Running Free

An interesting few days, recently.  To summarise:

1)  Work.  I have submitted an application for early release from my job as part of the HUGE cuts to the public sector that the Government is implementing.  If my application is accepted, I will, on May 31st this year, leave Her Majesty's employ after twenty two and a half years, and be released back into the wild.   I am tremendously excited at the prospect. 

I joined the Department of Secrecy a few months after I graduated, having taken the Civil Service entrance exam the week after my finals, and then worked like a SLAVE for them for twenty years. Twenty.  Jesus. 

Two years ago, as regular longstanding readers will already know, I transferred to the Department of Less Secrecy and More Cement up in London, to see what working in a Whitehall job was like. 

I can report that it's busy, demanding, interesting and sometimes a bit scary.  Plus you see Ministers in the lifts, and there are some fab shops really close to the office.   

However, the last two years have, coincidentally, been crammed with some very bad stuff, including the (now-resolved) SSFH.  We also had Mr WithaY's horrible finger-lopping accident, several loved ones being very ill indeed, and me having the Black Lung on and off for what felt like the entire time. 

Dealing with all of that, as well as a 3 hour each-way commute to the office is proving to be just too much, and as a result my sick record for the last 2 years is appalling.  I honestly think the early mornings and hellish travelling will kill me, so it's time for a change.  This is the perfect opportunity.

Fingers crossed that I get gently coaxed out of the cage in May, and am set free to scamper into the woods, wagging my tail and sniffing at the warm Spring air.

I have no idea what I will do with my life when I stop being a corporate drone, by the way. 

Suggestions are welcome.

2)  Family.  Mother in law WithaY was here for a visit last weekend.  She had to go to a funeral, sadly, so was over from her chic pad in the South of France for a few days.  It was nice to see her, as we don't get to visit as often as we'd like.  She was bored after a few hours, and took to wandering into the kitchen while I was making dinner, demanding some ironing to do.  I ordered her back to the sofa with a cup of tea, but it was a close-run thing.  At one point I thought I might have to use a broom to shoo her away. 

Yesterday I went down to Sussex to visit my lovely Mum, and also saw Youngest Sis and the two younger nephews.  We all went out for a Chinese lunch, to the same place we went to for the big birthday celebration almost a year ago.  There was a flyer on the table advertising a forthcoming Chinese New Year evening there, which included a Lion Dance among the cabaret attractions.  It's not a very big restaurant.  I'd love to see how they manage it in the space available. 

3)  Birthday celebrations.  Yes, today is my birthday.  Again. 

Following the slight gift-giving hiccup on Christmas Day, Mr WithaY has gone to a lot of trouble to make today very special for me.  He told me yesterday evening that he had invited some of our friends over for "birthday tea" this afternoon.  I asked what I needed to bake.  I was told "You don't have to do anything.  It's all organised."  And it was.  He had bought the ingredients to make:

Smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches
Marmite and watercress sandwiches
Scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream
Hot buttered crumpets

But the piece de resistance was the cake.  A huge, chocolate, fuck-off, surprise birthday cake.

Look...

I was so impressed by this that I had to deploy my shiny cake stand for the scones.  Magnificent, no?

I also had a bunch of beautiful flowers that a friend* gave me last weekend, which had opened up for today.  Perfect timing.

And, hey, is that a CAKE there in the foreground?

The little house behind the flowers was a birthday gift from Mother in law WithaY.  It's a bumble bee house, and when the weather gets warmer I will find a sunny sheltered spot in the garden, put it out there, and hopefully attract bumble bees to nest in it.  She was puzzled when she found out that I was given an annual membership to the Bumble Bee Conservation Trust last year as a gift, but was keen to join in I think, hence the house. 

And tomorrow night I am visiting Middle Sister, who has hinted there may be baklava.  Wonder how things will go at the weigh-in this week.  Heh. 

Other news:  I met a nice elderly lady on the bus last week who was wearing a huge, gorgeous fur coat and hat.

Me:  That coat looks lovely and warm.

Nice elderly lady:  Yes.  I've been to a funeral down in Brighton all afternoon, and it was freezing cold, so it was the perfect thing to wear. 

Me:  I can imagine.  And it's such a lovely colour.  Do people ever comment on it?

Nice elderly lady:  Yes, I have had people tell me I shouldn't wear fur.  I tell them it's not real. 

Me:  Ha!  Do they believe you?

Nice elderly lady:  Well, it isn't real.  It's not WILD mink. 

She was a card. 

*Hello Sarah!



