Leanne and Ella (who is almost three. Now that's scary as she was mere weeks old when this blog first started) came round to my place for lunch yesterday. Despite my general incompetence with children, it was actually really good. Ella didn't want to go!! What a result.
She's at a brilliant stage where she's really inquisitive, listens in on your conversations then asks what all the words she doesn't understand mean. Brilliant fun - for me (as the non-parent) anyway. I enjoyed trying to throw in as many big words as possible: "Mummy, what's supposition? negotiate? lacklustre? existentialism?"
Ella was also asking me why I had or didn't have certain things. "Lisa, why do you have a that car up there?" (I have a model red Dodge Viper that I got for my 17th birthday because it was my dream car. I had been secretly hoping for the keys to a Dodge Viper, alas ...) "it's an aspirational item Ella." "Mummy, what's aspirational?" "Mummy, does Lisa play with that car?" "Sometimes Ella, when I'm really lonely I bring it down and drive it around the floor." "Mummy, Lisa talks rubbish."
"Lisa, what's in this cupboard?" "Oh, that's where I keep all my ex-husbands." "Mummy, what's an ex-husband?" "Lisa!"
The best bit though, was something that I didn't instigate at all. Ella decided to start asking Leanne about the imminent arrival of her baby brother or sister. "But how will my baby get out mummy?" (Brilliant.) Leanne is trying not to make-up nonsense stories for Ella so this was going to be fun. "Well, there's a hole that the baby can come out." (Nice work Leanne.) "But where is the hole?" (hahahahaha.) "Well, it's underneath mummy's tummy." (good recovery.) "Can I see the hole please mummy?" (Argh! Unexpected return.) "No." (Sometimes no other answer will do.)
Showing posts with label flat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flat. Show all posts
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Friday, July 04, 2008
When beauty regimens go bad
Two months ago this guy came round to mine. Don't get too excited, I did know him - we'd been out a few times (a decent number of times). Let's call him Dave. I did. It's not his name and he did get quite annoyed, but names have never been my strong point.
Anyway, we had a lovely evening. He cooked. We skipped dessert. We headed through to the bedroom (insert 80s synth and saxophone music here). We were standing by the bed, I was facing 'Dave'. I reached down behind me and pulled back the duvet. My bedspread is red (this isn't just girly detail by the way, it's an important factor). Suddenly, Dave stopped kissing me. I noticed his expression had changed.
"What is it?" I asked.
He moved his head forward to indicate in the direction of the bed. "Eh, what's that?"
I froze. Even though I knew there was nothing weird or dodgy in my bed, I was reluctant to turn around. Eventually I did and I was totally shocked by what I saw.
There were numerous 'white patches' on my red fitted sheet. 'Oh my God, what the hell is that' I silently floundered. "Erm ... eh ... it's not what it looks like," I finally managed.
"Well, that is what it looks like."
"Well, it's not. It's definitely not. I mean I haven't. And if I had, I would have washed the sheets."
"Well, what is it then?"
My mind ticked over furiously. I couldn't think what it might be. C'mon, c'mon, what is it. After what seemed like an eternity, it finally clicked into place.
"Aha," I ventured victoriously. I turned back to face Dave with a proud smile. "It's heel cream!" I remembered that I'd been putting it on my heels every night. You're supposed to put socks on after you've applied it, but I loathe wearing socks in bed so I'd opted to dangle my feet over the edge until it had been absorbed. Obviously, I hadn't waited long enough and some of it had been absorbed by my sheets.
"Heel cream? What the fuck is heel cream?"
"It's cream, for putting on your heels so they're all silky and smooth in the summer."
Dave didn't look convinced.
"Look! I'll show you." I pulled open the top drawer on my bedside table and pulled out the heel cream. "See?" I said rattling the box.
He wasn't looking at me. He was staring at my open drawer. I looked down.
Next to the heel cream were three boxes of condoms.
"There was a three for two offer on at Boots," I offered sheepishly.
He burst out laughing and we lay down on the bed.
"I'm definitely not going to have to pay you after this am I?"
We ended up laughing ourselves to sleep.
