So my foster sister Megan gave birth today.
After seventeen hours of labour, only gas and air, a tear here or there and copious amounts of screaming at her boyfriend she gave birth to Miss Amelia Grace today at 5.45pm. A bundle 0f dark hair on her head and a pretty tired mum.
This has got me to thinking. I am so far away from any sort of procreation that the only last step away is lesbianism. I am also two years older than her.
Is this a bad thing? I grew up in a house where the normal thing to do was to get pregnant. My grandmother was married at 16, had my mum at 17, and my uncle at 18. Mu mum was 19 when she had me and has quickly followed this up by literally farting kids out at a rapid rate. I am looked upon by these people as being literally past it at the age of 23.
Don't get me wrong, I have a super maternal instinct. You'll find me mothering almost everyone within sight, and if i hold a baby I can literally feel my ovaries screaming. In some of my more crazier moments, when I have had a scare with an ex, I have also actually held onto that pregnancy test and tried with the power of the mind to create a second line. But that has never happened, and boy am I glad that it hasn't.
Because as much as I get those pangs, those feelings when my stomach seems to itch with wanting to feel a kick, that thought is pretty quickly replaced with the absolute fear of it all. I don't know what I'm more scared of; the pain, the changes to my body, the changes to my life or the expectations and responsibilities that come with it.
I have a relatively high pain threshold, but so does my sister. Knowing that she is screaming to be put to sleep during her pregnancy does not bode well. And even though all mothers proclaim to instantly forget this and go on to have more! This is confusing for my little weary brain.
My body no longer is my own. The alien feeling of having something inside moving is just something I cannot comprehend, and don't know if I would be able to cope with. That and the constant interference needed by doctors; check ups and prodding and poking... its all so much.
My life is not one that I could bring a child into. My life is constantly full of ups and downs, and is sometimes utterly chaotic. I know that this is obviously a sign of not being ready for one, but I can't ever see this changing. There are too many people here now that rely on me and I pretty much have a heavy load of responsibility, what with seven younger siblings with a set of completely dysfunctional and often degenerate parents. I have a two year old brother, and trust me, he is going to need me over the next 16 years.
A lot of people tell me that I shouldn't do so much for my brothers and sisters, as often it is done without a touch of gratitude. Uprooting yourself and renting a two bed apartment just so that your sister has somewhere to call home takes a lot to do, and when she ups and leaves a couple of months later because she doesn't want to do the washing up kind of leaves you wondering whether it is worth it. But how do you explain to people who haven't lived in that environment that you know how much it would have meant to know that there was just one person you could turn to know matter what? Being a parent is often a thankless task, at least when your kids are children, so why should I expect any different from them? The main thing is that they may abuse it, but they know that there is somebody somewhere...
And when I do get to that stage, my biggest fear is what if I cock it up? I have no excuses, because it has been demonstrated to me for 23 years how not to do it. But I am so shit scared of turning out just like her. And for that, I just wouldn't be able to forgive myself. I know that parenting doesn't come with a handbook, and no one has the perfect parents, but I know that I want to be as close to that as possible. The only question for that is whether i ever will be.
Until then, I'll congratulate Megan and guess I'll just stick to being Aunty Katy... at least I don't have to do the shitty nappies, right?
Monday 30 November 2009
Tuesday 24 November 2009
(845): I missed Saved by the Bell this morning, but Ashley in a later episode of Fresh Prince is keeping the morning wood alive.
Round Two of the Rap Battle:
From: Daniel To: Katy
Now this is a story all about how I slapped this girl just all around,
So if you’d like to call me Spaniel just sit right there, I’ll tell you how I knocked out this girl who worked for a surveyor
In West Bognor Regis I was born and raised,
In the arcade I seemed to spend most of my days,
Hitting out, acting, protracting and pooling and shooting some punk kids outside of the school
When a mad Hayward’s girl, she was nodding her head,
Tried hard to make my name rhyme with a quadruped,
She got in one little fight and said that she hates me;
But then whispered later “Oh I wish that big Dan could take me”
From: Katy To: Daniel
I whistled for the Spaniel and when he came near
I kicked him in the goolies, wet willied his ear.
If anything I could say that this fight was fair
Cause the only thing Big about Dan is his hair!
He. Was. Trying for hours, he gave into fate,
and I yelled to the Spaniel, yo homes you’re too late!
Locked in the kennel, he was finally there
To watch me, Queen rapper, you puppies beware…..
From: Daniel To: Katy
Now this is a story all about how I slapped this girl just all around,
So if you’d like to call me Spaniel just sit right there, I’ll tell you how I knocked out this girl who worked for a surveyor
In West Bognor Regis I was born and raised,
In the arcade I seemed to spend most of my days,
Hitting out, acting, protracting and pooling and shooting some punk kids outside of the school
When a mad Hayward’s girl, she was nodding her head,
Tried hard to make my name rhyme with a quadruped,
She got in one little fight and said that she hates me;
But then whispered later “Oh I wish that big Dan could take me”
From: Katy To: Daniel
I whistled for the Spaniel and when he came near
I kicked him in the goolies, wet willied his ear.
If anything I could say that this fight was fair
Cause the only thing Big about Dan is his hair!
He. Was. Trying for hours, he gave into fate,
and I yelled to the Spaniel, yo homes you’re too late!
Locked in the kennel, he was finally there
To watch me, Queen rapper, you puppies beware…..
(514): Just saw some guy walking down the street rapping about various types of pasta.
Today I am 23... which means that technically i shouldn't be doing this anymore:
From: Daniel To: Katy
Uh uh, uh yeah…here we go
Who’s lookin’ at me?
Got this surveyor, purveyor, of the purest kinda midget,
Kinda short ass little punk whose inches just touch double digits man that’s tiny,
Like an ant, I got you squashed beneath my feet,
The only feat you’ll ever achieve is suckin’ on your mother’s teat
So while you cryin’, and be brayin’ that this cretin got you down,
I’ll be watching from the gutter wearing ‘Lyric Winner’ crown,
Cos I’ll stomp you and smash you, like KFC does to a chicken,
Prepare your burger, grab a mop and get back in the kitchen…BITCH.
From: Katy To: Daniel
Who’s looking at you?
Well Bognor Regis boy, don’t be frontin’ you aint witty,
Your lyrics aint tight, your bars ain’t right, blud their pretty s**tty, (oh no she didn’t…)
I may be small, but boy I’m hot, good thing in a small package,
Now hold it down and hold on tight, prepare for lyrical smackage.
So stick to the gutter, with your crown, cause mans is from the street,
Cause down there blud, it ain’t so hot and you can’t take the heat.
From up on road I’ll take the throne, and boy you just can’t touch ‘dis,
You got done by one short gal cause this is how she does this…..
From: Daniel To: Katy
BLAM!!!!
Oh girl you know I’m sorry, I was under impressions we was battling,
If I’d known I’d receive a monologue containing your incessant prattling,
I’d have turned the other cheek but not to be struck so that you know,
I’m talking ass is what I’d show you cos it smells like your lyrics yo!
Seriously you wanna diss me cos of my seaside roots?
Girl you told me you’s Irish, what, should I call out all my troops?
We’ll blast you down to earth, bury you in sarcastic compilations,
Go enjoy your junk food, and to my words your masturbation.
BRRRRAP BRAP BRRRAP!!
From: Katy To: Daniel
Dude, I’ll give you props, a comeback here for sure,
But rating it my brudda, I’d have to say its pretty poor.
You say you’ll bring your troops, blud you’d better have an army,
Cause anything less, you’ll be left in a mess, dude it would be barmy.
You say the words you spout do come from deep within you’re a**e,
Its true, where as my lyricism is somewhat expert class.
Masturbation darling, well I’ll leave that to you boys.
Instead I’ll demonstrate to you that guys are nowt but toys.
Toys with which I entertain myself when I see fit,
Toys which try to spin some lines but end up looking s**t.
Toys, they’re just for Christmas, they are not forever.
And you are not for rapping son, cause you just ain’t that clever.
RUUUUUUUUDEEEEEE BOIIIIIII!
Twenty three and i'm still Jenny from the block... bad boy for life.
Thursday 19 November 2009
(646): I would kind of like a job that starts at 10:30 and i'll work til 7. I'm not very productive in the morning. My main focus is not puking from 9
This is what I did today....
From: Katy To: Daniel
The applicant has failed to respond so I am cancelling any further chasing.
Kind regards
Katy
From: Daniel To: Katy
Lazy.
From: Katy To: Daniel
Well that is gratitude for you! ;-)
From: Daniel To: Katy
Love you really. Sorry I didn’t reply yesterday, things started to go manic.
Looking at your social schedule makes me feel like an old man at the age of 23.
From: Katy To: Daniel
No problem… wish there was some mania around here… actually I command you to refer everybody that walks through your door to us from now on!
And you are 23 too? Good age to be so I’m told… Only 5 days left of being younger… ugh.
From: Daniel To: Katy
Maybe you should ‘represent’ us young ‘uns and get some pulses racing in the office. Any ideas?
You command me huh? I’ve got to be the highest referrer of surveys by now in brokers. What gives you the right to command me huh :p
From: Katy To: Daniel
Lol why do I have to do the representing? You are the one with the *pervy bows* so I think you would be much better at it!
And unfortunately Mr Craig you are slightly trailing when it comes to referees… indeed it is not your referrals that make you my favourite… but your quick wit and humour! And as you are my favourite, surely that gives me some leeway with the commanding….
From: Daniel To: Katy
Because you’re a closet perve and you know it that’s why :p
I’m trailing??? I swear I send over at least 4-5 per month, what’s everybody else doing?? I like the fact that I’m your favourite though, does that mean I get extra cash for each referral?
In terms of the commanding, let’s test to see if it works. You command me to do something and if I do it we’ll accept your dominance, if not then it will show you are weak…so weak…
From: Katy To: Daniel
Closet perve?! What on earth would give you that impression! I am nothing but an upstanding and valuable member of society… nothing smutty here in the slightest… ahem…
And others have dwarfed your valiant efforts Mr Craig… And unfortunately you would have to rub by boss up the right way to get more spondooleys for your efforts… not me…
And my command…. I shall have to think of something great for this…. And there is nothing weak about me my boy! I eat my spinach!
From: Daniel To: Katy
That’s annoyed me, I don’t like losing, what has everybody else done? How many do I need to do to get in the top three?
I’m not sure what your boss looks like so I’ll probably leave all rubbing out of the equation. But strength in numbers etc etc.
I’m liking this Mr Craig stuff as well, it’s nice to see with the commanding you’re already becoming subservient :p
Finalmont, I’ve not met many people who like spinach. So you’ve just gained 100 cool points. Give yourself a pat on the back
From: Katy To: Daniel
Well I can tell you in the scale of Funky Financial Advisers Referrals… you are…. 6th…. With a difference of 15 more referrals between you and the big bad broker at the top… however that does make you 6th out of 16… so a small pat on the back is in order…
My boss is a woman… does that help?
And with regards to being subservient… I have decided to change your name to Daniel the Spaniel in order to display my total lack of disobedience… mwa ha ha…
And spinach is probably the only thing I like to eat that is in any way unpopular… one can be a picky eater…
And with regards to my command… can I make it an ‘I bet you can’t…’ cause they are so much more fun?
From: Daniel To: Katy
As long as it’s not an “I bet you can’t refer more than ‘x’ people to me” then go for it.
6 out of 16 is average but 15 more referrals is not too far away, only 1.5 extra per month needed then really, I imagine that’s Noe or Lisa? However that’s also good I should get in the top 3 next year then.
Re Daniel the Spaniel, I’m going to have to call you Shady Katy (works if you say it in American accent).
One can be a picky eater can one? One was actually of the vegetarian variety for five years however one has, forthwith and with great haste, amended said dietary requirements to include substances of the more carnivorous variety.
From: Katy To: Daniel
Okay… *rubs hands with glee*
I bet you can’t… rotate your right hand clockwise while rotating your right ankle anti-clockwise…. Do it….
And Noe and Lisa? One is above you and one is below you… so that should make you happier…
Shady Katy… quite apt…
And vegetarian… a preposterous idea for me as one only eats vegetables and is not a fan of fruit or salads… or much meat to be honest… yeah… I have quite a crappy diet….
From: Daniel To: Katy
I can do it, just, if I concentrate, but now I look like I’ve got downs…
You just said you only eat vegetables and don’t have much meat or fruit or salds. Wouldn’t that MAKE you a vegetarian??
From: Katy To: Daniel
You cannot do it! It is a physical impossibility! I would need videographic evidence of such an action taking place, and seeing as you cannot provide that I take that as a victory… and I have proven that you can’t do something I commanded you to do, which in a roundabout way manages to convince me (probably not others) that I am indeed commanding… yes…. (A fine example of the inner workings of my spasticated head)
And I don’t think I qualify as a vegetarian… as I am quite keen on bacon. And chicken. And I have recently found out I like duck. I’m pretty much a junk-food-arian… I may copyright that phrase…
And what else do you enjoy Daniel the spaniel? Apart from sexing vegetables and looking like a plum by trying out tasks commanded to you by short, badly-eating women?
From: Daniel To: Katy
Actually, if we’re talking technicalities, you didn’t command me to do anything. In fact, you bet me that I couldn’t do something, which I did, but then, like the referee of the Ireland v France match last night, you incredulously claimed that because you couldn’t see it, it couldn’t have happened. Shame on you Shady.
Actually as you don’t eat much (or at least you only eat junk) should I start calling you Slim Shady? Do you possess a chainsaw? I used to love junk food but then when I did go veggie it made me change, now I’m pretty healthy really.
PS - http://www.google.co.uk/search?hl=en&safe=off&q=%22junkfoodarian%22&meta=&aq=f&oq too late 5 people got to it before you did :p
What else do I enjoy? Well sexing vegetables has to be pretty high up on the list to be honest with you, it’s something about the way they come out of the ground dirty…
But outside of my orthorexia nervosa (damn I’m good) what do I do? Well I play guitar and piano (neither very well) so that takes up quite a bit of my time, I run a (currently unsuccessful) business with a friend designing blackberry applications and I try to travel quite a lot. I’m a bit of a book nerd so I love to read anything from Steven King to some deep philosophy like Hesse and psychology like Jung.
Oh and films, I LOVE films. Especially weird ones. I’m odd, in case you hadn’t noticed. I thought you were good in 8 Mile.
What other ventures have you got set up at the moment?
From: Katy To: Daniel
I draw your attention to the Sweeney Thesaurus Ltd Edition…
Bet = Command. Fact.
And match?!? What is this you speak of? I am a lady, therefore I know not of this… match….?
And Slim Shady…. Hmm… I used to look like a bit of a lollipop… all head and stick thin body, so it would have been appropriate back then… unfortunately these days my metabolism is rapidly slowing.. so I’ve filled out a bit… not too much though… how about Slightly Slim Shady… much more fitting… pardon the pun… Unfortunately I don’t possess a chainsaw… but I have a pink toolkit… does that qualify?
And damn those five people… do you think it may work the same a royalty… if I bump those off, will I inherit the title of junk-food-arian originator?
And you sound like a dirty root veg kind of guy… or are you more for the runner bean bonking?
Orthorexia nervosa can easily be cured with a Big Mac… I’ll be sure to treat you to one when you’re in town…
Musically talented/challenged… entrepreneur… cultured… intellectual… Sound like a bit of a ledge Mr Craig (you get the title back on this one occasion for namedropping King… 100 cool points right back at you!
Major fan of the films too… more than likely because of my unhealthy obsession with popcorn (tried to look for a medical term, appears there is none… new copyright on the horizon)…
So how does quite a clever chap like yourself become so clever hailing from Kennington… or am I wrong to assume that you must travel from far afield in order to reach your place of work? Used to live in Oval for a period myself and can’t say I was overly impressed with the majority of fellow residents… bit of a catchment area for vagrants from my experience… was probably a bit hobolicious back in my teenage days too… so probably fitted right in!
