Work-Life balance

Admittedly, the first week back from holiday is always an uphill struggle. I, however, am 'touching the void' (i.e. my flexi-time has just plummeted through a crevass and my broken-spirit is in no state to pull it back.) Last week's working hours look like this - M 4:45, T 6:24, W 6:38, T 7:01, and F 5:13. It makes me feel slightly better that my inability to drag myself into work before 10am was due more to my busy social calendar than my lazy lard ass.

Sunday night was the first chance I'd had to see Mog since I got back from New York and, quite frankly, the withdrawal symptoms were more than I could take. Sometimes I think I depend on Mog - she's like Jekyll to my Hyde (NOT jelly to my hide as one perv who shall remain nameless once suggested). We dined at La Favorita before heading off to see Prime at the cinema. It was a good few cuts-above the usual offerings of the chick-flick genre and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

The family dinner in Fife on Wednesday was also significantly better than usual. My little cousins, being older now, have better chat and made for a most enjoyable evening. Although, one of my uncles did say he "preferred my hair when it was white". I'd like to state for the record that my hair has never been white. Very, very blonde yes, but never white. I also thought it was nice of him to tell me this now that my hair is no longer blonde. Eh ... cheers.

The midweek late-nights continued into Thursday when I met with Moranna at the Living Room for drinks, dinner and a much-needed catch-up. Moranna was half an hour late so I spent my time praying that no one I knew was in there to see me sipping a lonely champagne cocktail in true 'stood-up' fashion. The nice waitress took pity on me and brought me some olives and houmus to numb the pain. Once Moranna arrived, we proceeded to have a great night. I had a fantastic plate of baby squid with wasabi slaw. Oh baby!

On Friday, I stayed in and ordered the best Indian takeaway I have ever had. It was from Shapla on Easter Road. The mango chutney was really fresh and had great big chunks of fruit in it, while the raitha was thick and had freshly sliced cucumber strips on top. Annoyingly, I then remembered that I was going out for an Indian meal on Saturday night. D'oh.

In the afternoon, I drove out to Leanne and Craig's for their BBQ. I met lots of their friends and had conversations about whether it was acceptable and wise to eat king-prawn shit; cosmetic surgery for women who want the skin surrounding their vaginas to appear younger, puppetry of the penis and, most socially unacceptable of all, Big Brother.

I drove back home, had a quick shower and raced up to Native State to meet with the Ladies for a girls' night/Helen's hen night. We ate in Khushis and I had some amazing prawns (whose shit I didn't even think about). The meal was excellent and we then headed on to Negociants where we hoped to see Helen complete all the dares we'd listed for her. Sadly, Helen was having none of it and ended up farming her dares out to the rest of us, who were all so merrily pished that we happily obliged. As a result, I kissed all the girls and made two of them cry. Then I was persistently chatted-up by a complete random with fido dido hair.

On Sunday, I felt a little worse for the wear and lounged about for ages before walking down to Ocean Terminal. I bought myself some Greek yoghurt and Cherry Compote from M&S and almost giggled with indulgent pleasure at my newly hatched plan to head home, put on my jogging-suit (a misnomer if ever there was one), watch Calendar Girls and eat my yoghurt dessert very, very slowly.

My fantasy became reality and I was happily indulging when the buzzer went. My first thought was the same thought whenever my buzzer goes "It won't be for me." I ignored it until it buzzed again. I buzzed the person in and waited behind the door to see who it was. I heard heavy footsteps bounding upstairs and then I saw Alex. This was most unexpected and now I was caught in my jogging-suit (which I don't feel comfortable with anyone seeing me in, hence the fact that it has never been for a jog - except to the fridge and back during a break on CSI:Miami) with a dessert in my hands - the picture of a sad fat-fest surely? It could only have been worse had I been eating a tub of ice-cream, the jogging-suit was too small and I'd spilt ice cream on it.

Anyway, Alex had popped round because he was in the area and he'd wondered if I'd heard from Sam. I filled him on Sam's latest email and then he invited me out for a few drinks with him and his friend Dave. Caught in full-flow sad git mode, I felt embarrassed enough into agreeing to meet him at the pub after I'd got changed and pulled myself together.

