy the atmosphere on Bonfire Night.  As the 5th is Monday, most people have been having their displays this weekend, though fireworks have been going off at random intervals for a good couple of weeks now.

My city’s main display is tonight.  I’m lucky that I can see the display from my flat, as I’m on call for work tonight and would never be able to hear the phone if I went down there.  So I’m sitting here, in the warm, watching the fireworks (very pretty this year!) and writing this.

I got my share of Bonfire Night atmosphere last night.  Mr Flirt had a party at his house last night to celebrate Bonfire Night and the fact that he and his partner have been together for 15 years.

Though I arrived too late for the bonfire, I didn’t miss the fireworks.  

Mr Flirt took great pride in sorting them out and setting them off.  It was a good display, somewhat enhanced by the occasional shout of “Shit, the tree” and the odd squeal as a couple of rogue rocket’s went sideways, rather than up!

And this is the guy who has a sideline in Health and Safety training!  Though to be fair there was the constant presence of a bucket of water…

I only had one moment of opening my mouth before my brain kicked in, which as some of you know is pretty good going for me!  As I stood there with a friend’s partner (she’d headed inside for safety!) watching a couple of rockets fail to deliver on their promise and kind of pop rather than explode, I turned and commented

“They’re a bit like farts really” (I do admit to having had a few by then). 

Silence.  Followed by laughter and the question “So, do all of your farts involve multi-coloured sparks?”.

Only with the hotter curries!

Art and sticky carpets

Last Saturday I went out with The Arty One from work.

We started off with a bit of culture at the local art gallery.  The Arty One has a degree in art, has some stuff displayed at another gallery and seems to know her stuff.  I, on the other hand, don’t.

I don’t really have a clue at what I’m looking at, though can sound quite convincing and can just about blag my way through.  There were two artists displaying their work, one I liked and one I didn’t.  The Arty One did her best to instill arty type knowledge into me, but I was kind of stuck on blagging my way through.  It was interesting though.

Then it was time to hit the pub.

After several hours of drinking, somehow obtaining a mission to collect a balloon from every pub in the area and an incident of having to escape from an overzealous drunk bloke, we ended up in the local meat market. 

I’m still not entirely sure how this happened, but we obviously thought it was a good idea at the time!  I haven’t been in one of these places for years, preferring my nights out to involve food and a decent pub where I don’t have to resort to sign language to talk to my friends.  However, there’s something reassuring about finding that some things don’t change!

Every city has one of these.  And they’re always the same wherever you are.  Generally an odd pub/club hybrid, unable to make up it’s mind which it wants to be.  They seem to share the same designer, with a passion for chrome, fake leather sofas and random steps, just waiting to trip up the next unsuspecting person. 

But the touches that I’m certain the designer wasn’t after are the sticky carpets, sweaty walls, toilets with no loo roll and the obligatory drunk person who has fallen asleep on the stairs!

Other characteristics of a meat market are the girls (they do tend to be girls!) dressed in very little and the blokes wandering around with an air of desperation as female after female rejects their (very) clumsy attempts at pulling!  An apparent mass aim to consume your own body weight in alcohol inevitably leads to the existence of Crying Drunk Girl and testosterone fuelled fights over a spilt beer.

It was here that we had the night’s second incident of escaping a dodgy drunk bloke.  Orange T-Shirt Man and his friend had been watching us for a while, smiling from the other side of the room and making unnecessary detours past our table to get to the bar.  As neither of us were interested, we just sat back and watched, amusing ourselves by taking bets on how long it would take for him to come over (43 minutes for the record). 

He spent a few minutes slurringly telling us that as we were both his type (I’m assuming by that he meant alive and female as the only similarity between us looks wise is that we are both tall!) he didn’t mind which one of us he had, but promised that whoever he ended up with would have an unforgettable night!  Unable to comprehend our lack of interest, despite quite bluntly pointing this out, he seemed to expect us to fight amongst ourselves for a while, informing us he was going to return to his friend (who looked like he was about to become the passed out person on the stairs!) and come back in a little while to see who we had decided he was going to dance with. 

As soon as he was safely back to his table, The Arty One and I decided it was more trouble than it was worth, downed our drinks and made a swift exit.  I don’t think either of us will be going back there in a hurry!

Woo-hoo!

Ok, so here we are (well, at least I hope you’re all here too!).  The move is complete and we can now have the party!  I’ve cracked open a few bottles but the nibbles haven’t arrived yet.  I’ll phone for pizza in a bit if necessary.

I’ll put your coats on the bed (don’t forget them, or I might sell them on Ebay!), the drinks are in the kitchen so help yourself and then make yourself at home!

Feel free to have a nose around, open a few doors and have a peak in the bathroom cabinet.  Some things have changed, some are the same.  There are a few tweaks here and there I want to make, but this is basically it.

Everything (including me!) has more or less survived the move, a few things lost and a couple of broken ornaments, but otherwise, everything is present and correct.

So let’s dim the lights, put on some music and make idiots of ourselves by dancing on the coffee table!