Anyway, we had a lovely evening. He cooked. We skipped dessert. We headed through to the bedroom (insert 80s synth and saxophone music here). We were standing by the bed, I was facing 'Dave'. I reached down behind me and pulled back the duvet. My bedspread is red (this isn't just girly detail by the way, it's an important factor). Suddenly, Dave stopped kissing me. I noticed his expression had changed.
"What is it?" I asked.
He moved his head forward to indicate in the direction of the bed. "Eh, what's that?"
I froze. Even though I knew there was nothing weird or dodgy in my bed, I was reluctant to turn around. Eventually I did and I was totally shocked by what I saw.
There were numerous 'white patches' on my red fitted sheet. 'Oh my God, what the hell is that' I silently floundered. "Erm ... eh ... it's not what it looks like," I finally managed.
"Well, that is what it looks like."
"Well, it's not. It's definitely not. I mean I haven't. And if I had, I would have washed the sheets."
"Well, what is it then?"
My mind ticked over furiously. I couldn't think what it might be. C'mon, c'mon, what is it. After what seemed like an eternity, it finally clicked into place.
"Aha," I ventured victoriously. I turned back to face Dave with a proud smile. "It's heel cream!" I remembered that I'd been putting it on my heels every night. You're supposed to put socks on after you've applied it, but I loathe wearing socks in bed so I'd opted to dangle my feet over the edge until it had been absorbed. Obviously, I hadn't waited long enough and some of it had been absorbed by my sheets.
"Heel cream? What the fuck is heel cream?"
"It's cream, for putting on your heels so they're all silky and smooth in the summer."
Dave didn't look convinced.
"Look! I'll show you." I pulled open the top drawer on my bedside table and pulled out the heel cream. "See?" I said rattling the box.
He wasn't looking at me. He was staring at my open drawer. I looked down.
Next to the heel cream were three boxes of condoms.
"There was a three for two offer on at Boots," I offered sheepishly.
He burst out laughing and we lay down on the bed.
"I'm definitely not going to have to pay you after this am I?"
We ended up laughing ourselves to sleep.
Friday, July 28, 2006
My short fuse
Last week started with a bang.
As I was leaving my flat on Monday morning, the lights in my hall blew their fuse. This knocked out the lights in my bedroom, bathroom and sitting room. Now, over the last few weeks I've done more drilling, hammering and screwing than a Robot Wars groupie, so I took this latest development in my stride. That was until I discovered that my fusebox was actually installed personally by Michael Faraday. Oh no, there were no little switches that needed to be flicked up, instead there were circuit boards, magnets and copper wires. I was just about to phone the museum to see if one of the curators would be able to help when I remembered my Grandad gets back from holiday on Monday. So next week people, I'll be learning a valuable (well, at least until I get my flat rewired) new skill.
Slightly miffed that I'd been unable to get my lights back on, I consoled myself with the fact that I would be questioning the Chief Executive of my company in a few hours time. Running late for absolutely everything in my life, I decided to get to the meeting 15 minutes early. I opened up my calendar to check which room we were in only to discover that the meeting had started 15 minutes previously. Shit!
I briefly considered not going but remembered I'd told everyone in my team about it and they'd be expecting me to report back. I almost convinced myself I could "just make up his answers" as he was unlikely to say anything controversial anyway. Finally though, I decided to bite the bullet and turn up late.
I walked into a room where about 20 people were sitting round a board table. I apologised for my lateness as I tried to scan the room for a spare seat. Not seeing any I pulled up the one next to the CEO at the head of the table. He looked somewhat startled and immediately started to move his chair away. Keen to make up for lost time, I proceeded to bombard him with questions about his vision for the company - pointing out that none of it had made its way down to the marketing department. He tried desperately to involve the other people in the room, but they had nothing to say so he was pretty much left with me. He spoke about the company's talent management plans, saying that truly talented people were very difficult to manage but if managed correctly they proved to be a great return. He then turned to me and asked "are you difficult to manage?", to which I of course replied, "extremely."
All in all, the meeting didn't go too badly considering I was late, barged into the room, almost sat on his lap and then told him exactly what I thought of his company.