After a lengthy catch-up, I was invited to Pivo but, with my flexi balance (and complete physical, emotional and mental exhaustion) in mind, I sensibly declined.

I woke up on Monday morning feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. At 10am, Mog sent a text inviting me to the pub for some Gin after work. Needless to say, Tuesday was a late start too.

Coldsore, warm heart

I was on the bus, on my way to collect the car I'd abandoned in favour of wine the night before. Slightly hungover, and with a whopping great coldsore on the right-hand side of my bottom lip, I'd quickly pulled my hair back and put on my specs. Neither looking nor feeling my best, the plan was to get the car as quickly as possible with as few people seeing me as possible.

As the bus neared my stop, I stood up to press the button and leave my seat. Just then, I noticed that the guy in front was moving his hand back - also to press the button I presumed. However, he ended up pressing my left breast instead.

This was something of a shock for us both.

He apologised immediately and I was mortified but said it was quite alright (how awfully British of me).

Now off the bus and walking along the road, I heard someone saying "excuse me, miss". I turned round and saw that it was my public transport groper. He informed me that he hadn't known the bus was going this way and could I tell him the best bus to get to Morningside. I told him that he was almost there and basically just had to follow the road for 10 minuntes. He asked if I was going his way and I said I wasn't. Then he asked if I was from Edinburgh. Not wanting to get into anything resembling a conversation, I said 'yes'. He asked me to guess where he was from. I told him that I'd guess somewhere in West Africa but didn't know exactly where. He pressed me (not quite like before, thankfully) for a country so I hedged my bets and picked the most populous one - Nigeria. And what do you know, I was right. He told me his name was Eugene and he was studying Engineering. He asked me a bit about myself and then, as I said goodbye and went to cross the road, he said:

"So when can I see you again?"
"Perhaps, you'll bump into me in the street or grope me on another bus journey," I replied, then feared he'd think it was an invitation.
"Oh no," said he, "the chances are too slim. Can I have your number?"
"Oh no," said I, "the number can never be given. Things are in God's hands now."
"I like that," he said. "It has been a wonderful pleasure to meet you miss and now I will let you go on your way."
"Likewise," I replied.

As I crossed the road I couldn't help but smile. I'm not saying I particularly like being felt-up by strangers (although there was that one time ... when I was feeling really low ...) and having to make small-talk with them is worse still, but I really wasn't looking my best and it cheered me up that some poor soul didn't seem to mind. And besides, at least he wasn't a stark raving loon like the person my friend Jen had the pleasure of meeting recently. She emailed me with the details of her encounter, which I will share with you now.

Hey Lisa.

As soon as this happened I immediately thought of you - not because you are a Scouse reprobate, but because I really wished you were there to share in the moment. Given your enjoyment of Liverpool's eccentricities, I knew you'd have appreciated it.

I was walking across town last week, having been sent to another building to get my photie took for my security pass (yes, I have started work, it's not just a strange hobby). It was a nice sunny day, and I was just strolling along minding my own business when I stopped at a pedestrian crossing.

A local gentleman struck up conversation with me, which went a little like this:

Scouse Gent: 'Don't touch that button!'
Me: 'OK...er, why not?'
Scouse Gent: 'Have you ever thought about all the people who have probably picked their nose and then pressed that button?'
Me: Well, no, not really...'
Scouse Gent: 'Yeah, picked their nose and then pressed that button! Picked their nose!'(By now - praise the Lord - the green man has deigned to make an appearance and I am defying everything I learned en route to my First Aid badge in the Brownies to get across the road)
Scouse Gent: 'And then you go home and tuck into a nice cream cake. After your fingers have been on that button!'
Me: (now running) 'Hahahahahahaha!'
Scouse Gent: 'A nice cream cake! Cream cake! CREAM CAKE!!'

Lisa, I swear, he kept shouting cream cake at me until he was a small speck in the distance.What the hell is going on in this city?!?!

Quite.

Adventures in babysitting (part 2)

I really must be getting more responsible in my old age; this is the second time in as many weeks that someone has entrusted their kids to me. Mog and I babysat for Moranna's two boys who were so lovely they actually took themselves off to bed at 9pm. At first I was really chuffed that they were so well behaved, but then I started to worry that it was because I was so boring. I kept checking with Mog and saying: "Do you think they had a good time though?". Mog pointed out that it wasn't a date and maybe I should just shut up. So I did.