From: Daniel To: Katy
I draw your attention to the fact that the name Sweeney has Scottish origins and as such, must be steeped in lies and treachery (having half of my family from Scotland I can attest to this).
This leads me to believe that the Sweeney Thesaurus Ltd Edition is actually full of lies and therefore, your so-called ‘fact’ is nothing but preposterous hoohar.
The match was a stormer, but Ireland got robbed by a blatant handball. Hence why I was alluding to the fact that you may be a closet referee, as well as a closet molester.
A pink toolkit is far scarier than a chainsaw, at least with a chainsaw you know where you stand, whereas with a pink toolkit you don’t know if you’ll be smashed to bits with a hammer or plucked to beauty by tweezers. Those five people should be quaking in their gothic cyberboot platforms.
Ah dirty root, good pun on the Australian slang if that’s what you were aiming for, but I’d say I’m more of a salt man. I go with any dish and can make the most dull of meals turn into a veritable taste explosion, or I can be used very subtly, when the mood fits.
“Musically talented/challenged… entrepreneur… cultured… intellectual” All words which I don’t understand.
This of course means there must be some chink in my armour and that would be general facial looks I’m afraid. I am also a shorty at 5’ 8”. Last year the government changed the national average height from 5’ 8” to 5’ 8.5”.
Needless to say I wrote an angry letter to Gordon Brown but it didn’t get very far as I couldn’t reach high enough to put it through the slot in the post box…
I have a King obsession, it’s not healthy, I have about 50 of his books, which is at least 85% of the entire thing. Any faves
Finally (as this email is becoming far too long) I actually grew up in Bognor Regis which is a dump, but moved to London by myself at the whippersnapper age of 17. I lived in Fulham (poncy) then Chiswick (awesome) then Canary Wharf (dump) and now I live right next door to Battersea Park (which is faaakin laaavly, specially with a clear sky at 1am in the morning if you wander through it and stare at the stars).
Anyway what’s your excuse? You work for **** and I thought a prerequisite was that to work for **** you had to be boring, stupid or full of yourself. You seem to be none of them…
From: Katy To: Daniel
I draw your attention to the fact that that was one of the longest emails I have ever received! And I don’t like to be outdone so I am going to go at this one with gusto…
Sweeney may have Scottish origins, but mine in fact are Irish… which is slightly Irish in nature in itself do you not think? And to tarnish a whole nation with a complete stereotype… steeped in lies and treachery… well that’s just wrong. I would say that Scots are usually ginger, toothless and unemployed…. Usually but not all. You see.. no general sweeping of the tarnish brush here for me.
The Sweeney Thesaurus Ltd Edition takes offence to your slanderous comments, and would like to reiterate to you that you are named after an actor… who as a line of work acts like a bit of a twat by playing with fake gadgets whilst wearing tight swimming trunks… we should not be basing assumptions on names… or should we?
And I am glad that you fear the pink toolkit… most people just mock. As least whilst hanging shelves* I can look fashionable and styled.
Loving the food analogy there.. you already know the way to Miss Plump McPlumpison’s heart over here…
Quite humorous aren’t we Mr Craig… how’s about alright with a guitar thingy, likes to thing of crap first, likes a curry, geek… better?
And don’t beat yourself up your looks… The ugly stick did that for you! (Mwa ha ha) Completely joking… bet you’re a closet stud muffin.
Stephen King is a ledge… The Green Mile… I bought it when I was about ten… and I’ve loved it ever since…
And Bognor Regis, what a place. Particularly like the delightful arcades down there, they have a certain je ne sais quoi about them that you just don’t find in Brighton… Basically grew up in Battersea Park too. I have actually been for a swim in the delightful boating lake, and not by choice either. Its not so nice. Have you found the secret garden-esque garden area thingy up by where cricket is played yet? Bloody lovely in the summer…
And these characteristics that you claim are much needed in order to work for this delightful company of ours? You don’t seem to be in possession of any of them either, so how did you end up here? My own story is a rather complicated one. Started a law degree many moons ago, and upon realisation that as an independent student I was NEVER going to be able to afford to carry on I gave up and gave in to becoming a slave labourer… or a secretary.
*Hanging shelves should be read as handing the hammer to some poor bloke friend who I have dragged round to mine to help…
From: Daniel To: Katy
I’ll wind up the length then and keep it short and sweet (like Kim Jong Il)
I’m half Irish too, you’re even more scheming. So that was a fail.
Daniel Craig has nothing on me. His blue trunk wading, chiselled body gleaming, suave smiling personage has nothing on my belly scratching, boxer clad, financial servicing wonder ways.
I like the version of me you gave below far better, that’s far more accurate and I can grin at that one.
Ah the arcades of Bognor. Many a Saturday was spent on trips to Macdonald’s followed by £2 in the Time Crisis Machine on the pier. Crazy golf was a particular fave of mine. That’s where Bognor stops and the pikeys start though.
Sounds like you’ve had to do things off your own back as well, I moved up here to get involved in film, ha.
We’ll have to meet some time, but make sure you wear sturdy shoes otherwise you’ll cut and slice your feet on all the shattered dreams…
From: Katy To: Daniel
Yes but I bet your half Irish hasn’t got anything on my Irish Jamaican speaking dad… uh huh, I’m ghetto bruv.
And there’s nothing better than a belly scratching boxer clad financial adviser to get a girl all hot and bothered!
And I’ve pretty much been on my own since about 13, so I blates win that one! *blows raspberries*
And speaking of meeting I have just been unceremoniously informed that my attendance at this godawful Christmas bash that the company is hosting is mandatory… so I command you to do the same! At least we can both sit in a corner somewhere and discuss the finer points of King’s prose whilst laughing at the losers on the dancefloor skanking out to 80s music…. Ahem.
Got to say it made the afternoon pass oh so quickly... I see drunken escapades at the company Crimbo shindig... could be fun!
From: Katy To: Daniel
The applicant has failed to respond so I am cancelling any further chasing.
Kind regards
Katy
From: Daniel To: Katy
Lazy.
From: Katy To: Daniel
Well that is gratitude for you! ;-)
From: Daniel To: Katy
Love you really. Sorry I didn’t reply yesterday, things started to go manic.
Looking at your social schedule makes me feel like an old man at the age of 23.
From: Katy To: Daniel
No problem… wish there was some mania around here… actually I command you to refer everybody that walks through your door to us from now on!
And you are 23 too? Good age to be so I’m told… Only 5 days left of being younger… ugh.
From: Daniel To: Katy
Maybe you should ‘represent’ us young ‘uns and get some pulses racing in the office. Any ideas?
You command me huh? I’ve got to be the highest referrer of surveys by now in brokers. What gives you the right to command me huh :p
From: Katy To: Daniel
Lol why do I have to do the representing? You are the one with the *pervy bows* so I think you would be much better at it!
And unfortunately Mr Craig you are slightly trailing when it comes to referees… indeed it is not your referrals that make you my favourite… but your quick wit and humour! And as you are my favourite, surely that gives me some leeway with the commanding….
From: Daniel To: Katy
Because you’re a closet perve and you know it that’s why :p
I’m trailing??? I swear I send over at least 4-5 per month, what’s everybody else doing?? I like the fact that I’m your favourite though, does that mean I get extra cash for each referral?
In terms of the commanding, let’s test to see if it works. You command me to do something and if I do it we’ll accept your dominance, if not then it will show you are weak…so weak…
From: Katy To: Daniel
Closet perve?! What on earth would give you that impression! I am nothing but an upstanding and valuable member of society… nothing smutty here in the slightest… ahem…
And others have dwarfed your valiant efforts Mr Craig… And unfortunately you would have to rub by boss up the right way to get more spondooleys for your efforts… not me…
And my command…. I shall have to think of something great for this…. And there is nothing weak about me my boy! I eat my spinach!
From: Daniel To: Katy
That’s annoyed me, I don’t like losing, what has everybody else done? How many do I need to do to get in the top three?
I’m not sure what your boss looks like so I’ll probably leave all rubbing out of the equation. But strength in numbers etc etc.
I’m liking this Mr Craig stuff as well, it’s nice to see with the commanding you’re already becoming subservient :p
Finalmont, I’ve not met many people who like spinach. So you’ve just gained 100 cool points. Give yourself a pat on the back
From: Katy To: Daniel
Well I can tell you in the scale of Funky Financial Advisers Referrals… you are…. 6th…. With a difference of 15 more referrals between you and the big bad broker at the top… however that does make you 6th out of 16… so a small pat on the back is in order…
My boss is a woman… does that help?
And with regards to being subservient… I have decided to change your name to Daniel the Spaniel in order to display my total lack of disobedience… mwa ha ha…
And spinach is probably the only thing I like to eat that is in any way unpopular… one can be a picky eater…
And with regards to my command… can I make it an ‘I bet you can’t…’ cause they are so much more fun?
From: Daniel To: Katy
As long as it’s not an “I bet you can’t refer more than ‘x’ people to me” then go for it.
6 out of 16 is average but 15 more referrals is not too far away, only 1.5 extra per month needed then really, I imagine that’s Noe or Lisa? However that’s also good I should get in the top 3 next year then.
Re Daniel the Spaniel, I’m going to have to call you Shady Katy (works if you say it in American accent).
One can be a picky eater can one? One was actually of the vegetarian variety for five years however one has, forthwith and with great haste, amended said dietary requirements to include substances of the more carnivorous variety.
From: Katy To: Daniel
Okay… *rubs hands with glee*
I bet you can’t… rotate your right hand clockwise while rotating your right ankle anti-clockwise…. Do it….
And Noe and Lisa? One is above you and one is below you… so that should make you happier…
Shady Katy… quite apt…
And vegetarian… a preposterous idea for me as one only eats vegetables and is not a fan of fruit or salads… or much meat to be honest… yeah… I have quite a crappy diet….
From: Daniel To: Katy
I can do it, just, if I concentrate, but now I look like I’ve got downs…
You just said you only eat vegetables and don’t have much meat or fruit or salds. Wouldn’t that MAKE you a vegetarian??
From: Katy To: Daniel
You cannot do it! It is a physical impossibility! I would need videographic evidence of such an action taking place, and seeing as you cannot provide that I take that as a victory… and I have proven that you can’t do something I commanded you to do, which in a roundabout way manages to convince me (probably not others) that I am indeed commanding… yes…. (A fine example of the inner workings of my spasticated head)
And I don’t think I qualify as a vegetarian… as I am quite keen on bacon. And chicken. And I have recently found out I like duck. I’m pretty much a junk-food-arian… I may copyright that phrase…
And what else do you enjoy Daniel the spaniel? Apart from sexing vegetables and looking like a plum by trying out tasks commanded to you by short, badly-eating women?
From: Daniel To: Katy
Actually, if we’re talking technicalities, you didn’t command me to do anything. In fact, you bet me that I couldn’t do something, which I did, but then, like the referee of the Ireland v France match last night, you incredulously claimed that because you couldn’t see it, it couldn’t have happened. Shame on you Shady.
Actually as you don’t eat much (or at least you only eat junk) should I start calling you Slim Shady? Do you possess a chainsaw? I used to love junk food but then when I did go veggie it made me change, now I’m pretty healthy really.
PS - http://www.google.co.uk/search?hl=en&safe=off&q=%22junkfoodarian%22&meta=&aq=f&oq too late 5 people got to it before you did :p
What else do I enjoy? Well sexing vegetables has to be pretty high up on the list to be honest with you, it’s something about the way they come out of the ground dirty…
But outside of my orthorexia nervosa (damn I’m good) what do I do? Well I play guitar and piano (neither very well) so that takes up quite a bit of my time, I run a (currently unsuccessful) business with a friend designing blackberry applications and I try to travel quite a lot. I’m a bit of a book nerd so I love to read anything from Steven King to some deep philosophy like Hesse and psychology like Jung.
Oh and films, I LOVE films. Especially weird ones. I’m odd, in case you hadn’t noticed. I thought you were good in 8 Mile.
What other ventures have you got set up at the moment?
From: Katy To: Daniel
I draw your attention to the Sweeney Thesaurus Ltd Edition…
Bet = Command. Fact.
And match?!? What is this you speak of? I am a lady, therefore I know not of this… match….?
And Slim Shady…. Hmm… I used to look like a bit of a lollipop… all head and stick thin body, so it would have been appropriate back then… unfortunately these days my metabolism is rapidly slowing.. so I’ve filled out a bit… not too much though… how about Slightly Slim Shady… much more fitting… pardon the pun… Unfortunately I don’t possess a chainsaw… but I have a pink toolkit… does that qualify?
And damn those five people… do you think it may work the same a royalty… if I bump those off, will I inherit the title of junk-food-arian originator?
And you sound like a dirty root veg kind of guy… or are you more for the runner bean bonking?
Orthorexia nervosa can easily be cured with a Big Mac… I’ll be sure to treat you to one when you’re in town…
Musically talented/challenged… entrepreneur… cultured… intellectual… Sound like a bit of a ledge Mr Craig (you get the title back on this one occasion for namedropping King… 100 cool points right back at you!
Major fan of the films too… more than likely because of my unhealthy obsession with popcorn (tried to look for a medical term, appears there is none… new copyright on the horizon)…
So how does quite a clever chap like yourself become so clever hailing from Kennington… or am I wrong to assume that you must travel from far afield in order to reach your place of work? Used to live in Oval for a period myself and can’t say I was overly impressed with the majority of fellow residents… bit of a catchment area for vagrants from my experience… was probably a bit hobolicious back in my teenage days too… so probably fitted right in!
From: Daniel To: Katy
I draw your attention to the fact that the name Sweeney has Scottish origins and as such, must be steeped in lies and treachery (having half of my family from Scotland I can attest to this).
This leads me to believe that the Sweeney Thesaurus Ltd Edition is actually full of lies and therefore, your so-called ‘fact’ is nothing but preposterous hoohar.
The match was a stormer, but Ireland got robbed by a blatant handball. Hence why I was alluding to the fact that you may be a closet referee, as well as a closet molester.
A pink toolkit is far scarier than a chainsaw, at least with a chainsaw you know where you stand, whereas with a pink toolkit you don’t know if you’ll be smashed to bits with a hammer or plucked to beauty by tweezers. Those five people should be quaking in their gothic cyberboot platforms.
Ah dirty root, good pun on the Australian slang if that’s what you were aiming for, but I’d say I’m more of a salt man. I go with any dish and can make the most dull of meals turn into a veritable taste explosion, or I can be used very subtly, when the mood fits.
“Musically talented/challenged… entrepreneur… cultured… intellectual” All words which I don’t understand.
This of course means there must be some chink in my armour and that would be general facial looks I’m afraid. I am also a shorty at 5’ 8”. Last year the government changed the national average height from 5’ 8” to 5’ 8.5”.
Needless to say I wrote an angry letter to Gordon Brown but it didn’t get very far as I couldn’t reach high enough to put it through the slot in the post box…
I have a King obsession, it’s not healthy, I have about 50 of his books, which is at least 85% of the entire thing. Any faves
Finally (as this email is becoming far too long) I actually grew up in Bognor Regis which is a dump, but moved to London by myself at the whippersnapper age of 17. I lived in Fulham (poncy) then Chiswick (awesome) then Canary Wharf (dump) and now I live right next door to Battersea Park (which is faaakin laaavly, specially with a clear sky at 1am in the morning if you wander through it and stare at the stars).