Speed 2

The encountering odd people on public transport theme continues.  Allow me to share: 

Yesterday evening, as I was struggling into a seat on the bus to Waterloo, lugging my rucksack awkwardly into the luggage space and perching on the suspiciously clammy seat, I became aware of an Irritating Loud Woman. 

Irritating Loud Woman was on her phone, using a headset so that she had both hands free for Important Gesticulation And Shit.  Irritating Loud Woman was bellowing to her caller about all the travelling she had been doing.

ILW:  God I KNOW!  Yes...yes...I was there too recently.  Yes...booked a room on your recommendation actually.  Yes, loved it.  Amaaaaazing place! 

A short pause followed where she rolled her eyes and played with her handbag strap as the person on the other end of the phone had the temerity to play a speaking part in the conversation.  Her eyes narrowed and she threw in the trump hand grenade of bragging. 

ILW:  So...yeah...yeah...I was in China.  Yes.  (slightly louder) China.  Then Spain. Then Ireland.  *loud guffaw*  I know!  I've been home like 10 days in the last 2 months!  And I'm off to the Bahamas at the end of the month!  *guffaw*

It did occur to me to wonder why she was on the bus, albeit on the back seat, and not in a taxi, judging by the details of her jetset lifestyle.  As this uncharitable thought played through my jaded brain, a tall black girl with amazing dreadlocks marched down the aisle, dragging a selection of bags and a shopping trolley behind her.   

Tall black girl with amazing dreadlocks:  (In unexpected Yorkshire accent)  Scuse me!  Scuse me!  You.  Yeah you!  Can you stop being so loud on the bus please! 

ILW:  ......?

TBGWAD:  I can hear you right down the end!  Can you keep noise down please?

ILW:  .....?

I had to suppress a snort of delighted glee as the Irritating Loud Woman blushed deeply, then continued her conversation in a much quieter voice.  She moderated it down to normal speaking tones, I'd guess, rather than the show-off bellow she had previously deployed. 

The bus started pulling away from the stop we were at, throwing the girl with the dreads and bags into a panic.

TBGWAD:  (To the bus driver)  Scuse me!  Hey!  HEY!  Scuse me!  I need to gerroff here!  Stop bus!

The driver obliged, opening the doors.  There was a long and comical struggle as several people at the front of the bus jostled to help her with all her bags.  I think had we had more time, she would have been carried off in triumph on their shoulders, frankly.

I missed my train as a result but it was worth it.

I covertly watched the ILW for the remainder of the journey.  She was mortified.  I was glad.

Other news:  My car is fucked.  Gah. 

I was driving home from the railway station last night.  It was very dark.  It was very cold. So cold, in fact, that I had had to de-ice my car (inside and out) before I could leave the station car park.  It was getting late. 

I set off on the short but time-consuming trip through winding lanes and troll bridges, through the woods, through the little teeny villages, past the burned-down pub, up hill, down dale, over the river and back to Hobbiton. 

My thoughts were filled with the delicious roast chicken dinner* that I knew was waiting for me. 

I had just emerged from the bosky glades and hit the main road (Two lanes!  Some streetlights at the major junctions!) when I realised that my speedometer was stuck on 0.  Zero.  Nil. 

I knew that was wrong.  Well, I was moving, for a start. 

I was dopily looking at the speedo, then back at the icy road ahead, then back at the speedo, not sure if I was seeing things or not, and then the orange "Check Engine" warning light came on too. 

Ohhhh fuck noooooooo.

It may have been my imagination, but I would swear that I felt the car shudder, like a wounded beast about to roll over and die. 

There was a moment where I considered pulling over and phoning Mr WithaY to come and rescue me, but I bit my lip and ploughed on.  The car juddered again.  I stopped.  I switched off the engine, then restarted the car.  The "Check Engine" light went out.  I pulled away.  The speedo was still dead. There were several heavy seconds of anticipation, then the orange light came back on.

If you were driving towards Shaftesbury late yesterday evening, you may have heard what you thought was a siren, wailing eerily.  That was me.  Well, it was if the siren sounded like someone wailing "fucking hell nooooooooooo" for 5 miles non-stop. 

So, today I rang the chaps at the garage.  They told me take my car down there for them to look at.  There followed a couple of hours of traipsing back and forth to the garage, talking to the chaps, waiting for Chap 2 to return from a delivery to confer about technical stuff with Chap 1, Chap 1 making phone calls to Toyota, Chap 2 telling me horror stories about how badly things can go wrong with cars, and finally I was given a lift back home and told to Wait.

Later that same day, a call from the garage. 

Good news:  They know what's wrong.  I'd tell you, but my brain did that Star Trek thing of just hearing "tech...tech...tech....computer....tech....expensive....tech.....new part will be here on Friday....tech...£188 plus VAT.....tech."  I don't do it on purpose. 