On Tuesday, my team had a 'blue sky' planning session. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of thinking this might actually be a 'blue sky' planning session. My manager met each and every one of my suggestions with a "no" or a "well, that wouldn't be possible for at least another 12 months". Needless to say, I became frustrated and went 'nice girl postal'. We challenged each other back and forth for a full 15 minutes before my manager just told me the discussion was over. I've realised that here, the term 'blue sky' actually means 'things that we might not have time for in the next year' but in no way means 'thinking ahead and being innovative'. I'm so going to struggle with this.
I battled my way through the remainder of the week. Metaphorically for the most part, but actually during Thursday's hockey game. A Phil Mitchell look-a-like on the opposing team took his stick off my right shin. Stunned from the sheer pain of it, I then stumbled backwards, fell over and grazed my left knee. Annoyingly, I wasn't wearing any shinguards and couldn't really complain. (I have since ordered shinpads and a gumshield - a good idea, I'm sure).
I rushed back from hockey, got changed and buzzed Leanne in as she was coming round to see the new flat for the first time. About 5 minutes later, I realised that she had no way of knowing which flat was mine (no name, no number) so I opened the door and stuck my head out. Right enough, she was heading up to the next floor so I leaned out further to call to her and - click!
That would be the sound of my door locking shut behind me. I was now out in the hallway sans keys, money, mobile phone and anything that might be of any use to me at all. I borrowed Leanne's phone to call my mum as she is the only other person with a key to the flat. Her line was engaged so I called my gran to ask her to let my mum know when she got off the phone. Leanne and I popped across to Tinellis for some dinner. My gran called back to say that my mum was at work and my dad was going to call her to let her know.
Five minutes later my dad called. This is an accurate re-typing of our conversation:
Me: Hello?
Dad: What's happening?
Me: You were calling mum, you tell me what's happening.
Dad: I've phoned mum at her work. What's happening?
Me: What do you mean 'what's happening'?
Dad: I believe you're locked out.
Me: (Through gritted teeth) You know I'm locked out. You know I need mum to bring my keys over - you tell me what's happening.
Dad: You're locked out? How did that happen?
Me: It was an accident. I leaned out of my door too far and it locked behind me.
Dad: I take it there was drink involved?
Me: (Thinking only on your part you crazy psycho fool and now raising my voice) No. I was just back from hockey, I hadn't had a chance to have a "hmpnhing (mumbled curse) drink". (I now signal the waiter to top up my wine.)
Dad: So you're fit to drive then?
Me: (exploding, people in restaurant looking) Yes I'm fit to drive and I have my car keys but I just thought it would be funny to get mum to drive over and ... Do you honestly think I'd be asking mum to drive over if I had my "hmphnhing" car keys in my hand? They're in the "hmphnhing" flat with everything else.
At this point, understandably, the call ended. Leanne and I had a delicious meal and a good laugh despite all the surrounding tension. My mum (star that she is) got over at about 11pm with the keys and let us into the flat.
Unfortunately, I couldn't really show Leanne the flat as the fusebox was still awaiting my Grandad's expertise and we were pretty much in the dark.
Roll on the weekend.
As I was leaving my flat on Monday morning, the lights in my hall blew their fuse. This knocked out the lights in my bedroom, bathroom and sitting room. Now, over the last few weeks I've done more drilling, hammering and screwing than a Robot Wars groupie, so I took this latest development in my stride. That was until I discovered that my fusebox was actually installed personally by Michael Faraday. Oh no, there were no little switches that needed to be flicked up, instead there were circuit boards, magnets and copper wires. I was just about to phone the museum to see if one of the curators would be able to help when I remembered my Grandad gets back from holiday on Monday. So next week people, I'll be learning a valuable (well, at least until I get my flat rewired) new skill.
Slightly miffed that I'd been unable to get my lights back on, I consoled myself with the fact that I would be questioning the Chief Executive of my company in a few hours time. Running late for absolutely everything in my life, I decided to get to the meeting 15 minutes early. I opened up my calendar to check which room we were in only to discover that the meeting had started 15 minutes previously. Shit!
I briefly considered not going but remembered I'd told everyone in my team about it and they'd be expecting me to report back. I almost convinced myself I could "just make up his answers" as he was unlikely to say anything controversial anyway. Finally though, I decided to bite the bullet and turn up late.