Anyway what’s your excuse? You work for **** and I thought a prerequisite was that to work for **** you had to be boring, stupid or full of yourself. You seem to be none of them…
From: Katy To: Daniel
I draw your attention to the fact that that was one of the longest emails I have ever received! And I don’t like to be outdone so I am going to go at this one with gusto…
Sweeney may have Scottish origins, but mine in fact are Irish… which is slightly Irish in nature in itself do you not think? And to tarnish a whole nation with a complete stereotype… steeped in lies and treachery… well that’s just wrong. I would say that Scots are usually ginger, toothless and unemployed…. Usually but not all. You see.. no general sweeping of the tarnish brush here for me.
The Sweeney Thesaurus Ltd Edition takes offence to your slanderous comments, and would like to reiterate to you that you are named after an actor… who as a line of work acts like a bit of a twat by playing with fake gadgets whilst wearing tight swimming trunks… we should not be basing assumptions on names… or should we?
And I am glad that you fear the pink toolkit… most people just mock. As least whilst hanging shelves* I can look fashionable and styled.
Loving the food analogy there.. you already know the way to Miss Plump McPlumpison’s heart over here…
Quite humorous aren’t we Mr Craig… how’s about alright with a guitar thingy, likes to thing of crap first, likes a curry, geek… better?
And don’t beat yourself up your looks… The ugly stick did that for you! (Mwa ha ha) Completely joking… bet you’re a closet stud muffin.
Stephen King is a ledge… The Green Mile… I bought it when I was about ten… and I’ve loved it ever since…
And Bognor Regis, what a place. Particularly like the delightful arcades down there, they have a certain je ne sais quoi about them that you just don’t find in Brighton… Basically grew up in Battersea Park too. I have actually been for a swim in the delightful boating lake, and not by choice either. Its not so nice. Have you found the secret garden-esque garden area thingy up by where cricket is played yet? Bloody lovely in the summer…
And these characteristics that you claim are much needed in order to work for this delightful company of ours? You don’t seem to be in possession of any of them either, so how did you end up here? My own story is a rather complicated one. Started a law degree many moons ago, and upon realisation that as an independent student I was NEVER going to be able to afford to carry on I gave up and gave in to becoming a slave labourer… or a secretary.
*Hanging shelves should be read as handing the hammer to some poor bloke friend who I have dragged round to mine to help…
From: Daniel To: Katy
I’ll wind up the length then and keep it short and sweet (like Kim Jong Il)
I’m half Irish too, you’re even more scheming. So that was a fail.
Daniel Craig has nothing on me. His blue trunk wading, chiselled body gleaming, suave smiling personage has nothing on my belly scratching, boxer clad, financial servicing wonder ways.
I like the version of me you gave below far better, that’s far more accurate and I can grin at that one.
Ah the arcades of Bognor. Many a Saturday was spent on trips to Macdonald’s followed by £2 in the Time Crisis Machine on the pier. Crazy golf was a particular fave of mine. That’s where Bognor stops and the pikeys start though.
Sounds like you’ve had to do things off your own back as well, I moved up here to get involved in film, ha.
We’ll have to meet some time, but make sure you wear sturdy shoes otherwise you’ll cut and slice your feet on all the shattered dreams…
From: Katy To: Daniel
Yes but I bet your half Irish hasn’t got anything on my Irish Jamaican speaking dad… uh huh, I’m ghetto bruv.
And there’s nothing better than a belly scratching boxer clad financial adviser to get a girl all hot and bothered!
And I’ve pretty much been on my own since about 13, so I blates win that one! *blows raspberries*
And speaking of meeting I have just been unceremoniously informed that my attendance at this godawful Christmas bash that the company is hosting is mandatory… so I command you to do the same! At least we can both sit in a corner somewhere and discuss the finer points of King’s prose whilst laughing at the losers on the dancefloor skanking out to 80s music…. Ahem.
Got to say it made the afternoon pass oh so quickly... I see drunken escapades at the company Crimbo shindig... could be fun!
Tuesday 17 November 2009
(512): you never know when you'll meet the man of your dreams and bang him in an elevator
The incidents of the afternoon....
1. I leave my office for a cigarette break. I walk down and up the flights of stairs, four floors, out of breath when I reach the top... for the lift to go ping... and open up to flash its insides at me... dude are you taking the piss?
2. My foster sister is with her friend's baby. They are trying to wean him off of his dummy. I suggest telling him that if he sucks on that dummy one more time he will die. *BLINK* *BLINK BLINK* Parenting skills right up there man....
Pity my embryos....
1. I leave my office for a cigarette break. I walk down and up the flights of stairs, four floors, out of breath when I reach the top... for the lift to go ping... and open up to flash its insides at me... dude are you taking the piss?
2. My foster sister is with her friend's baby. They are trying to wean him off of his dummy. I suggest telling him that if he sucks on that dummy one more time he will die. *BLINK* *BLINK BLINK* Parenting skills right up there man....
Pity my embryos....
(209): I think this dress is screaming I want a birthday 3some with two moderately attractive guys. I hope.
Today I am 22 years and 358 days old. Which means that in seven days I shall be 23. This is when I begin to think I am getting old.
Unfortunately there is nothing I can do about the inevitable onslaught of time, but I can make sure that I make it pass with a bang, which is generally what happens when I reach this milestone.
As you may have guessed from previous posts (and one day I am more than likely to go into further detail), I am pretty much estranged from the majority of my family, so celebrating my birthday is often made the most out of with friends. This is the modus operandi for this year too. Tonight is the first of such celebrations, and I know it is a week early, but I like to call it my birthday eve eve eve eve eve eve eve. Any such plans that take place from now until next Tuesday will reduce by one eve as the days progress. You get the point.
Tonight I am going to dinner with an old friend of mine. His name is Steve. And he happens to be my old English teacher.
Yes, this is slightly strange. Yes, we meet up a few times a year to catch up, get drunk and generally mock each other mercilessly about the general lack of direction in our lives. The guy is only ten years older than me, and it helps that he still thinks he is 21 too. So tonight I will be sharing a cocktail and a general summing up of the past few months with him. Plus he buys a mean present, so that side of things will be a great way to spend a Tuesday night. Did I tell you I got straight A’s in English? Lol.
Tomorrow night I am going for a curry with the girls. Not so much a birthday celebration as a general catch up, as over the last few months, everybody has grown a little bit more distant as our lives start to take different paths. We have reached that age where we are all in pursuit of different things in life, and inevitably distance can sometimes grow when some of us are settling down and about to give birth, and others are still necking bottles of beer and becoming queens of downing steins (ahem). So it was decided that we all needed to come together to stuff our faces as we are all still pretty good at that.
Thursday night I am not doing anything. I am relishing this fact. Actually possibly planning the outfit for the Saturday shenanigans.
Friday night’s plan is to have a few people over to my house possibly. But then the imminent arrival of my father on Saturday morning, meaning waking at dawn to clear the carnage from the night. Not such a great thought.
Saturday daytime may be spent with my father. I say may, because the guy is notoriously unreliable when it comes to spending time with his eldest daughter. Swear to God the dude still needs reminding about when I was actually born. For a father, he is a complete wanker, but as a friend he is pretty cool. I mean, how many people do you know that have a short, balding Irish guy with a Jamaican accent for a father…? I rest my case. Ya man!
Saturday night is when the main event has been planned for. As per usual, hitting a club with a gang in tow. Thirty five confirmed attendees already. Thirty five. I really shouldn’t know that many people.
However, there is one guest that I must point out. The one that has had me arranging eyebrow appointments, having the girls consult over makeup, hair, dresses etc. The GOD that is A.S.
A.S. is a guy. But not just any guy. He is the ‘holy shit, hose me down, otherwise I will be all over him like a fox on a rubbish bag’ guy. A.S. is my Channing Tatum, Wentworth Miller, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, hot to trot, chunk of hunk, eye candy guy. I love him. On my last birthday he showed up with a friend of mine, and after he wished me a happy birthday – please note that I was oh so drunk by now – I dragged my then boyfriend to where A.S. was standing and proceeded to tell him that that was the man I was going to have beautiful babies with, not him. Wowsa, did not go down well. Hiccup.
So now I’m single. And so is he. And to be honest I haven’t got a rats chance in hell of anything ever happening with him. Standing next to him and dribbling onto his shoes does not count as something I am told. Anyhow, this year I was cajoled into inviting him personally by the girls, having not spoken to him since the same time last year. And then he accepted. And then he spoke to me on Facebook. Like, actually came and found my profile and spoke to me first. After picking myself back up off the floor and finding my phone so I could call Donna and tell her that the magnificent wonder that is a social networking tool has just connected me to My Biggest Crush Ever… and get her to tell me to breathe again. He messaged me saying ‘I guess there’s a party soon beautiful’.
You see that last word there. Uh huh. Go read again. Yup. To me. And I get all cool and composed and actually reply. Dude, I must have taken a brave pill or something. I reply ‘ Yes, bad times. I’m getting older’. Yeah… Six whole words. I’m getting good at this shit. And then he replied ‘Older, wiser and prettier my dear… x’. And then I died.
So Saturday is D Day. I am going to see the godly A.S. again. And I know that he will come say hi, kiss me on the cheek and say happy birthday, and I know that I, with the retardations, will more than likely giggle, splutter hi and spit in his eye before stepping on his toe and spilling my drink down him. But for two seconds, two whole seconds, I will have A.S. embrace me, and then I can live for another year, hoping that one day the retardations may subside, and I may come across as normal, rather than a buttfuck.
Expect stories.
Unfortunately there is nothing I can do about the inevitable onslaught of time, but I can make sure that I make it pass with a bang, which is generally what happens when I reach this milestone.
As you may have guessed from previous posts (and one day I am more than likely to go into further detail), I am pretty much estranged from the majority of my family, so celebrating my birthday is often made the most out of with friends. This is the modus operandi for this year too. Tonight is the first of such celebrations, and I know it is a week early, but I like to call it my birthday eve eve eve eve eve eve eve. Any such plans that take place from now until next Tuesday will reduce by one eve as the days progress. You get the point.
Tonight I am going to dinner with an old friend of mine. His name is Steve. And he happens to be my old English teacher.
Yes, this is slightly strange. Yes, we meet up a few times a year to catch up, get drunk and generally mock each other mercilessly about the general lack of direction in our lives. The guy is only ten years older than me, and it helps that he still thinks he is 21 too. So tonight I will be sharing a cocktail and a general summing up of the past few months with him. Plus he buys a mean present, so that side of things will be a great way to spend a Tuesday night. Did I tell you I got straight A’s in English? Lol.
Tomorrow night I am going for a curry with the girls. Not so much a birthday celebration as a general catch up, as over the last few months, everybody has grown a little bit more distant as our lives start to take different paths. We have reached that age where we are all in pursuit of different things in life, and inevitably distance can sometimes grow when some of us are settling down and about to give birth, and others are still necking bottles of beer and becoming queens of downing steins (ahem). So it was decided that we all needed to come together to stuff our faces as we are all still pretty good at that.
Thursday night I am not doing anything. I am relishing this fact. Actually possibly planning the outfit for the Saturday shenanigans.
Friday night’s plan is to have a few people over to my house possibly. But then the imminent arrival of my father on Saturday morning, meaning waking at dawn to clear the carnage from the night. Not such a great thought.
Saturday daytime may be spent with my father. I say may, because the guy is notoriously unreliable when it comes to spending time with his eldest daughter. Swear to God the dude still needs reminding about when I was actually born. For a father, he is a complete wanker, but as a friend he is pretty cool. I mean, how many people do you know that have a short, balding Irish guy with a Jamaican accent for a father…? I rest my case. Ya man!
Saturday night is when the main event has been planned for. As per usual, hitting a club with a gang in tow. Thirty five confirmed attendees already. Thirty five. I really shouldn’t know that many people.
However, there is one guest that I must point out. The one that has had me arranging eyebrow appointments, having the girls consult over makeup, hair, dresses etc. The GOD that is A.S.
A.S. is a guy. But not just any guy. He is the ‘holy shit, hose me down, otherwise I will be all over him like a fox on a rubbish bag’ guy. A.S. is my Channing Tatum, Wentworth Miller, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, hot to trot, chunk of hunk, eye candy guy. I love him. On my last birthday he showed up with a friend of mine, and after he wished me a happy birthday – please note that I was oh so drunk by now – I dragged my then boyfriend to where A.S. was standing and proceeded to tell him that that was the man I was going to have beautiful babies with, not him. Wowsa, did not go down well. Hiccup.
So now I’m single. And so is he. And to be honest I haven’t got a rats chance in hell of anything ever happening with him. Standing next to him and dribbling onto his shoes does not count as something I am told. Anyhow, this year I was cajoled into inviting him personally by the girls, having not spoken to him since the same time last year. And then he accepted. And then he spoke to me on Facebook. Like, actually came and found my profile and spoke to me first. After picking myself back up off the floor and finding my phone so I could call Donna and tell her that the magnificent wonder that is a social networking tool has just connected me to My Biggest Crush Ever… and get her to tell me to breathe again. He messaged me saying ‘I guess there’s a party soon beautiful’.
You see that last word there. Uh huh. Go read again. Yup. To me. And I get all cool and composed and actually reply. Dude, I must have taken a brave pill or something. I reply ‘ Yes, bad times. I’m getting older’. Yeah… Six whole words. I’m getting good at this shit. And then he replied ‘Older, wiser and prettier my dear… x’. And then I died.
So Saturday is D Day. I am going to see the godly A.S. again. And I know that he will come say hi, kiss me on the cheek and say happy birthday, and I know that I, with the retardations, will more than likely giggle, splutter hi and spit in his eye before stepping on his toe and spilling my drink down him. But for two seconds, two whole seconds, I will have A.S. embrace me, and then I can live for another year, hoping that one day the retardations may subside, and I may come across as normal, rather than a buttfuck.
Expect stories.
Thursday 5 November 2009
(+44): Yeah i wasn't gonna go out but then i was like im not gonna get my dick wet stayin at home studying
So today is a Thursday... and perhaps it was all that talk over on Miss Junket's page of alcohol today, or perhaps its because I feel like it... I have decided to go out and get absolutely wasted. Danielle has a friend who does the PR for one of those uber expensive clubs in Central London, and kindly informed me that we are headed there this evening... for free.. with a VIP table and two bottles of Grey Goose to keep us company...
This is probably not going to rate highly on the list of Clever Decisions, as I am smack bang in the middle of a statistical analysis report at work that MUST be completed tomorrow. I have a feeling that tomorrow my main missions will be:
1. Stay awake. Preferably not visit the toilet at all, because I have been known on occasion whilst hungover to slip into a rather deep slumber during the act of relief. Scary as fuck when you wake back up too...
2. Keep any sort of breakfast I may consume, in the hopes of energising myself, down.
3. Hope to god nobody puts the pictures up on facebook, as they will no doubt be horrific, whilst I will try to convince my workmates the dark circles under my eyes and my sluggish movements (lets be honest, my sitting at my desk drooling) are a result of some winter virus. Pictures of me with my gormless face, possibly dancing on a table, whilst snogging the face off a guy circulating the office will not scream influenza to anyone...
4. Do report.
I predict that points 1-3 will take up the majority of the day, and then I will scarper home at half five, snore my way through to Saturday morning, and bosh it out then. That is... if I happen to stay in tomorrow night... which is unlikely... oh crumbs.
This is probably not going to rate highly on the list of Clever Decisions, as I am smack bang in the middle of a statistical analysis report at work that MUST be completed tomorrow. I have a feeling that tomorrow my main missions will be:
1. Stay awake. Preferably not visit the toilet at all, because I have been known on occasion whilst hungover to slip into a rather deep slumber during the act of relief. Scary as fuck when you wake back up too...