It's like maths lessons used to be at school.  I started out every time with good intentions, but after 3 minutes my brain simply refused to acknowledge what was being said, and sent me pictures of Alex Lifeson and Bruce Dickinson, or composed endless bad poems I was going to write down as soon as I could find a nice enough poetry notebook. 

I swear, if I replayed every maths lesson I attended between 1977 and 1983, apart from the two weeks we did spatial geometry, which I understood and enjoyed**, it would just sound like white noise.

Bad news:  It wil cost £188 (plus VAT) for the part they need.  Plus labour.

Arse.

So.  I'm working at home tomorrow, as my car is not really safe to drive. 

And I might be selling my Rickenbacker.





*Mr WithaY is just great. 

**The maths teacher was flummoxed, and would ask me with irritation "If you can understand this, why can't you understand quadratic equations?"  I'm certain she thought I was doing it deliberately.  It never occurred to her that my failure to understand might in some way be linked to her unimpressive teaching skills.  Bah.

Busted

I thought I'd do another one of those "what are people using to find me in search engines" things.

Rather wishing I hadn't now, to be honest.

1)  for everything that is worth our lifes are fragile to dark, and when we got  When we got what?   What?  I must know.  I Googled it myself and it seems to be a poor interpretation of a song lyric by Nine Inch Nails, a band I am only vaguely aquainted with.  Musically, I mean.  I've never met any of them to my knowledge.  I haven't dared to trawl through the 89 pages of search results to see where my blog appears.  Somewhere near the bottom, I expect. 

2)  big snow, little snow  This is a consistent appearer in the list, some weeks it is the ONLY phrase, in a variety of configurations.  It seems to be luring readers to their doom here though, so I am pleased.  I still haven't found any kind of verification that it is an "old Indian saying" other than Mr WithaY nodding at me sagely and telling me It's All True, Honest.

As an aside, he is a LIAR. 

Example:

We were in Salisbury the other weekend.  There was a marquee thing beside the river and I commented on it.

Me: Ooh, look, a big tent!

Mr WithaY:  The circus is in town!

Me:  Really??  Shall we go?

Mr WithaY:  No...it isn't.

He then had to walk bent double for laughing, occasionally jabbing me in the ribs and calling me gullible.  Bastard.

The marquee contained a portable ice rink, if you were wondering. 

3)  sensitive new age cowpersons  Hurrah!  An excellent band, now defunct I believe, but worth a listen if you like (a) rock music (b) banjos  (c) Australians.  We saw them at a festival several years ago and they were hilarious, as well as excellent musicians.  Bastards. 

4)  so kiss me and cry for me  This is another one that comes up pretty often. I think it picks up my blog as I have the tiresome affectation of using song titles as blog titles when I can think of something suitable.  Sorry about that, lyric seekers.    Must be very annoying if you're looking for the words to a song and all you get is photographs of cakes and ranting about fuckwits.

5)  ankle flare  This is in itself a weird thing to seach for.  I like to imagine a bunch of textile design students trying to find helpful and relevant information about trouser making, and instead they get gruesome photos of my sprained fractured ankle.  Mwahahahahaaaaa.

Other news: Back to work this week, along with many other sad, sad people.  It struck me that people on the bus looked really sad.  Not just grumpy, or stressed, but actually sad.  Also shabby.  I hope it was just a symptom of post-Christmas despair, rather than the start of a long spell of ragged-trousered philanthropist-style poverty for all of us. 

The exception to this were the two young men who got thrown off the bus as I was getting onto it.  The bus came to a halt a few yards from the bus stop and the doors opened.  I hopped aboard, then stopped in my tracks as the driver was shouting "Get off my bus!  Off!"

It took me a second to realise he wasn't talking to me, and I sat down to watch the show. 

They were sitting on the back seat, where all the bad boys sit, and there was a sort of Mexican standoff as they tried to stay in their seats and look cool and dangerous.  Unfortunately for them, they looked like twats.    It took them a few moments to work out that the bus driver could simply sit there all evening until they got off the bus, or until the police showed up. 

So they stood up, shouting abuse at the driver and sauntering slowly down the aisle while all the other passengers glared at them, one large black lady making that excellent disparaging "tsssss" noise as they walked past her, which was the perfect response. 

And so we continued to Waterloo, leaving the ejectees out in the rain.  Twats.

I am still not loving getting up before 6am to go to work, but I had a constructive first day back.  Waiting to see what the application for voluntary redundancy process will look like now.  Fingers crossed., eh.