I walked into a room where about 20 people were sitting round a board table. I apologised for my lateness as I tried to scan the room for a spare seat. Not seeing any I pulled up the one next to the CEO at the head of the table. He looked somewhat startled and immediately started to move his chair away. Keen to make up for lost time, I proceeded to bombard him with questions about his vision for the company - pointing out that none of it had made its way down to the marketing department. He tried desperately to involve the other people in the room, but they had nothing to say so he was pretty much left with me. He spoke about the company's talent management plans, saying that truly talented people were very difficult to manage but if managed correctly they proved to be a great return. He then turned to me and asked "are you difficult to manage?", to which I of course replied, "extremely."
All in all, the meeting didn't go too badly considering I was late, barged into the room, almost sat on his lap and then told him exactly what I thought of his company.
On Tuesday, my team had a 'blue sky' planning session. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of thinking this might actually be a 'blue sky' planning session. My manager met each and every one of my suggestions with a "no" or a "well, that wouldn't be possible for at least another 12 months". Needless to say, I became frustrated and went 'nice girl postal'. We challenged each other back and forth for a full 15 minutes before my manager just told me the discussion was over. I've realised that here, the term 'blue sky' actually means 'things that we might not have time for in the next year' but in no way means 'thinking ahead and being innovative'. I'm so going to struggle with this.
I battled my way through the remainder of the week. Metaphorically for the most part, but actually during Thursday's hockey game. A Phil Mitchell look-a-like on the opposing team took his stick off my right shin. Stunned from the sheer pain of it, I then stumbled backwards, fell over and grazed my left knee. Annoyingly, I wasn't wearing any shinguards and couldn't really complain. (I have since ordered shinpads and a gumshield - a good idea, I'm sure).
I rushed back from hockey, got changed and buzzed Leanne in as she was coming round to see the new flat for the first time. About 5 minutes later, I realised that she had no way of knowing which flat was mine (no name, no number) so I opened the door and stuck my head out. Right enough, she was heading up to the next floor so I leaned out further to call to her and - click!
That would be the sound of my door locking shut behind me. I was now out in the hallway sans keys, money, mobile phone and anything that might be of any use to me at all. I borrowed Leanne's phone to call my mum as she is the only other person with a key to the flat. Her line was engaged so I called my gran to ask her to let my mum know when she got off the phone. Leanne and I popped across to Tinellis for some dinner. My gran called back to say that my mum was at work and my dad was going to call her to let her know.
Five minutes later my dad called. This is an accurate re-typing of our conversation:
Me: Hello?
Dad: What's happening?
Me: You were calling mum, you tell me what's happening.
Dad: I've phoned mum at her work. What's happening?
Me: What do you mean 'what's happening'?
Dad: I believe you're locked out.
Me: (Through gritted teeth) You know I'm locked out. You know I need mum to bring my keys over - you tell me what's happening.
Dad: You're locked out? How did that happen?
Me: It was an accident. I leaned out of my door too far and it locked behind me.
Dad: I take it there was drink involved?
Me: (Thinking only on your part you crazy psycho fool and now raising my voice) No. I was just back from hockey, I hadn't had a chance to have a "hmpnhing (mumbled curse) drink". (I now signal the waiter to top up my wine.)
Dad: So you're fit to drive then?
Me: (exploding, people in restaurant looking) Yes I'm fit to drive and I have my car keys but I just thought it would be funny to get mum to drive over and ... Do you honestly think I'd be asking mum to drive over if I had my "hmphnhing" car keys in my hand? They're in the "hmphnhing" flat with everything else.
At this point, understandably, the call ended. Leanne and I had a delicious meal and a good laugh despite all the surrounding tension. My mum (star that she is) got over at about 11pm with the keys and let us into the flat.
Unfortunately, I couldn't really show Leanne the flat as the fusebox was still awaiting my Grandad's expertise and we were pretty much in the dark.
Roll on the weekend.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Too much sun
I hate moving, but I do love the new flat, which hopefully means it'll be a considerable amount of time before I move on. I think the bathroom is my favourite room. It's bright, cool, airy and very tidy (thanks in large part to my half-price cabinet from John Lewis). Sam was back from the States a few weeks ago and stopped by for a visit. He gave it the thumbs up and, since Sam has just about the best taste of anyone I know, I was very, very pleased.