2. Keep any sort of breakfast I may consume, in the hopes of energising myself, down.
3. Hope to god nobody puts the pictures up on facebook, as they will no doubt be horrific, whilst I will try to convince my workmates the dark circles under my eyes and my sluggish movements (lets be honest, my sitting at my desk drooling) are a result of some winter virus. Pictures of me with my gormless face, possibly dancing on a table, whilst snogging the face off a guy circulating the office will not scream influenza to anyone...
4. Do report.
I predict that points 1-3 will take up the majority of the day, and then I will scarper home at half five, snore my way through to Saturday morning, and bosh it out then. That is... if I happen to stay in tomorrow night... which is unlikely... oh crumbs.
Wednesday 4 November 2009
(480): So I had sex with him again. He's still got it. Not chlamydia, he got rid of that.
So last night I did something completely new.
I bought a chlamydia home test kit.
Now woah there with the thought process that you are going through. It was not for me. Allow me to explain before you start thinking I'm some sort of hobo whore.
I have a friend called Dee. Dee is a special character. Dee is the kind of friend that you try to tell people stories about, and they look at you as if to say lay off the LSD. Dee is 30 years old and can quite often be described as the most infuriating man I know. I would go so far as to say that he is more like a brother to me, only the most annoying brother in the world that I am constantly trying to distance myself from but can't for love nor money. I do love him but the man thinks with his mangarden and even that doesn't really operate with the best of intelligence.
So there is this girl that he has recently had the funky dance with, and prior to him commencing with such an action I had tried to warn him off her. Our group is quite large, and everybody tends to know everybody and this particular girl is a friend of a friend whose sister is their friend... etc etc, so there was some knowledge about her sexual exploits that was being thrown around between the gossipers of the group. But Dee being Dee, who has never taken a single piece of advice I have given him over the past 5 years I have known him decides to ignore me and take a ride on the ship of love.
And then I get a call yesterday from somebody who got a call from somebody who spoke to somebody who knew that the girl had gone to the STD clinic today to get a check up because 'you know... it was kind of kooky down there...'.
So of course it became my job to tell the complete arse that is Dee this splendid news. The convo:
Me: Dude, got some news to tell you.
Dee: Yeah?
Me: You remember those conversations we have, where I try to tell you I'm right and you are an arse?
Dee: Vaguely.
Me: You know... the ones where I try to tell you not to do something so utterly stupid your own mum will think you're a buttfuck? And then you completely ignore me, and in three months I tell you I told you so...?
Dee: Sounds familiar.
Me: Well I told you so. I told you not to go near ********, that she was possibly a petri dish of various illnesses and diseases, some of which we thought died out with the dinosaurs. And guess what... she paid a little visit to the Vag Village today to check herself out cause, dude, she has symptoms.
Dee:....... (Silence).... Fuck.
Me: So you need to go get checked out. And you can't say anything to her about you knowing because you're not supposed to know. She's trying to keep it on the quiet.
Dee: Fuck. What a slut. So you're telling me that I can't say anything to her, and that I should just sit here waiting for my dick to drop off? Fuck man... I only stopped taking the pills like a month ago.
Me: Dude, who's the slut?!
So somehow or another it transpires that he doesn't have the time to get to a clinic to check himself out, as he is so busy at work (even with the weighing up of the importance of balls and schlong or bills and stacks I tried to throw at him), which resulted in me being roped into meeting him after work so that he could go to the local pharmacy to pick up one of those 'check at home' kits. Sometimes I wonder how I manage to get into these 'help a brother out' situations...
So I meet him, and we drive to the pharamacy. And he tries to say 'okay dude, I'll be right here when you get out'. Hold on, you get the fun of the act, the orgasm at the end, and I, who was not present, not even for a minute to help you undo your trousers gets to do the shuffle of shame to the counter, head down, nil eye contact...? Nu uh.
He gets out of the car and we approach the doors. Silence between us. Our mission weighs heavy on our hearts. Questions tumble through the mind... who will pick it up? What till will we go to? Which one will get 'the glance'? Will they assume we are both just skanks?
We enter. The store is fucking huge, so five minutes of us trying to find the location of The Thing That We Are Buying That Must Never Be Mentioned takes place. Fuck going to somebody and saying 'hi miss, we're looking for the STD tests... you know just for shits and giggles... which ways...?'.
We find them. There are two different ones. The dilemma... do we go for the trusted name brand one, or the own store brand one... sometimes it really does matter. Which box is going to be easiest to conceal until bagged and fleeing from the shop? We grab and run.
We approach the counter. For some strange reason, Dee so far has had zero contact with TTTWABTMNBM, and so it is stashed as deep into the crevice of my armpit as I can get it. Which has unexpectedly attracted the attention of the security guard of the store who is now hovering around like a fox eyeing up a binbag. We stand, and wait, while other oblivious people idle by. I break out into a sweat. I glance at Dee for some reassurance, for some sign that we are still cool, that nobody knows that we are buying the piss stick for a dick doc, to catch him following a woman's arse with his eyes as she saunters past. For him to open his mouth and actually say 'hey sugar....'.
Me: Dude, what the fuck. Do you really think you are in any position to be trying to catch the eye of the ladies right now?
Dee: What? Don't hate on me just cause you've got chlamydia and can't do the same at the mo....
Oh dear sweet jesus. I lost the power to speak. As various heads spun round faster than a racing car's wheels, my face burst into a wonderful shade of purple. I threw the box at the cashier, paid for the damn thing (as Dee had conveniently left his wallet in the car), only to be handed it back in a bag that the chemist had very politely added a condom to.
As my sweet lardy arse made a swift exit towards the door, saying hideously bad things under my breath about Dee while trying to force him to take the bag, he proceeded to then chase me out of the doors screaming 'bitch, you better not come home til it's cleared up! YEAH!'
I still haven't recovered, and I hope to fuck Dee's dick drops off....
I bought a chlamydia home test kit.
Now woah there with the thought process that you are going through. It was not for me. Allow me to explain before you start thinking I'm some sort of hobo whore.
I have a friend called Dee. Dee is a special character. Dee is the kind of friend that you try to tell people stories about, and they look at you as if to say lay off the LSD. Dee is 30 years old and can quite often be described as the most infuriating man I know. I would go so far as to say that he is more like a brother to me, only the most annoying brother in the world that I am constantly trying to distance myself from but can't for love nor money. I do love him but the man thinks with his mangarden and even that doesn't really operate with the best of intelligence.
So there is this girl that he has recently had the funky dance with, and prior to him commencing with such an action I had tried to warn him off her. Our group is quite large, and everybody tends to know everybody and this particular girl is a friend of a friend whose sister is their friend... etc etc, so there was some knowledge about her sexual exploits that was being thrown around between the gossipers of the group. But Dee being Dee, who has never taken a single piece of advice I have given him over the past 5 years I have known him decides to ignore me and take a ride on the ship of love.
And then I get a call yesterday from somebody who got a call from somebody who spoke to somebody who knew that the girl had gone to the STD clinic today to get a check up because 'you know... it was kind of kooky down there...'.
So of course it became my job to tell the complete arse that is Dee this splendid news. The convo:
Me: Dude, got some news to tell you.
Dee: Yeah?
Me: You remember those conversations we have, where I try to tell you I'm right and you are an arse?
Dee: Vaguely.
Me: You know... the ones where I try to tell you not to do something so utterly stupid your own mum will think you're a buttfuck? And then you completely ignore me, and in three months I tell you I told you so...?
Dee: Sounds familiar.
Me: Well I told you so. I told you not to go near ********, that she was possibly a petri dish of various illnesses and diseases, some of which we thought died out with the dinosaurs. And guess what... she paid a little visit to the Vag Village today to check herself out cause, dude, she has symptoms.
Dee:....... (Silence).... Fuck.
Me: So you need to go get checked out. And you can't say anything to her about you knowing because you're not supposed to know. She's trying to keep it on the quiet.
Dee: Fuck. What a slut. So you're telling me that I can't say anything to her, and that I should just sit here waiting for my dick to drop off? Fuck man... I only stopped taking the pills like a month ago.
Me: Dude, who's the slut?!
So somehow or another it transpires that he doesn't have the time to get to a clinic to check himself out, as he is so busy at work (even with the weighing up of the importance of balls and schlong or bills and stacks I tried to throw at him), which resulted in me being roped into meeting him after work so that he could go to the local pharmacy to pick up one of those 'check at home' kits. Sometimes I wonder how I manage to get into these 'help a brother out' situations...
So I meet him, and we drive to the pharamacy. And he tries to say 'okay dude, I'll be right here when you get out'. Hold on, you get the fun of the act, the orgasm at the end, and I, who was not present, not even for a minute to help you undo your trousers gets to do the shuffle of shame to the counter, head down, nil eye contact...? Nu uh.
He gets out of the car and we approach the doors. Silence between us. Our mission weighs heavy on our hearts. Questions tumble through the mind... who will pick it up? What till will we go to? Which one will get 'the glance'? Will they assume we are both just skanks?
We enter. The store is fucking huge, so five minutes of us trying to find the location of The Thing That We Are Buying That Must Never Be Mentioned takes place. Fuck going to somebody and saying 'hi miss, we're looking for the STD tests... you know just for shits and giggles... which ways...?'.
We find them. There are two different ones. The dilemma... do we go for the trusted name brand one, or the own store brand one... sometimes it really does matter. Which box is going to be easiest to conceal until bagged and fleeing from the shop? We grab and run.
We approach the counter. For some strange reason, Dee so far has had zero contact with TTTWABTMNBM, and so it is stashed as deep into the crevice of my armpit as I can get it. Which has unexpectedly attracted the attention of the security guard of the store who is now hovering around like a fox eyeing up a binbag. We stand, and wait, while other oblivious people idle by. I break out into a sweat. I glance at Dee for some reassurance, for some sign that we are still cool, that nobody knows that we are buying the piss stick for a dick doc, to catch him following a woman's arse with his eyes as she saunters past. For him to open his mouth and actually say 'hey sugar....'.
Me: Dude, what the fuck. Do you really think you are in any position to be trying to catch the eye of the ladies right now?
Dee: What? Don't hate on me just cause you've got chlamydia and can't do the same at the mo....
Oh dear sweet jesus. I lost the power to speak. As various heads spun round faster than a racing car's wheels, my face burst into a wonderful shade of purple. I threw the box at the cashier, paid for the damn thing (as Dee had conveniently left his wallet in the car), only to be handed it back in a bag that the chemist had very politely added a condom to.
As my sweet lardy arse made a swift exit towards the door, saying hideously bad things under my breath about Dee while trying to force him to take the bag, he proceeded to then chase me out of the doors screaming 'bitch, you better not come home til it's cleared up! YEAH!'
I still haven't recovered, and I hope to fuck Dee's dick drops off....
Tuesday 3 November 2009
Ten things you need to know about me...
1. I have completely sworn off men, at least for the foreseeable future. That is not to say that I don't love men. No siree, they have their uses. I happen to know many a man who is a dab hand at removing spiders, putting up shelves, fixing my pipes (ahem), but I am much more in love with the idea that you can kick them out afterwards, or at least fondly wish them farewell.
2. I have often wondered what life would be like if I were a man... I think I would like this for a day. I would like to scratch my balls, fart indiscriminately and give a lady a cheesy come on only to be knocked back, I think these things would make me grateful I am a woman.
3. I much prefer the company of my cat to my mum. She sucks. My cat, on the other hand is a feline legend. And based on my lifestyle these days I believe I may be on the path to Crazy Cat Lady Syndrome. I know this because even though my cat has just hopped up onto the keyboard and stared at the screen with a small lump of poo still attached to her anus, I still think my cat is the shit. Pun intended. On the other hand if my mum did the same I'd think she was a crazy bastard, who needed toilet training.
4. I suffer from insomnia, when I'm not drunk and when I have to sleep on my own, and that makes me one mean son of a gun in the morning. My cat retreats... my neighbours don't say hello, and my workmates tell me I need to get laid. On the other hand, I can be remarkably jolly after a good night's sleep. No, seriously, sometimes I break out into song after a good 8 hours...
5. I have seven brothers and sisters, and I am the eldest of us 8. That makes me a surrogate mother, the children bastards, and my mother a rampant old woman.
6. I am soon to be 23 years old. The thought horrifies me almost as much as my recurring dream of getting to work and finding out I have no clothes on from the waist down.... I have discussed this dream with my colleagues, and it was hard to tell who was most horrified...
7. I do not want children. At least none that have to be pulled from MY vagina. The gene pool from whence I came is lacking in most characteristics, and I'd really rather not pass any of these on. Plus I quite like my ladygarden the way it is thank you very much.
8. I get incredibly panicky when having to face some of my phobias:
- Wet Tissue. This make using public toilets very difficult.
- Biting into an apple. This makes eating apple pie very difficult.
- Wet leaves/mush after people have smooshed them all up. This makes walking to work in Autumn very difficult.
9. There are certain romantic gestures that do not go down well with me. Sending flowers to my work after a first date, when I never told you where I work, is not going to send the right vibes dude. My panic alarm is at the ready.
10. I snore when i'm drunk, I drink too much, I eat a lot, I have fat bits and flat bits and they're in the wrong places, and you take me as I am or don't take me at all.
Now form an orderly queue please.
2. I have often wondered what life would be like if I were a man... I think I would like this for a day. I would like to scratch my balls, fart indiscriminately and give a lady a cheesy come on only to be knocked back, I think these things would make me grateful I am a woman.
3. I much prefer the company of my cat to my mum. She sucks. My cat, on the other hand is a feline legend. And based on my lifestyle these days I believe I may be on the path to Crazy Cat Lady Syndrome. I know this because even though my cat has just hopped up onto the keyboard and stared at the screen with a small lump of poo still attached to her anus, I still think my cat is the shit. Pun intended. On the other hand if my mum did the same I'd think she was a crazy bastard, who needed toilet training.
4. I suffer from insomnia, when I'm not drunk and when I have to sleep on my own, and that makes me one mean son of a gun in the morning. My cat retreats... my neighbours don't say hello, and my workmates tell me I need to get laid. On the other hand, I can be remarkably jolly after a good night's sleep. No, seriously, sometimes I break out into song after a good 8 hours...
5. I have seven brothers and sisters, and I am the eldest of us 8. That makes me a surrogate mother, the children bastards, and my mother a rampant old woman.
6. I am soon to be 23 years old. The thought horrifies me almost as much as my recurring dream of getting to work and finding out I have no clothes on from the waist down.... I have discussed this dream with my colleagues, and it was hard to tell who was most horrified...
7. I do not want children. At least none that have to be pulled from MY vagina. The gene pool from whence I came is lacking in most characteristics, and I'd really rather not pass any of these on. Plus I quite like my ladygarden the way it is thank you very much.
8. I get incredibly panicky when having to face some of my phobias:
- Wet Tissue. This make using public toilets very difficult.
- Biting into an apple. This makes eating apple pie very difficult.
- Wet leaves/mush after people have smooshed them all up. This makes walking to work in Autumn very difficult.
9. There are certain romantic gestures that do not go down well with me. Sending flowers to my work after a first date, when I never told you where I work, is not going to send the right vibes dude. My panic alarm is at the ready.
10. I snore when i'm drunk, I drink too much, I eat a lot, I have fat bits and flat bits and they're in the wrong places, and you take me as I am or don't take me at all.
Now form an orderly queue please.
A new obsession....
Okay so sitting here bored, and I happen to glance at this young lady's blog...
http://junketjuice.blogspot.com/
... and she recommends this site...
http://textsfromlastnight.com/worst-nights/
and my afternoon has been transformed... i mean seriously... some of these....
So I went on a date with this girl...and whos our waitress? My girlfriend got a second job she didn't tell me about to afford my bday present.
I just walked in on my mom and dad......It wasn't my dad
wtf he couldnt undo my bra, i asked him if it was his first time and he said "with a girl? yeah"
u threw up in the oven last night. i found that out after i preheated it to cook a pizza.