Week two in the new job vastly improved upon the first. I definitely feel like I'm getting to grips with the various systems and processes. My creative streak was invited out to play when my team started discussing our presentation for the department away day. After brainstorming some (very good) ideas, one of my colleagues told me I was born to do this job. "Yes", I replied, "if there was a job entitled 'Director of Fannying-about' it would be mine." I'm even starting to enjoy the whole 'finance' aspect of my job and was thoroughly engrossed in a presentation on inheritance tax and trust funds on Friday. I can't believe I just shared that with you - how sad am I?

On Tuesday night I went to a 'fashion event' at John Lewis. It was a seasonal update from the same woman who told me my hair colour was 'wrong'. I enjoyed a preview of the latest fashions for the season, champagne (in a plastic cup, because I was late) and an hour to peruse the shop floor. Although I had promised myself I wouldn't buy anything - I came home with 2 (adorable) skirts and one very pretty top. I felt guilty about blowing my monthly budget until half-way through my second G&T with Moranna afterwards.

Hooked up with Sinead on Friday night for more tapas. She had a conference over in Edinburgh and attended in the stead of one the local councillors. Hilariously, when she called to explain this to the conference organisers they assumed she was a councillor herself so she had to go out and buy a cheap shiny suit and some big bling jewellery to carry off the duplicity.

On Saturday morning my hair was dyed darker and, therefore, closer to my natural colour in an attempt to cut my 6 weekly maintenance costs. It got the thumbs up from both Sinead and Mog. On Sunday, I went to look at some flats and saw one that I really like. Fingers crossed, it gets a seal of approval from the surveyor.

Irritatingly, one of my former colleagues called to say that the dodgy guy from 'Networking?' (see below) had called to ask for my new contact details. They didn't pass them on but he said he'd "track me down himself." Every night, when I leave work, I have a look around; half expecting him to be lurking suspiciously in a Milk Tray man gone to seed kind of way.

Networking?

A man called me last week. An older man. He's about fifty. He's quite short with a somewhat squishy face (I didn't elicit this from the conversation; we'd previously worked on a business project together, so I did know him). He wanted to meet me after work because he needed to 'get my opinion on something'. Rather reluctantly, I went along to meet him in the pub. He was wearing a black suit with a black polo neck on underneath. Not a good look; it made me think he was trying to hide something (another 20 years and a facelift perhaps).

He told me about his work situation and I offered my opinion. It seemed rather odd that he chose to speak to me rather than my boss as she has experience of the exact same situation and he's known her for over 10 years. I had put an immediate cap on our time together by telling him I had to be at a friend's party at 8pm. After letting him know about my new job and talking business in general, he made a few allusions to his perfect marriage.

By 7.45pm I decided it was time to leave. There was one taxi in the rank so he said we should share. On the way back he told me that I had really cheered him up. That he felt down and depressed before meeting me, and that we should meet up for drinks again. I pointed out that as I was moving to a new job there would be no need for us to meet up. He said he wasn't talking business he was talking about how he enjoyed my company. He said to me: "There are people in this world who are negative or annoying or rude. They irritate you, drag you down and drain you, but you, on the otherhand, are one of life's genuinely nice, intelligent and funny people and I really enjoy your company." It was a nice thing for him to say, but it made me feel akward and uncomfortable. The rest of journey was spent in akward and uncomfortable silence.

When I got home I contemplated things. Is it odd for a 50-year old married man to want to spend time with a 26-year old woman? Was he genuinely interested in my business opinion or did he have ulterior motives? Did my feelings of discomfort make me (unfairly) decide this guy was slightly dodgy? What was it that made me feel uncomfortable anyway? These thoughts swirled round my head for some time. I decided that I hadn't looked forward to meeting this guy, the conversation had been a drag for me and I didn't want to go out for drinks with him again. Whether he was nice, genuine, dodgy or dull, I didn't enjoy myself the way he had.

In the end, that's all I need to feel fine with saying no. It may not be the nice thing to do, but it's definitely the right thing to do.