Work has been going well and I've made a very good impression on my boss. I got a big old gold star for being 'pro-active' and have accepted the praise with good grace and a (slightly) guilty conscience. As with most stories, there's a whole other side to this one - which I won't go into here as it's positively scandalous.
On Friday, we went out to Tonic for drinks in celebration of Kelly's birthday. I think I recall my gin & tonic costing me £4.20. After a couple of rounds of cocktails we moved on to Ablo, then the Outhouse before ending up in Pivo. It was one of those really great nights where nothing especially exciting happens but everybody is in a constant state of mellow bliss.
I got a taxi home at 3:30am, decided I was a bit peckish and could also do with a nice cup of tea. I made myself a slice of toast and a brew. Sometime later, I discovered that I was watching 'Murder She Wrote'. It was 45 minutes into the programme, the toast and tea were long gone, and I suddenly had the clarity to ask myself what the hell I was doing watching Murder She fucking Wrote at 4:30am. I instructed myself to "get to bed" and promptly did so.
After a largely sleepless night (someone had decided to do step-training in the stairwell, in stiletto heels - at 5am) I got up with a bit more of a hangover than I'd bargained for and decided I needed some form of carbohydrate. I decided to walk to The Manna House on Easter Road for one of the best almond croissants in the city. On my way there I was looking at all the 'For Sale' and 'To Let' signs when I realised I was struggling to read/understand one of them. I got a bit closer and could clearly make out the letters, but still couldn't make sense of it. I had a mini-panic and began to think I was still drunk or perhaps suffering from sunstroke. Alas, I finally worked out that it was written in Polish (a good example in illustrating why capitalisation is important). It was in English on one side and Polish in the other, which I found remarkably helpful for a nation largely unable to offer help in any language but English. Go us!
The remainder of Saturday was spent shopping (I bought the perfect pair of blue sparkly sandals), walking/lying in the sun and generally making the most of my weekend.
Work has been going well and I've made a very good impression on my boss. I got a big old gold star for being 'pro-active' and have accepted the praise with good grace and a (slightly) guilty conscience. As with most stories, there's a whole other side to this one - which I won't go into here as it's positively scandalous.
On Friday, we went out to Tonic for drinks in celebration of Kelly's birthday. I think I recall my gin & tonic costing me £4.20. After a couple of rounds of cocktails we moved on to Ablo, then the Outhouse before ending up in Pivo. It was one of those really great nights where nothing especially exciting happens but everybody is in a constant state of mellow bliss.
I got a taxi home at 3:30am, decided I was a bit peckish and could also do with a nice cup of tea. I made myself a slice of toast and a brew. Sometime later, I discovered that I was watching 'Murder She Wrote'. It was 45 minutes into the programme, the toast and tea were long gone, and I suddenly had the clarity to ask myself what the hell I was doing watching Murder She fucking Wrote at 4:30am. I instructed myself to "get to bed" and promptly did so.
After a largely sleepless night (someone had decided to do step-training in the stairwell, in stiletto heels - at 5am) I got up with a bit more of a hangover than I'd bargained for and decided I needed some form of carbohydrate. I decided to walk to The Manna House on Easter Road for one of the best almond croissants in the city. On my way there I was looking at all the 'For Sale' and 'To Let' signs when I realised I was struggling to read/understand one of them. I got a bit closer and could clearly make out the letters, but still couldn't make sense of it. I had a mini-panic and began to think I was still drunk or perhaps suffering from sunstroke. Alas, I finally worked out that it was written in Polish (a good example in illustrating why capitalisation is important). It was in English on one side and Polish in the other, which I found remarkably helpful for a nation largely unable to offer help in any language but English. Go us!
The remainder of Saturday was spent shopping (I bought the perfect pair of blue sparkly sandals), walking/lying in the sun and generally making the most of my weekend.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
And pigs might fly
Ok, I'm totally tempting fate here, but having told everyone at Dev & Jeff's Easter lunch I figure I've already rowed all the way out on 'asking for it lake'. So here goes:
I've bought a flat - again, but will say no more about it until I have the keys in my hands. Although, rather sadly, I have already done two practice runs from the new flat to my place of work to establish timings. It takes 26 minutes (at 'this is as close as I get to running' pace), 33 minutes (at 'don't dare think you're worthy enough to speak to me' pace) and 41 minutes (at 'Flexi time means I don't need to be in until 10:30. Oh look, aren't the daffodils lovely? pace). I'm like one of those irritating couples who plan the drive to hospital when they're expecting a child. God, I hate myself.