So we tried to 69 with him on top. NEVER TRY IT. His balls were in my eyes and it was terrifying.
Sharpest. Poop. Ever.
you opened the fridge, pissed on the food, fell over, then threw up on yourself. thats whats all over the kitchen.
These sound like my kind of people... how alarming...
http://junketjuice.blogspot.com/
... and she recommends this site...
http://textsfromlastnight.com/worst-nights/
and my afternoon has been transformed... i mean seriously... some of these....
So I went on a date with this girl...and whos our waitress? My girlfriend got a second job she didn't tell me about to afford my bday present.
I just walked in on my mom and dad......It wasn't my dad
wtf he couldnt undo my bra, i asked him if it was his first time and he said "with a girl? yeah"
u threw up in the oven last night. i found that out after i preheated it to cook a pizza.
So we tried to 69 with him on top. NEVER TRY IT. His balls were in my eyes and it was terrifying.
Sharpest. Poop. Ever.
you opened the fridge, pissed on the food, fell over, then threw up on yourself. thats whats all over the kitchen.
These sound like my kind of people... how alarming...
Glasgow Part Deux…
So yesterday we booked up the tickets for our trip to Glasgow! Yay!
I went up there in March of this year… kind of a reunion thingy… two of my school friends moved up there when I was 15, and the wonder that is Facebook reintroduced me to them so I grabbed a couple of the girls and we made a weekend of it! Great times were had, and I aim to be repeating that this time round.
Benny was one of the guys in our little gang at school. Like me, he started halfway through, when everyone else had already got their gangs and you feel like a bit of a twat trying to find to new friends. We hit if off really well, and I was kind of devastated when he moved… not least because I had developed a huge crush on him by the time he went and we actually got to doing a bit of the smooching, and then he buggered off to run in fields of thistle…
His older sister Jay was a wild one at school. She was even naughtier than me, so obviously we got along really well. By the time she moved to Scotland, she had had a little girl, Kiki, and things hadn’t gone so well for her down here, so it was a fresh start for her, which I am glad for. Nowadays she has a cheeky monster by the name of Gabriel within her brood as well, and both kids and rascals but beautiful.
The last time we were there our delightful tour guide Benny was a diamond… looked after us from start to finish, and didn’t even moan that he had to babysit three absolute nutcase women for the entire weekend. It was so nice just to catch up and spend some time with him, and he is definitely a friend that has been around for a long time and isn’t going anywhere for a long while. I have no doubt that there will be some rather alarming pictures taken, and I will be sure to put them up, okay maybe not the most alarming ones (Karen has a delightful one of me pissing about in a pair of tights from last time… so not cool), and will probably have a few hairy stories for you all. I’m taking a completely new group of ladies up there with me this time:
Danielle: Danielle is 19 and at uni. I have known her for about five years now, but originally didn’t really speak to her at all. I used to be very close to her brother Tommy, who I used to also have a major crush on, but me and Tommy are both scaredy pants when it comes to making any kind of moves in the loving department, so things have never worked out for us. However, it has introduced me to the legend that is Danielle and I am eternally grateful to him for that (even if he is a bit of a battycrease these days). I have never met somebody who is quite as much on my level as this girl, and I have never met anybody with whom I can be so completely relaxed around. We both have the same sense of humour, and are both slightly dippy when we least need to be, so it fits that we would get along so well. She is completely my sidekick these days, and there is no way I do anything these days without her. Which results in good times, and some not so savoury stories about adventures that we go on. And a love for her like a fat kid has for cake… fat kids and their cheeseburger titties…
Keilee: Keilee is Dan’s older sister, and although slightly more reserved than myself and Dan, this girl knows how to have a good time and is ready and willing to do it! She has recently come out of a long term relationship that basically dominated much of what she has done over the last few years, but she has thrown herself into wholeheartedly making up for it. It was her idea for this weekend away, and I feel that there will be much to laugh about when we return.
Ella: Ella is probably the quietest one of us going, but luckily enough she has had experience of us three crazies being together from a weekend trip we made as a foursome to Brighton earlier on this year. Ella is one of Keilee’s best friends and a good laugh, so I shall be looking forward to bitching about passers by again with her. We are too good at it.
So this is the gang this time round. Brighton was groovy, we had our first experience of staying in a hostel (resulting in all four of us sleeping in the same bed even though there were a further three in our room – apparently if one of us was getting cooties we were all going down together), and I am pretty sure that there will be a fair few more firsts from this weekend coming – December 4th to the 6th. It’s Glasgow baby… and it’s game on…
I went up there in March of this year… kind of a reunion thingy… two of my school friends moved up there when I was 15, and the wonder that is Facebook reintroduced me to them so I grabbed a couple of the girls and we made a weekend of it! Great times were had, and I aim to be repeating that this time round.
Benny was one of the guys in our little gang at school. Like me, he started halfway through, when everyone else had already got their gangs and you feel like a bit of a twat trying to find to new friends. We hit if off really well, and I was kind of devastated when he moved… not least because I had developed a huge crush on him by the time he went and we actually got to doing a bit of the smooching, and then he buggered off to run in fields of thistle…
His older sister Jay was a wild one at school. She was even naughtier than me, so obviously we got along really well. By the time she moved to Scotland, she had had a little girl, Kiki, and things hadn’t gone so well for her down here, so it was a fresh start for her, which I am glad for. Nowadays she has a cheeky monster by the name of Gabriel within her brood as well, and both kids and rascals but beautiful.
The last time we were there our delightful tour guide Benny was a diamond… looked after us from start to finish, and didn’t even moan that he had to babysit three absolute nutcase women for the entire weekend. It was so nice just to catch up and spend some time with him, and he is definitely a friend that has been around for a long time and isn’t going anywhere for a long while. I have no doubt that there will be some rather alarming pictures taken, and I will be sure to put them up, okay maybe not the most alarming ones (Karen has a delightful one of me pissing about in a pair of tights from last time… so not cool), and will probably have a few hairy stories for you all. I’m taking a completely new group of ladies up there with me this time:
Danielle: Danielle is 19 and at uni. I have known her for about five years now, but originally didn’t really speak to her at all. I used to be very close to her brother Tommy, who I used to also have a major crush on, but me and Tommy are both scaredy pants when it comes to making any kind of moves in the loving department, so things have never worked out for us. However, it has introduced me to the legend that is Danielle and I am eternally grateful to him for that (even if he is a bit of a battycrease these days). I have never met somebody who is quite as much on my level as this girl, and I have never met anybody with whom I can be so completely relaxed around. We both have the same sense of humour, and are both slightly dippy when we least need to be, so it fits that we would get along so well. She is completely my sidekick these days, and there is no way I do anything these days without her. Which results in good times, and some not so savoury stories about adventures that we go on. And a love for her like a fat kid has for cake… fat kids and their cheeseburger titties…
Keilee: Keilee is Dan’s older sister, and although slightly more reserved than myself and Dan, this girl knows how to have a good time and is ready and willing to do it! She has recently come out of a long term relationship that basically dominated much of what she has done over the last few years, but she has thrown herself into wholeheartedly making up for it. It was her idea for this weekend away, and I feel that there will be much to laugh about when we return.
Ella: Ella is probably the quietest one of us going, but luckily enough she has had experience of us three crazies being together from a weekend trip we made as a foursome to Brighton earlier on this year. Ella is one of Keilee’s best friends and a good laugh, so I shall be looking forward to bitching about passers by again with her. We are too good at it.
So this is the gang this time round. Brighton was groovy, we had our first experience of staying in a hostel (resulting in all four of us sleeping in the same bed even though there were a further three in our room – apparently if one of us was getting cooties we were all going down together), and I am pretty sure that there will be a fair few more firsts from this weekend coming – December 4th to the 6th. It’s Glasgow baby… and it’s game on…
Tuesday 27 October 2009
Some good news!
So I got some good news yesterday… I got a phone call from the Social Services department… and they had returned my interest in becoming a respite foster carer and will be in touch within the next five days to arrange a home visit to see if I qualify with living arrangements!
YAY!!!
Now let me explain about this one. It has not just risen out of nowhere this idea. Admittedly, me moving into a two bed place for the sake of my sister and then having her bugger off has enabled me to be in a position where I can have it happen… but the consideration has been there for years. There are many reasons why I would love to foster children.
1. I’ve been there and I’ve done it. Yep, leaving my mother’s house at 12 inevitably led to me going through the system… and I spent the good part of the next 7 years moving a total of 23 times, if my memory of my records isn’t failing me. I didn’t really have the most stable of childhoods… far from it… but one of the most settled times I had was when I lived with a foster carer called Doreen for a year. I remember being taken to her house for the first night. Up until that point I had been pretty much couch surfing with various relatives, and my aunt Dawn was the one who made me realise that I couldn’t carry on doing it. So naïve as I was, I decided to take myself to a local children’s home I knew of, and almost ‘hand myself in’. Obviously, I had no idea that there was process to be followed, and was swiftly turned away and told to visit the Social Services office the next day. I did, and that night I was placed with Doreen. Doreen was in her 50s, and had a 19 year old son and a 21 year old daughter of her own. Her daughter also had a two year old son, and she also had two other foster children who were siblings who lived with her. These guys became my family for the next year. I thrived at school, made some lifelong friends, as it was the only year of my schooling where I regularly attended (never missed a day!) and got a little piece of childhood. My time at Doreen’s never ended on a bad note… I simply agreed to visit my mother who managed to manipulate me into staying (it lasted a month, and then couch surfing it was again, my place at Doreen’s had been filled), and I am still friends with her biological children to this day. Sadly, she died a little over three years ago.
I know what its like to be thrown into that situation. I lived it and breathed it. And I came out of it not too badly, when I could have walked down a very different path. I would like to be somebody’s Doreen. I want to be the person who has that blind bit of faith in someone, and genuinely just wants somebody to be okay.
2. I have had my fair share of bad experiences. I have pretty much seen most things and done most things… which doesn’t make me some old fart who doesn’t know what they’re talking about.
3. I have never felt strongly about having my own children. Let me explain. I have always wanted children. For a while now, I have had the odd thought about ‘wouldn’t it be nice to be settled down and the like now’… but I don’t think that will happen for me. I can be ferociously guarded when it comes to men, and that doesn’t make for building strong relationships with them. This probably relates to point 2 above, as to why that may be, but that it the way it is. I am also petrified about getting pregnant and giving birth. I cannot think of anything that scares me as much as that. Some of my friends are currently pregnant, or have had children, and it is something that I cannot imagine ever going through without the paralysation of fear from it beforehand! I also have strong feelings towards the view that we don’t need to give birth to a child for it to be ours, there is a lot more that goes into being a parent to somebody other than DNA. I think I would much rather adopt in my future than have my own children anyway.
4. I have had my fair share of experience with kids. Seven brothers and sisters… and an ability to be brilliantly entertained by playing with a toddler for four hours I feel is a gift that should not be wasted.
I am not going into this blind. I understand that I am young, and some people may say too young. But there are women out there who are having children, some of whom I could end up looking after who are younger than me, and may need help. I am mature, and knowledgeable, and I think that I make most decisions after careful thought. I am a person who tries to help everybody, and there are some people who may abuse that trait, and that includes children, but there are also children that need that help. Far too many people are having children with no real concern for their welfare, and there are those that simply cannot cope on their own, and if I can help by giving some time and some care, then why not? What are my alternatives? Going out and spending money on alcohol in places I really would rather not be in? Sit at home doing nothing? Why not spend some of that time by providing a safe and loving environment that some children may be lacking, or may never have received.
I have applied to be a respite foster carer for a start, which means that I would be caring for children on weekends and possibly helping out during school holidays. This will allow me to carry on working for the moment, and allow me to build up my confidence and decide whether I would want to make a more permanent progression towards it as a permanent lifestyle. I have also said that I would be willing to care for a child with difficulties, be those physical or mental, and although this could prove the most challenging of situations I have been in so far, I feel that it would also be the most rewarding.
So fingers crossed guys!
YAY!!!
Now let me explain about this one. It has not just risen out of nowhere this idea. Admittedly, me moving into a two bed place for the sake of my sister and then having her bugger off has enabled me to be in a position where I can have it happen… but the consideration has been there for years. There are many reasons why I would love to foster children.
1. I’ve been there and I’ve done it. Yep, leaving my mother’s house at 12 inevitably led to me going through the system… and I spent the good part of the next 7 years moving a total of 23 times, if my memory of my records isn’t failing me. I didn’t really have the most stable of childhoods… far from it… but one of the most settled times I had was when I lived with a foster carer called Doreen for a year. I remember being taken to her house for the first night. Up until that point I had been pretty much couch surfing with various relatives, and my aunt Dawn was the one who made me realise that I couldn’t carry on doing it. So naïve as I was, I decided to take myself to a local children’s home I knew of, and almost ‘hand myself in’. Obviously, I had no idea that there was process to be followed, and was swiftly turned away and told to visit the Social Services office the next day. I did, and that night I was placed with Doreen. Doreen was in her 50s, and had a 19 year old son and a 21 year old daughter of her own. Her daughter also had a two year old son, and she also had two other foster children who were siblings who lived with her. These guys became my family for the next year. I thrived at school, made some lifelong friends, as it was the only year of my schooling where I regularly attended (never missed a day!) and got a little piece of childhood. My time at Doreen’s never ended on a bad note… I simply agreed to visit my mother who managed to manipulate me into staying (it lasted a month, and then couch surfing it was again, my place at Doreen’s had been filled), and I am still friends with her biological children to this day. Sadly, she died a little over three years ago.
I know what its like to be thrown into that situation. I lived it and breathed it. And I came out of it not too badly, when I could have walked down a very different path. I would like to be somebody’s Doreen. I want to be the person who has that blind bit of faith in someone, and genuinely just wants somebody to be okay.
2. I have had my fair share of bad experiences. I have pretty much seen most things and done most things… which doesn’t make me some old fart who doesn’t know what they’re talking about.
3. I have never felt strongly about having my own children. Let me explain. I have always wanted children. For a while now, I have had the odd thought about ‘wouldn’t it be nice to be settled down and the like now’… but I don’t think that will happen for me. I can be ferociously guarded when it comes to men, and that doesn’t make for building strong relationships with them. This probably relates to point 2 above, as to why that may be, but that it the way it is. I am also petrified about getting pregnant and giving birth. I cannot think of anything that scares me as much as that. Some of my friends are currently pregnant, or have had children, and it is something that I cannot imagine ever going through without the paralysation of fear from it beforehand! I also have strong feelings towards the view that we don’t need to give birth to a child for it to be ours, there is a lot more that goes into being a parent to somebody other than DNA. I think I would much rather adopt in my future than have my own children anyway.
4. I have had my fair share of experience with kids. Seven brothers and sisters… and an ability to be brilliantly entertained by playing with a toddler for four hours I feel is a gift that should not be wasted.
I am not going into this blind. I understand that I am young, and some people may say too young. But there are women out there who are having children, some of whom I could end up looking after who are younger than me, and may need help. I am mature, and knowledgeable, and I think that I make most decisions after careful thought. I am a person who tries to help everybody, and there are some people who may abuse that trait, and that includes children, but there are also children that need that help. Far too many people are having children with no real concern for their welfare, and there are those that simply cannot cope on their own, and if I can help by giving some time and some care, then why not? What are my alternatives? Going out and spending money on alcohol in places I really would rather not be in? Sit at home doing nothing? Why not spend some of that time by providing a safe and loving environment that some children may be lacking, or may never have received.
I have applied to be a respite foster carer for a start, which means that I would be caring for children on weekends and possibly helping out during school holidays. This will allow me to carry on working for the moment, and allow me to build up my confidence and decide whether I would want to make a more permanent progression towards it as a permanent lifestyle. I have also said that I would be willing to care for a child with difficulties, be those physical or mental, and although this could prove the most challenging of situations I have been in so far, I feel that it would also be the most rewarding.
So fingers crossed guys!
Tuesday 6 October 2009
And then it got to this...
So by now you've read the background on the delightful family situation.... as you can tell mine is something of the extraordinary... and the general day to day goings on could give Walford a run for its money...
Back in January, things started to really go down the crapper at my mum's house. The kids were refusing to go to school, and Paige was in her last year at secondary school and seriously screwing up her exams. The boy had completely stopped going, and everything was being blamed on the affair that had been discovered in the summer. Now, don't get me wrong, I know that these things can have serious effects on kids, but the one thing that they need is support and routine. And these things are something my mother has never been able to provide.
The result was that at every opportunity, the eldest two children were walking all over my mother and resolutely refusing to go school because, quite frankly, they couldn't be arsed.
Now, I am the first one to admit that my attendance at school was definitely less than regular. I was expelled from my first secondary school for non-attendance, and there were many incidents during my time at the second when I came close to being booted out again. The difference with me was that I didn't even have a place I could call home. I spent four years moving 17 times between foster carers and friends' houses and really had no support whatsoever. Even though this was my situation, I knew that there was only one way I was ever really going to be able to sort my life out, and that was by getting an education and doing things for myself. I had no one handing me anything on a plate as a kid. If I needed money, I didn't get it unless I worked, and I had a succession of jobs from the age of 14 onwards. With all of this going on, I still managed to walk away from school with 9 GCSEs all A* to C, and 4 A Levels A* to C.
Because of this, I knew that even though you can have hardships going on, there are certain things in life that it is better to throw your energy into during these hard times, rather than giving up on them completely, and I wasn't about to let the kids go down that road.
The school ordered a quick succession of meetings with my mother and as I was a previous pupil and they knew that I played a big role in the kids lives, they wanted me present too. This originally went down well, but when everyone involved realised that I was about to blow the whistle on them and give them a few home truths, well, that didn't go down so well.
My mother was given the facts. Six months had passed since the affair had been discovered and she hadn't moved on a day. She was becoming bitter and twisted, and had a bad habit of discussing every small detail of what was occurring in front of all the children, sometimes even in front of their friends. She wasn't going to work and was at risk of losing her job, and she needed to pull it together and sort it out. The situation was not going to change, and she had to move on and act responsibly for the sake of the children. It wasn't about her anymore, it was about them.
The children were told that they were trying to take every available liberty going and I could see through them. The affair was becoming an excuse for their lack of interest in school, and my mother was encouraging this by lying to the school and providing excuses on days when the kids decided they didn't want to go. This all had to stop.
So the result was this: The boy has steadfastly refused to talk to me since January of this year, as it was the first ever time that I had gone against him in something. I have always supported the children in whatever they have wanted if they have been in the right, but on this occasion he wasn't, so I wasn't going to allow it.
The school decided that the best course of action would be for Paige to be removed to my care for the remainder of the school year, so as to ensure that she attended school and achieved the best possible grades in her exams. This did not go down well with my mother, but everyone knew that the strokes Paige had been pulling with my mother would most certainly not wash with me at all. So it was done.
So I became Mum. And it was a wake up call. I've had my own place for years now, and although I always have people over, and there is never an opportunity to get lonely, I didn't know just how used to having my own space I really was. I had a one bedroom place, and now I had a teenager too, and going from sleeping in a bed with one of the girls on a weekend to sleeping in a bed with my sister every night (who throws her weight and elbows around to no end while sleeping, I can assure you) was alarming. Nothing was mine anymore... clothes, toiletries... you name it. And it became claustrophobic. But I knew what my responsibility was and I was adamant that any inconveniences would be fine in the long run if Paige turned out okay.
So we got to grips with it. Purse strings were pulled in tightly (neither Paige's mother or father felt that they should be financially providing for her if she wasn't living with them) and routines were established. I wasn't there to be a constant whirlwind of barking orders, but there were certain things that had to be done and that was that. Schoolwork was priority and perhaps creating some sort of plan for her to start achieving.
And it all started to work. Paige's attendance at school increased by 80%. She was attending every lesson and completing all outstanding work (some of which had been outstanding for months). And revision for exams was being done. Now I knew that Paige was somewhat behind when it came to her studies, so I knew that we weren't going to get a full sweep across the board when results day came, but we both said that if Paige did her best, then that would be enough.
And then Paige decided that she wanted to stay.
Back in January, things started to really go down the crapper at my mum's house. The kids were refusing to go to school, and Paige was in her last year at secondary school and seriously screwing up her exams. The boy had completely stopped going, and everything was being blamed on the affair that had been discovered in the summer. Now, don't get me wrong, I know that these things can have serious effects on kids, but the one thing that they need is support and routine. And these things are something my mother has never been able to provide.
The result was that at every opportunity, the eldest two children were walking all over my mother and resolutely refusing to go school because, quite frankly, they couldn't be arsed.
Now, I am the first one to admit that my attendance at school was definitely less than regular. I was expelled from my first secondary school for non-attendance, and there were many incidents during my time at the second when I came close to being booted out again. The difference with me was that I didn't even have a place I could call home. I spent four years moving 17 times between foster carers and friends' houses and really had no support whatsoever. Even though this was my situation, I knew that there was only one way I was ever really going to be able to sort my life out, and that was by getting an education and doing things for myself. I had no one handing me anything on a plate as a kid. If I needed money, I didn't get it unless I worked, and I had a succession of jobs from the age of 14 onwards. With all of this going on, I still managed to walk away from school with 9 GCSEs all A* to C, and 4 A Levels A* to C.
Because of this, I knew that even though you can have hardships going on, there are certain things in life that it is better to throw your energy into during these hard times, rather than giving up on them completely, and I wasn't about to let the kids go down that road.
The school ordered a quick succession of meetings with my mother and as I was a previous pupil and they knew that I played a big role in the kids lives, they wanted me present too. This originally went down well, but when everyone involved realised that I was about to blow the whistle on them and give them a few home truths, well, that didn't go down so well.
My mother was given the facts. Six months had passed since the affair had been discovered and she hadn't moved on a day. She was becoming bitter and twisted, and had a bad habit of discussing every small detail of what was occurring in front of all the children, sometimes even in front of their friends. She wasn't going to work and was at risk of losing her job, and she needed to pull it together and sort it out. The situation was not going to change, and she had to move on and act responsibly for the sake of the children. It wasn't about her anymore, it was about them.
The children were told that they were trying to take every available liberty going and I could see through them. The affair was becoming an excuse for their lack of interest in school, and my mother was encouraging this by lying to the school and providing excuses on days when the kids decided they didn't want to go. This all had to stop.
So the result was this: The boy has steadfastly refused to talk to me since January of this year, as it was the first ever time that I had gone against him in something. I have always supported the children in whatever they have wanted if they have been in the right, but on this occasion he wasn't, so I wasn't going to allow it.
The school decided that the best course of action would be for Paige to be removed to my care for the remainder of the school year, so as to ensure that she attended school and achieved the best possible grades in her exams. This did not go down well with my mother, but everyone knew that the strokes Paige had been pulling with my mother would most certainly not wash with me at all. So it was done.
So I became Mum. And it was a wake up call. I've had my own place for years now, and although I always have people over, and there is never an opportunity to get lonely, I didn't know just how used to having my own space I really was. I had a one bedroom place, and now I had a teenager too, and going from sleeping in a bed with one of the girls on a weekend to sleeping in a bed with my sister every night (who throws her weight and elbows around to no end while sleeping, I can assure you) was alarming. Nothing was mine anymore... clothes, toiletries... you name it. And it became claustrophobic. But I knew what my responsibility was and I was adamant that any inconveniences would be fine in the long run if Paige turned out okay.
So we got to grips with it. Purse strings were pulled in tightly (neither Paige's mother or father felt that they should be financially providing for her if she wasn't living with them) and routines were established. I wasn't there to be a constant whirlwind of barking orders, but there were certain things that had to be done and that was that. Schoolwork was priority and perhaps creating some sort of plan for her to start achieving.
And it all started to work. Paige's attendance at school increased by 80%. She was attending every lesson and completing all outstanding work (some of which had been outstanding for months). And revision for exams was being done. Now I knew that Paige was somewhat behind when it came to her studies, so I knew that we weren't going to get a full sweep across the board when results day came, but we both said that if Paige did her best, then that would be enough.
And then Paige decided that she wanted to stay.
Monday 5 October 2009
So this is where it began....
It should probably be announced that much has changed for me over the last few months…. But first it might be an idea to refer you to a blog entry that was written last summer (2008) when everything first happened….
ADULTERY IS A MOTHERUCKER
So the past three days have been major fun. There I was on Tuesday night, all cuddled up with the Mr Leahy, in bed, chillaxing and watching the garish Big Brother. When my phone rings.
Now, my phone has been a major problem for Mr Leahy (the boyfriend), namely because it is always frigging ringing. No matter what time of the night, my phone will go off, and it is usually some daft bastard of a friend who thinks it is a life or death situation to call me at 1am when they don't quite know how to work their iTunes (no names Daniella). So these days, when me and Mr Leahy are chilling in bed it tends to be kept on silent in the front room. The problem with that is I have a super sense of hearing when it comes to detecting the sound of my phone vibrating its silly little arse off on the side in the front room. That and the fact that my walls aren't even paper thin, they are tracing paper thin, means that when it went off on Tuesday night at half past ten, I heard it. And being the nosey fucker I am (it might just be some gossip that absolutely positively cannot wait until the morning) I went to get it.
Seeing that it was my mother that was ringing was a bit of a surprise.
We DO NOT get on, and to be honest, the only reason I ever really speak to her now I'm older is for the sake of the other kids she has. Combine this with the fact that it was nearly eleven at night and I knew I had to answer it as it must be an emergency. Down the other end of the line was a hysterical woman telling me that she knows that we don't get along but the kids really want to speak to me as Stuart (my stepdad) has been having an affair and she has just kicked him out.
Now my mother is well known for blowing things completely out of proportion, so my first thought was that Stuart had bought a friend a drink in a pub and my mum had found out and read into it that he had been participating in undercover orgies with the Billiards Association in the Eagle pub down the road. So I asked her to put my thirteen year old brother on the phone to try and get the sensible version of the story (because that's the way these things work, take the MOTHER off the phone and put the CHILD on the phone to get the truth). But the Boy (as he is nicknamed) was so choked up and crying that he couldn't even formulate a sentence. Being that the child is my favourite (how wrong, bla bla bla) my mother knows that this is a sure fire way to get me to act, so fifteen minutes later I was pulling up outside the house with the Mr Leahy in tow.
The Boy ran at me, and hugged me and resolutely refused to let go for the rest of the evening, while I tried to make sense of exactly what had happened. The house was full to bursting, my maternal grandmother was standing on the doorstep smoking the life out of a pack of cigarettes (I swear she has the ability to inhale a cigarette whole) cursing to high heaven that all men are bastards and think with their dicks (classy). My mum's old boss Michael, who has become a family friend and now lives across the road was sitting in the front room, deftly defending himself from the fifteen month old who was taking shots at him with a golf club.
Paige, the fifteen year old was red faced, and holding a phone with the vice-like grip of a child with a bag of sweeties. And Tom, the devil spawn child was asking what his 'dickhead dad had fucking done wrong now'. Needless to say Mr Leahy looked like he had been caught in the headlights, and sped off home as soon as I could drag my mum away from the car she was standing next to earbashing him in. It was going to be a long night.
After much time, and much talking (particularly over one another, the women in my family are good at that) it transpired that this all began because my sister had dropped her mobile phone down the toilet. She is so flipping clumsy it is unbelievable, this wasn't the first time and it won't be the last time either. So as a result my stepdad had lent her his handset. Which my sister had found an amount of unsavoury text messages on, which were not from my mother's number. This apparently occurred last week, but she did not know what to do with this news, and so didn't tell anyone.
After much deliberation, she decided to tell the Boy at the beginning of this week, and by Tuesday, the pair had decided that my mother needed to know. So they gave her a sheet of paper with the name and number of the girl on it, which my mother confronted my stepfather with.
My stepfather works for a carpet laying company which has offices in both London and Wales, and as a result he is often required to also work in Wales on a frequent basis. Upon being confronted with this paper, he began to admit that he had been having an affair for the best part of a year, that this Charlotte lives in Wales and that he loves her, want to be with her, and wants a divorce. Needless to say, my mother threw him out on the spot. That is when my good number was called into use. Grrr.
The Boy was inconsolable for the rest of the evening. He refused to leave my side and he slept with me, crying throughout his sleep. My sister, who is often a screaming banshee because she breaks a nail, was horribly quiet and calm. Tom just kept reiterating the fact that his dad had been a knobhead, but didn't really know why, and the baby acquired a new found obsession with my tongue piercing, often giving me a wet wipe and demonstrating how to rub my tongue to get that dirt off it...
Nobody in the house seemed to be doing the sensible thing and trying to get the kids settled. My mother was leaving a barrage of the most horrible voicemails on the phone of this girl, as she had already scared her into switching it off by ringing her and calling her a scrubber and all manner of things. My nan was more interested in trying to convince me to take the day off work, rally the troops around and drive down to Wales for a 'little day trip' with promises of paying for petrol and throwing in sandwiches too. Ghetto gran.
Instead of screaming and shouting, I decided to take the sensible route and try and speak to this girl to get the story on what exactly is going on and what is planned to go on.
It wasn't until the next day that she actually turned her phone back on, and I had already left her a message explaining to her who I was and why I wanted to talk to her. On Wednesday morning, I managed to speak to her, and she tried to convince me that I had the wrong number. When I explained to her that I knew that I hadn't got the wrong number because I had seen the text messages, she promptly hung up.
Here I am, thinking that I am trying to speak to a grown woman about this, and she's putting the phone down. Why is it that I have to be more mature than so many frigging people (including every bloody adult involved in this situation at present). An hour later I get to speak to her again, where I tell her not to put the phone down, and I am simply trying to have an adult conversation with her, which convinces her to talk to me. Well it would do. Using the word adult always perks up the ears of somebody who's only 20 YEARS OLD.
Yes that's right. My stepdad has been having it off with a bird who is even younger than his oldest (albeit step) daughter.
So lovely Charlotte. Lovely young Charlotte. Lovely young, just out of nappies Charlotte. Charlotte is 20. She works in a pub. She lives in Colwyn Bay in Wales. She met Stuart when a mutual friend who also works for the same company as him introduced them. She had been seeing my stepdad for months. She has no kids and still lives at home with her mum. Her dad is not at all happy with the situation, but her mother has said that she will support her if it makes her happy. She did not know that Stuart had a wife and kids, but he had told her that he had a girlfriend. It was only last week that he admitted that he had four children with this woman and showed her pictures. The plan was for her to move to London and live with Stuart and she couldn't help how she felt about him.
How do you explain to a 20 year old girl that she is about to walk into the fiery pit of Hell? How can you explain to her that the wife of the man she 'loves' is a cross between a Rottweiler and a pitbull mastiff when she gets going? How do you tell her that the wifes mother has a mouth more filthy than a coal miner's armpit? How do you let her in on the fact that my family is so wretched that I could only cope with it for 12 years before I left, and I was a daughter, not the harlot who had stolen my mother's man?
I tried in the best way possible to fill this girl in on what her life would most probably be like, if she decides that she is going to go ahead with these foolish plans. Moving to London, with no friends here or family to support her. Having these children come to stay in a place she has to call home, for them to utterly abuse her as I know they will do. How will she feel when a girl who is only five years younger than her comes to stay at her house, does what she likes and calls her a cunt if she even attempts to speak to her. Because that is what Paige will do. Have a thirteen year old boy try and kick her in the fanny every time she walks past her? Because that is what Harrison will do. Be called a whore and a Welsh tart? Because that is what Tom will do.