Speaking of God, Dev cooked a pig in his honour last Sunday. It was undoubtedly the holiest ham ever to travel the well worn road that is my geographer's tongue. The pig of God (as it was christened on The Roquefort Files) had been cooked in Coke, and was so delicious that while I may never be fooled into buying the usual pig in a poke, there'd be no hesitation in buying a pig in Coke - even if said pig in coke was actually in a poke at the time.
Anyway, Dev's dinner was a triumph and the disciples dining that day were on top form, which made for plenty of hilarity.
I've bought a flat - again, but will say no more about it until I have the keys in my hands. Although, rather sadly, I have already done two practice runs from the new flat to my place of work to establish timings. It takes 26 minutes (at 'this is as close as I get to running' pace), 33 minutes (at 'don't dare think you're worthy enough to speak to me' pace) and 41 minutes (at 'Flexi time means I don't need to be in until 10:30. Oh look, aren't the daffodils lovely? pace). I'm like one of those irritating couples who plan the drive to hospital when they're expecting a child. God, I hate myself.
Speaking of God, Dev cooked a pig in his honour last Sunday. It was undoubtedly the holiest ham ever to travel the well worn road that is my geographer's tongue. The pig of God (as it was christened on The Roquefort Files) had been cooked in Coke, and was so delicious that while I may never be fooled into buying the usual pig in a poke, there'd be no hesitation in buying a pig in Coke - even if said pig in coke was actually in a poke at the time.
Anyway, Dev's dinner was a triumph and the disciples dining that day were on top form, which made for plenty of hilarity.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Definitely not cool!
Ok, so, technically, I didn't buy a flat. Technically, they accepted my offer. Technically, they then reneged on the agreed offer in the hope that someone would come along and pay more. If I wanted to pay out an extra 5k or however much it is they want, I'd buy a better flat. I would need to put that 5k towards installing the fitted wardrobes that the flat does not have and making other improvements. Besides, my solicitor wouldn't even let me offer more because it is simply NOT WORTH IT!
So technically, I'm back to square one; only more pissed off and wary of this whole dodgy game. Yet another aspect of life about which I can say this. I think I'd describe it as ... hmmmm ... annoying! On the plus side, they did inform me before my surveyor went round this morning which means that I have avoided paying out money. If I had paid out money in this process, the next owner would most definitely be shelling out for new windows as well as fitted wardrobes.
Silver lining no. 1: I just got a pay increase. It was just a little one, but then I've never had a big one before (except when moving to this job) and I didn't even have to ask for it.
Silver lining no. 2: My friends are the best! No, really! These are the texts I have received this morning on the back of my news:
"Oh no! Such a shame. You will get somewhere even better! x"
"Greedy bint ... all will be well. x"
"It is a verbal agreement - can she do that? Bitch!"
"Oh for fuck's sake. Does no one have any decency anymore? Maybe u should call Phil and Kirstie?"
And, on the pay rise front:
"What did you do to deserve that, other than being absolutely brilliant that is? Love you. x"
The best part is, their personalities and attitudes are so brilliantly conveyed in these tiny messages. Love it.
Oh happier day!Thursday, March 30, 2006
Cool ...
... I just bought a flat. Technically, I haven't actually bought it. Technically, I made an offer and they accepted it and now my solicitor is about to start charging me for the work she's doing. It's all kind of exciting and a little bit scary, but mostly it's just cool.
I'm looking forward to moving in and making it my own. Oh yeah, and I've already drawn designs of the fitted wardrobes I'd like to have built in the bedroom. (Not surprisingly, they have little individual cubby-holes for all my shoes.)
Oh happy day!
I'm looking forward to moving in and making it my own. Oh yeah, and I've already drawn designs of the fitted wardrobes I'd like to have built in the bedroom. (Not surprisingly, they have little individual cubby-holes for all my shoes.)
Oh happy day!
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