How do you get a child, because that is what she is, to understand that she is not just in a position to ruin these kids lives, but also her own?
Maybe I should just step back, not get involved, because stressful doesn't even come close to this situation. I am having to become a mother (again) to four kids while theirs sits in a corner crying and wilting.
I think I need a break. Drive on down to somewhere nice, picturesque and quite, maybe oh I don't know Colwyn Bay. I've heard good things. Me, my luggage and a pickaxe...
Allow that to be the backdrop for the oncoming….
So as hinted at in that entry, I had a feeling that I would be called upon a lot by my mother for support and generally the taking over of certain elements of her life… namely the other children. Yet I don’t think I was prepared for what was to come…
ADULTERY IS A MOTHERUCKER
So the past three days have been major fun. There I was on Tuesday night, all cuddled up with the Mr Leahy, in bed, chillaxing and watching the garish Big Brother. When my phone rings.
Now, my phone has been a major problem for Mr Leahy (the boyfriend), namely because it is always frigging ringing. No matter what time of the night, my phone will go off, and it is usually some daft bastard of a friend who thinks it is a life or death situation to call me at 1am when they don't quite know how to work their iTunes (no names Daniella). So these days, when me and Mr Leahy are chilling in bed it tends to be kept on silent in the front room. The problem with that is I have a super sense of hearing when it comes to detecting the sound of my phone vibrating its silly little arse off on the side in the front room. That and the fact that my walls aren't even paper thin, they are tracing paper thin, means that when it went off on Tuesday night at half past ten, I heard it. And being the nosey fucker I am (it might just be some gossip that absolutely positively cannot wait until the morning) I went to get it.
Seeing that it was my mother that was ringing was a bit of a surprise.
We DO NOT get on, and to be honest, the only reason I ever really speak to her now I'm older is for the sake of the other kids she has. Combine this with the fact that it was nearly eleven at night and I knew I had to answer it as it must be an emergency. Down the other end of the line was a hysterical woman telling me that she knows that we don't get along but the kids really want to speak to me as Stuart (my stepdad) has been having an affair and she has just kicked him out.
Now my mother is well known for blowing things completely out of proportion, so my first thought was that Stuart had bought a friend a drink in a pub and my mum had found out and read into it that he had been participating in undercover orgies with the Billiards Association in the Eagle pub down the road. So I asked her to put my thirteen year old brother on the phone to try and get the sensible version of the story (because that's the way these things work, take the MOTHER off the phone and put the CHILD on the phone to get the truth). But the Boy (as he is nicknamed) was so choked up and crying that he couldn't even formulate a sentence. Being that the child is my favourite (how wrong, bla bla bla) my mother knows that this is a sure fire way to get me to act, so fifteen minutes later I was pulling up outside the house with the Mr Leahy in tow.
The Boy ran at me, and hugged me and resolutely refused to let go for the rest of the evening, while I tried to make sense of exactly what had happened. The house was full to bursting, my maternal grandmother was standing on the doorstep smoking the life out of a pack of cigarettes (I swear she has the ability to inhale a cigarette whole) cursing to high heaven that all men are bastards and think with their dicks (classy). My mum's old boss Michael, who has become a family friend and now lives across the road was sitting in the front room, deftly defending himself from the fifteen month old who was taking shots at him with a golf club.
Paige, the fifteen year old was red faced, and holding a phone with the vice-like grip of a child with a bag of sweeties. And Tom, the devil spawn child was asking what his 'dickhead dad had fucking done wrong now'. Needless to say Mr Leahy looked like he had been caught in the headlights, and sped off home as soon as I could drag my mum away from the car she was standing next to earbashing him in. It was going to be a long night.
After much time, and much talking (particularly over one another, the women in my family are good at that) it transpired that this all began because my sister had dropped her mobile phone down the toilet. She is so flipping clumsy it is unbelievable, this wasn't the first time and it won't be the last time either. So as a result my stepdad had lent her his handset. Which my sister had found an amount of unsavoury text messages on, which were not from my mother's number. This apparently occurred last week, but she did not know what to do with this news, and so didn't tell anyone.
After much deliberation, she decided to tell the Boy at the beginning of this week, and by Tuesday, the pair had decided that my mother needed to know. So they gave her a sheet of paper with the name and number of the girl on it, which my mother confronted my stepfather with.
My stepfather works for a carpet laying company which has offices in both London and Wales, and as a result he is often required to also work in Wales on a frequent basis. Upon being confronted with this paper, he began to admit that he had been having an affair for the best part of a year, that this Charlotte lives in Wales and that he loves her, want to be with her, and wants a divorce. Needless to say, my mother threw him out on the spot. That is when my good number was called into use. Grrr.
The Boy was inconsolable for the rest of the evening. He refused to leave my side and he slept with me, crying throughout his sleep. My sister, who is often a screaming banshee because she breaks a nail, was horribly quiet and calm. Tom just kept reiterating the fact that his dad had been a knobhead, but didn't really know why, and the baby acquired a new found obsession with my tongue piercing, often giving me a wet wipe and demonstrating how to rub my tongue to get that dirt off it...
Nobody in the house seemed to be doing the sensible thing and trying to get the kids settled. My mother was leaving a barrage of the most horrible voicemails on the phone of this girl, as she had already scared her into switching it off by ringing her and calling her a scrubber and all manner of things. My nan was more interested in trying to convince me to take the day off work, rally the troops around and drive down to Wales for a 'little day trip' with promises of paying for petrol and throwing in sandwiches too. Ghetto gran.
Instead of screaming and shouting, I decided to take the sensible route and try and speak to this girl to get the story on what exactly is going on and what is planned to go on.
It wasn't until the next day that she actually turned her phone back on, and I had already left her a message explaining to her who I was and why I wanted to talk to her. On Wednesday morning, I managed to speak to her, and she tried to convince me that I had the wrong number. When I explained to her that I knew that I hadn't got the wrong number because I had seen the text messages, she promptly hung up.
Here I am, thinking that I am trying to speak to a grown woman about this, and she's putting the phone down. Why is it that I have to be more mature than so many frigging people (including every bloody adult involved in this situation at present). An hour later I get to speak to her again, where I tell her not to put the phone down, and I am simply trying to have an adult conversation with her, which convinces her to talk to me. Well it would do. Using the word adult always perks up the ears of somebody who's only 20 YEARS OLD.
Yes that's right. My stepdad has been having it off with a bird who is even younger than his oldest (albeit step) daughter.
So lovely Charlotte. Lovely young Charlotte. Lovely young, just out of nappies Charlotte. Charlotte is 20. She works in a pub. She lives in Colwyn Bay in Wales. She met Stuart when a mutual friend who also works for the same company as him introduced them. She had been seeing my stepdad for months. She has no kids and still lives at home with her mum. Her dad is not at all happy with the situation, but her mother has said that she will support her if it makes her happy. She did not know that Stuart had a wife and kids, but he had told her that he had a girlfriend. It was only last week that he admitted that he had four children with this woman and showed her pictures. The plan was for her to move to London and live with Stuart and she couldn't help how she felt about him.
How do you explain to a 20 year old girl that she is about to walk into the fiery pit of Hell? How can you explain to her that the wife of the man she 'loves' is a cross between a Rottweiler and a pitbull mastiff when she gets going? How do you tell her that the wifes mother has a mouth more filthy than a coal miner's armpit? How do you let her in on the fact that my family is so wretched that I could only cope with it for 12 years before I left, and I was a daughter, not the harlot who had stolen my mother's man?
I tried in the best way possible to fill this girl in on what her life would most probably be like, if she decides that she is going to go ahead with these foolish plans. Moving to London, with no friends here or family to support her. Having these children come to stay in a place she has to call home, for them to utterly abuse her as I know they will do. How will she feel when a girl who is only five years younger than her comes to stay at her house, does what she likes and calls her a cunt if she even attempts to speak to her. Because that is what Paige will do. Have a thirteen year old boy try and kick her in the fanny every time she walks past her? Because that is what Harrison will do. Be called a whore and a Welsh tart? Because that is what Tom will do.
How do you get a child, because that is what she is, to understand that she is not just in a position to ruin these kids lives, but also her own?
Maybe I should just step back, not get involved, because stressful doesn't even come close to this situation. I am having to become a mother (again) to four kids while theirs sits in a corner crying and wilting.
I think I need a break. Drive on down to somewhere nice, picturesque and quite, maybe oh I don't know Colwyn Bay. I've heard good things. Me, my luggage and a pickaxe...
Allow that to be the backdrop for the oncoming….
So as hinted at in that entry, I had a feeling that I would be called upon a lot by my mother for support and generally the taking over of certain elements of her life… namely the other children. Yet I don’t think I was prepared for what was to come…
Friday 4 September 2009
An update....
Please don’t think that I have disappeared for I am here! I have been rubbish at writing posts for the last few weeks, because I am still waiting for the net to be set up at my new place… and then I shall have the benefit of writing away until my little heart is content!
Much has occurred, of which I shall divulge at a later date (this being the 12th September onwards if Virgin Media don’t screw up again – grrr) and I shall give a little bullet list here so as to remember and prove that I have not been living the life of a hermit!
Work – and the various dramas that have occurred.
My sister getting her exam results and the various dramas that have occurred.
My father and my stepmother and the various dramas that have occurred.
My new addition to the body (sounds ominous) and the lack of dramas that have occurred.
My love life and general lack of dramas that have occurred.
My new crush – and that will be heavily coded just in case somebody should find it funny to ring said crush’s place of work to inform him that there is a nutty horny bird on the net who would really like to shake his cocktail mixer…. Donna….
So do bear with me… I shall return shortly….
Much has occurred, of which I shall divulge at a later date (this being the 12th September onwards if Virgin Media don’t screw up again – grrr) and I shall give a little bullet list here so as to remember and prove that I have not been living the life of a hermit!
Work – and the various dramas that have occurred.
My sister getting her exam results and the various dramas that have occurred.
My father and my stepmother and the various dramas that have occurred.
My new addition to the body (sounds ominous) and the lack of dramas that have occurred.
My love life and general lack of dramas that have occurred.
My new crush – and that will be heavily coded just in case somebody should find it funny to ring said crush’s place of work to inform him that there is a nutty horny bird on the net who would really like to shake his cocktail mixer…. Donna….
So do bear with me… I shall return shortly….
Thursday 13 August 2009
Emailings.... of the extraordinary sort...
Just to give you an idea of the kind of relationships I have with crazy people I call my friends –
Me and some of the girls are arranging to go out this evening to catch up and generally bitch and gossip about those that do not attend… you know how us women do… and me and Donna are in the middle of emailing each other to make the final arrangements… here is our exchange thus far….
From: Katy
To: Donna
Cc:
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2009 09:55:04 +0100
Subject:
Blud!
Truesay badman that tonight we is gonna be shoobsing it up in my work ends get me? But cuzzy wuzzy, mans is wondering what time you man plan on reaching ends get me? Cause fam, mans has bought my garms to work so mans can look fresh to death for real. So what you saying fam? Holla at mans.
Big up your chest. Hold it tight. One.
X
From: Donna
Sent: 13 August 2009 10:02
To:Subject: re:
Yo Blud!!! Mans is gonna get to you just gone 6pm. What garms you got? (you can tell you have a younger sister) lol. I am so outta touch with this lingo!! What am I gonna be like when Im 60? lol.
Im wearing a white shirt and black trousers and look a bit worky - that ok? I'm very excited about seeing you and having delicious cocktails.
I'm gonna get to south wimbledon and walk up to cocktail bar. xxxxxxxxx
From: Katy
To: Donna
Cc:
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2009 10:13:00 +0100
Subject: RE:
Yes fam a lam…. Mans has just gone cazh you get me? Just some jeans and a black top but mans will be looking choong ting tho cuz. And blud, I thought that truesay we did say we would start in Suburban get me? For some of those cocktails mans was buying out the bar with on Tuesday? Skeen? Then reach cocktail bar later when the 2 for 1 runs dry in Suburban get me? What you saying fam? Is it popping off?
(And this isn’t really from my sister… it’s from Claire’s nincompoop boyfriend and his batty friend Tyrone… this is how we have to speak when man’s house is ghetto’d out… get me?)
X
From: Donna
Sent: 13 August 2009 10:41
To: Katy Subject: re[2]:
haha well you need to stop seeing Tyrone - get me? lol. Where is Surburban? xxxx
From: Katy
To: Donna
Cc:
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2009 10:46:03 +0100
Subject: RE: re[2]:
Its opposite Edwards… you have to come try one of these drinks with me! They are like little cups of sunshine… mmmmm x
From: Donna
Sent: 13 August 2009 11:00
To: Katy Subject: re[4]:
Yo!! I have been looking at the cocktail menu and I can't wait!!!! Boy am I gonna be drunk and poor by the end of the night!!! : ) Look at my choices:
I think I'm gonna have a 'Screaming Orgasm' with 'Matt the Rat' and boy, if that 'Caribbean Monk' gets in the way i'll show him the full force of my 'Paradise Punch'. Gonna be jamming like Bob Marley with some 'Reggae Rum' and then rock outta the bar like a 'Zombie'.
'P.S I Love You' Sweeney : ) hehe
(Am I better off going to Wimbledon main station?)
Screaming OrgasmVodka, Baileys, Almond and Coffee Liqueur with cream
Matt the Rat Spiced Rum and Triple Sec mixed with orange and citrus juices topped with lemonade.
Caribbean MonkMalibu, Dark Rum and Luxardo Almond Liqueur mixed with Cream
Paradise Punch Southern Comfort, Almond Liqueur and Vodka with orange, pineapple and citrus juices with a dash of grenadine.
Reggae Rum Dark Rum, Strawberry liqueur with lime, orange and pineapple juices.
Zombie Both light and Dark Rum, Apricot and Orange Liqueur, orange and pineapple juice with a splash of almond syrup.
P.S I Love You Havana Anejo Especial Rum, baily’s Luxardo Almond liqueur, Kahlua with cream
xxxxxxxxxxxx
To: Donna
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2009 11:28:37 +0100
Subject: RE: re[8]: Already checked that box love! Got a great pair of grannysweaters on for you! Sugar sugar! x
From: Donna
Sent: 13 August 2009 11:34
To: Katy
Subject: re[10]: oooooohhhhh la la sexy lady : ) I can't focus on work cos i keep thinking bout cocktails : ) xxxxx
From: Katy
To: Donna
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2009 11:32:03 +0100
Subject: RE: re[10]:
Six and a half hours baby.. then me and you are gonna get our drink on… followed by our dance… followed by our stumble… followed by our swerve. Ohhhhh yeahhhhh…. X x
You see how stupid we are?
Me and some of the girls are arranging to go out this evening to catch up and generally bitch and gossip about those that do not attend… you know how us women do… and me and Donna are in the middle of emailing each other to make the final arrangements… here is our exchange thus far….
From: Katy
To: Donna
Cc:
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2009 09:55:04 +0100
Subject:
Blud!
Truesay badman that tonight we is gonna be shoobsing it up in my work ends get me? But cuzzy wuzzy, mans is wondering what time you man plan on reaching ends get me? Cause fam, mans has bought my garms to work so mans can look fresh to death for real. So what you saying fam? Holla at mans.
Big up your chest. Hold it tight. One.
X
From: Donna
Sent: 13 August 2009 10:02
To:Subject: re:
Yo Blud!!! Mans is gonna get to you just gone 6pm. What garms you got? (you can tell you have a younger sister) lol. I am so outta touch with this lingo!! What am I gonna be like when Im 60? lol.
Im wearing a white shirt and black trousers and look a bit worky - that ok? I'm very excited about seeing you and having delicious cocktails.
I'm gonna get to south wimbledon and walk up to cocktail bar. xxxxxxxxx
From: Katy
To: Donna
Cc:
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2009 10:13:00 +0100
Subject: RE:
Yes fam a lam…. Mans has just gone cazh you get me? Just some jeans and a black top but mans will be looking choong ting tho cuz. And blud, I thought that truesay we did say we would start in Suburban get me? For some of those cocktails mans was buying out the bar with on Tuesday? Skeen? Then reach cocktail bar later when the 2 for 1 runs dry in Suburban get me? What you saying fam? Is it popping off?
(And this isn’t really from my sister… it’s from Claire’s nincompoop boyfriend and his batty friend Tyrone… this is how we have to speak when man’s house is ghetto’d out… get me?)
X
From: Donna
Sent: 13 August 2009 10:41
To: Katy Subject: re[2]:
haha well you need to stop seeing Tyrone - get me? lol. Where is Surburban? xxxx
From: Katy
To: Donna
Cc:
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2009 10:46:03 +0100
Subject: RE: re[2]:
Its opposite Edwards… you have to come try one of these drinks with me! They are like little cups of sunshine… mmmmm x
From: Donna
Sent: 13 August 2009 11:00
To: Katy Subject: re[4]:
Yo!! I have been looking at the cocktail menu and I can't wait!!!! Boy am I gonna be drunk and poor by the end of the night!!! : ) Look at my choices:
I think I'm gonna have a 'Screaming Orgasm' with 'Matt the Rat' and boy, if that 'Caribbean Monk' gets in the way i'll show him the full force of my 'Paradise Punch'. Gonna be jamming like Bob Marley with some 'Reggae Rum' and then rock outta the bar like a 'Zombie'.
'P.S I Love You' Sweeney : ) hehe
(Am I better off going to Wimbledon main station?)
Screaming OrgasmVodka, Baileys, Almond and Coffee Liqueur with cream
Matt the Rat Spiced Rum and Triple Sec mixed with orange and citrus juices topped with lemonade.
Caribbean MonkMalibu, Dark Rum and Luxardo Almond Liqueur mixed with Cream
Paradise Punch Southern Comfort, Almond Liqueur and Vodka with orange, pineapple and citrus juices with a dash of grenadine.
Reggae Rum Dark Rum, Strawberry liqueur with lime, orange and pineapple juices.
Zombie Both light and Dark Rum, Apricot and Orange Liqueur, orange and pineapple juice with a splash of almond syrup.
P.S I Love You Havana Anejo Especial Rum, baily’s Luxardo Almond liqueur, Kahlua with cream
xxxxxxxxxxxx
From: Donna
Sent: 13 August 2009 11:20
To: Katy
Subject: re[6] haha always like to please : ) I am seriously gonna be hammered tonight!!! I can't wait!!!!!!!! Roll on half 5 and I will run sooooooo bloody fast out of this office there will be skid marks on the carpet lol : ) I can get the district line to wimbledon main station so it's all good. Wanna meet me outside bout 6.10? xxxxx
From: Katy
To: Donna Cc:
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2009 11:20:42 +0100Subject: RE: re[6]:
You’ve got yourself a date missy…. X x
From: Donna
Sent: 13 August 2009 11:26
To: Katy
Subject: re[8]: Oh wow I'm sooooooo excited hot stuff.... wear ur bridget jones's for me baby!!!!! lol xxxxx
To: Donna
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2009 11:28:37 +0100
Subject: RE: re[8]: Already checked that box love! Got a great pair of grannysweaters on for you! Sugar sugar! x
From: Donna
Sent: 13 August 2009 11:34
To: Katy
Subject: re[10]: oooooohhhhh la la sexy lady : ) I can't focus on work cos i keep thinking bout cocktails : ) xxxxx
From: Katy
To: Donna
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2009 11:32:03 +0100
Subject: RE: re[10]:
Six and a half hours baby.. then me and you are gonna get our drink on… followed by our dance… followed by our stumble… followed by our swerve. Ohhhhh yeahhhhh…. X x
You see how stupid we are?
Wednesday 12 August 2009
The morning after....
Fourth date. Ugh. Head hurting. Still taste the passionfruit cocktails. Dancing, drinking, and now suffering. Thank you and good day.
Tuesday 11 August 2009
Fourth date
Facebook. Friend requests. Every so often, a name will crop up… and I will be all ‘who the hell is this?’, until I see that the mutual friends list reads like a who’s who of the first secondary school I attended, and then figure out that this is yet another person that remembers me from way back when, when I haven’t got a Scooby. There are some people that I remember, and have been excited to see pop up on my friend request list. But the majority of people have been less than vaguely familiar. Anyway, I’m rabbiting on…
One of these so people was a guy called Ian. When he first popped up, the usual routine took place… no recognition… but kind of good looking… mutual friends… ahh I see. And then one day we were both online and I got to the bottom of who this guy was. I had gone to the first school with him, but I wasn’t in the same class as him, but he remembered me and my, hadn’t I changed. Of course I’m sitting there scrambling for something similar to say, but when you really do feel like you’ve never clapped eyes on someone before in your life, it’s pretty hard to come out with ‘yeah, your hair is much longer now – erm, no it isn’t’. So I ‘fessed up and admitted that I could not remember him in the slightest, no siree. Poor bugger was slightly crestfallen, and I felt bad, so we exchanged numbers with the idea of catching up at one point or another.
So a flurry of texts later and a chance bumping into each other in a bar by my work (coincidentally I was out with an old school friend from the second school – slutting it up with the nostalgia baby) and we decided to arrange a night out. Now, being the way I am with guys, and by that I mean a bloody idiot, who has the tendency to fall over, or possibly spit food in the eye of the person I am trying to impress, this is often a daunting prospect. I just don’t do this with new people for that precise point. When a relationship fails, I am one of those sad people who just gets back in touch with an ex… they’ve seen it all, they know when I’m most likely to dribble or rip my trousers…. And hence why I am resigned to the fact that I will never settle down, just scurry between a certain few exes and be a lonely spinster with cats who shouts at children when they walk past my window…
Anyhow, we arranged a night where we would start with some drinks and then head to the cinema… a weeknight too, so that we both knew it was home for work the next morning… separately. And I arrived and I’m all hot and bothered and I’m in heels and I can’t walk, and I leave my cigarettes in the first bar, and then our umbrellas in the second bar…. And then we turn up at the cinema and its fully booked, and then we go for more drinks… and I leave the umbrellas again… and then we go to watch the film at the next viewing time… and I realise I’ve left my scarf in the bar too… and then put my foot in the popcorn when I’ve put it on the floor for a moment… and then we leave, to find my scarf under my butt the whole time. And then we go to another bar… and then we go home… and I realise I left the umbrellas in the last bar and really did just leave them this time. So can you imagine my shock when this guy turns around and says that he would like to see me again????
This time round I planned to make it a more mutual thing where his friends are out and my friends are out and at some point during the night we reconvene in the same place. That way, with my divvy lot out too, there’s less chance of me looking like the biggest fool in the place… and forgetting my head or something. Only I don’t factor into the situation that my sister may want to come out too and proceed to get bladdered and dance like a prostitute with anything within 2 ft of her. Resulting in me having to follow her around all night like a neurotic mother to ensure that she doesn’t end up hotfooting it home with a stranger.
Our third date (yes, we got to a third, even though he has met me – a fool – and my sister – a jezebel) was a lot more run of the mill – dinner in a lovely Italian. That is, until we both spotted the karaoke bar across the road. A hastily ended dinner, and several drinks later, we’ve done a duet to Summer Loving, and are singing the closing song of All That Jazz after being coaxed into it by an overly friendly gay bar man called Mike. Nice stuff. Not so nice was the hangover next morning.
So date four. Tonight I am going somewhere of which I have no clue. I have been told to wear casual clothing, no high heels (I reckon this is a pointless part of the plan – the poor bugger has seen me attempt to walk in heels for longer than an hour, its not pretty – imagine a five year old girl walking around a supermarket needing a pee) and that we will need to get drunk beforehand in order to properly enjoy it.
I would say I’m worried. I would say I’m nervous. But after the farce that has occurred on all occasions before, nothing could bother me about this date. Not even if he bought along his mum. Well maybe a little bit… I’ve never really been too good with them….
One of these so people was a guy called Ian. When he first popped up, the usual routine took place… no recognition… but kind of good looking… mutual friends… ahh I see. And then one day we were both online and I got to the bottom of who this guy was. I had gone to the first school with him, but I wasn’t in the same class as him, but he remembered me and my, hadn’t I changed. Of course I’m sitting there scrambling for something similar to say, but when you really do feel like you’ve never clapped eyes on someone before in your life, it’s pretty hard to come out with ‘yeah, your hair is much longer now – erm, no it isn’t’. So I ‘fessed up and admitted that I could not remember him in the slightest, no siree. Poor bugger was slightly crestfallen, and I felt bad, so we exchanged numbers with the idea of catching up at one point or another.
So a flurry of texts later and a chance bumping into each other in a bar by my work (coincidentally I was out with an old school friend from the second school – slutting it up with the nostalgia baby) and we decided to arrange a night out. Now, being the way I am with guys, and by that I mean a bloody idiot, who has the tendency to fall over, or possibly spit food in the eye of the person I am trying to impress, this is often a daunting prospect. I just don’t do this with new people for that precise point. When a relationship fails, I am one of those sad people who just gets back in touch with an ex… they’ve seen it all, they know when I’m most likely to dribble or rip my trousers…. And hence why I am resigned to the fact that I will never settle down, just scurry between a certain few exes and be a lonely spinster with cats who shouts at children when they walk past my window…
Anyhow, we arranged a night where we would start with some drinks and then head to the cinema… a weeknight too, so that we both knew it was home for work the next morning… separately. And I arrived and I’m all hot and bothered and I’m in heels and I can’t walk, and I leave my cigarettes in the first bar, and then our umbrellas in the second bar…. And then we turn up at the cinema and its fully booked, and then we go for more drinks… and I leave the umbrellas again… and then we go to watch the film at the next viewing time… and I realise I’ve left my scarf in the bar too… and then put my foot in the popcorn when I’ve put it on the floor for a moment… and then we leave, to find my scarf under my butt the whole time. And then we go to another bar… and then we go home… and I realise I left the umbrellas in the last bar and really did just leave them this time. So can you imagine my shock when this guy turns around and says that he would like to see me again????
This time round I planned to make it a more mutual thing where his friends are out and my friends are out and at some point during the night we reconvene in the same place. That way, with my divvy lot out too, there’s less chance of me looking like the biggest fool in the place… and forgetting my head or something. Only I don’t factor into the situation that my sister may want to come out too and proceed to get bladdered and dance like a prostitute with anything within 2 ft of her. Resulting in me having to follow her around all night like a neurotic mother to ensure that she doesn’t end up hotfooting it home with a stranger.
Our third date (yes, we got to a third, even though he has met me – a fool – and my sister – a jezebel) was a lot more run of the mill – dinner in a lovely Italian. That is, until we both spotted the karaoke bar across the road. A hastily ended dinner, and several drinks later, we’ve done a duet to Summer Loving, and are singing the closing song of All That Jazz after being coaxed into it by an overly friendly gay bar man called Mike. Nice stuff. Not so nice was the hangover next morning.
So date four. Tonight I am going somewhere of which I have no clue. I have been told to wear casual clothing, no high heels (I reckon this is a pointless part of the plan – the poor bugger has seen me attempt to walk in heels for longer than an hour, its not pretty – imagine a five year old girl walking around a supermarket needing a pee) and that we will need to get drunk beforehand in order to properly enjoy it.
I would say I’m worried. I would say I’m nervous. But after the farce that has occurred on all occasions before, nothing could bother me about this date. Not even if he bought along his mum. Well maybe a little bit… I’ve never really been too good with them….
Monday 10 August 2009
The Return
Today is the first day that I have been back to work since last Monday…. For I managed to contract the lovely swine flu virus from Bear’s boyfriend the weekend before. Oh yes, I have been infected… and quarantined… and released back into the world… although I can tell you that my colleagues today have frozen in their skins every time I’ve sneezed or coughed… quite comical to watch them twitch as I walk past….
I can tell you now I don’t know what the big hoo ha is about this swine flu. For me, no different to a bit of the good old common-as-you-like flu virus. What was the killer was the bloody Tamiflu tablets! Made me sick as a parrot when I first started taking them and then, I think, just to leave their impression, again on Saturday while trying to navigate the aisles of Sainsbury’s. I didn’t know whether I was going to reach the conveyor belt before throwing up on the chickpeas and dried lentils… but I made it by the skin of my teeth.
So yes, back to work after having four extra days off. I honestly thought that that was going to be the major perk of the swine fluiness… but I didn’t realise just how boring my house is. After two days of sitting in with no one to entertain me, and the usual plethora of utter crap to indulge in on the tellybox, I couldn’t bear to be in my house anymore! Sad, but true, after two days of minimum human contact (one of my less intelligent friends actually put the phone down upon the hearing the revelation that I was ill) I actually missed my workplace.
Now let me tell you about my workplace. I won’t reveal where I work, or what company, and I’m probably not going to mention much about the industry either, as you never know who may read this and one day I may be really giving it a crack on with slagging off the boss… and then the next thing you know I’m homeless and begging for change for the internet café… I work for a rather large company that is familiar to people mainly in London but with branches across England. I work for a particular division of the company, and I am based in the company head office. Still vague? Good.
The office team is made up of 4 secretaries (including myself), 2 typists, 5 permanent ‘head honchos’ shall we call them, and then a couple of consultant ‘head honchos’. Then we have the big boss lady. That’s about it. Now us ladies get on well, and we generally wipe the arses of the ‘head honchos’ as they are all men, and that basically sums up my workplace. And this is what I got to missing…. Bad times.
So now I’m back… I’d really quite like to be sitting on my sofa watching some sort of Jeremy Kyle Sally Jesse rubbish… but isn’t that always the way?
I can tell you now I don’t know what the big hoo ha is about this swine flu. For me, no different to a bit of the good old common-as-you-like flu virus. What was the killer was the bloody Tamiflu tablets! Made me sick as a parrot when I first started taking them and then, I think, just to leave their impression, again on Saturday while trying to navigate the aisles of Sainsbury’s. I didn’t know whether I was going to reach the conveyor belt before throwing up on the chickpeas and dried lentils… but I made it by the skin of my teeth.
So yes, back to work after having four extra days off. I honestly thought that that was going to be the major perk of the swine fluiness… but I didn’t realise just how boring my house is. After two days of sitting in with no one to entertain me, and the usual plethora of utter crap to indulge in on the tellybox, I couldn’t bear to be in my house anymore! Sad, but true, after two days of minimum human contact (one of my less intelligent friends actually put the phone down upon the hearing the revelation that I was ill) I actually missed my workplace.
Now let me tell you about my workplace. I won’t reveal where I work, or what company, and I’m probably not going to mention much about the industry either, as you never know who may read this and one day I may be really giving it a crack on with slagging off the boss… and then the next thing you know I’m homeless and begging for change for the internet café… I work for a rather large company that is familiar to people mainly in London but with branches across England. I work for a particular division of the company, and I am based in the company head office. Still vague? Good.
The office team is made up of 4 secretaries (including myself), 2 typists, 5 permanent ‘head honchos’ shall we call them, and then a couple of consultant ‘head honchos’. Then we have the big boss lady. That’s about it. Now us ladies get on well, and we generally wipe the arses of the ‘head honchos’ as they are all men, and that basically sums up my workplace. And this is what I got to missing…. Bad times.
So now I’m back… I’d really quite like to be sitting on my sofa watching some sort of Jeremy Kyle Sally Jesse rubbish… but isn’t that always the way?
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