April 13th, 2007
|11:07 am - Funny as erm something side-splittingly, pant-wettingly funny...|
Special Constructive Comment of the Week Mention going out to Mr Angry, my dear colleague and consultant to my latest project. Having asked Mr Angry to construct some initial figures, the project manager has now asked me to make a thorough model and persuade Mr Angry to tell me the rationale behind his figures (which seem a little off the wall). Mr Angry appears to be in a sulk that we seemingly don't trust him (with good reason and hey I'm only doing what I was asked to do). I bit the bullet and invited, using much flattery, said person with a short fuse to a meeting to enlighten us on the careful consideration and decades of experience behind his calculations. His response?
"I made them up, so fuck off."
Well it doesn't get much more constructive than that... Debs and I are sorely tempted to turn that exquisite phrase into a tagline for all our models and estimations!
|10:56 am - A day of pent-up, excited, damaged nerves|
I challenge anyone to drive to work in a Dinkycento with Lipps Inc's Funky Town blasting out of the boogie box, the windows down and the sun streaming in and arrive not feeling amused by life. After 6 months on the throne, our esteemed CEO has upset enough people to believe he merits a bulletproof (ok I have no proof for that!) 4x4 Mafia Merc with blackout rear windows. Every time I see him drive into the car park I have to suppress the urge to email him and ask whether he has considered personalising the numberplate. W4NK3R would be my suggestion.
Could someone please explain to me the point of facebook. My future sister in law invited me to join so I did, because I want to show her that I see her as a friend and recognise that she's making an effort. Suddenly people who I have not communicated with for about 4 years come out of the woodwork and listing me as a friend. I think, 'ooh unexpected, random, fair enough', send them messages and get no response. Aside from the fact that I'm really struggling at the moment with people, unintentionally as far as I can see, bringing up extremely painful memories, it just seems like facebook generates a kind of contest to be seen with the longest list of friends. This is tragic! I've swallowed my pride, messaged people as if we've been bosom buddies all these years and for what end? One of my workmates was haranguing me all of yesterday about taekwondo and whether I could teach him some moves. After protesting feebly that we were in the middle of a semi-serious office (by semi I mean half the office are having a major grump about months of uncertainty and the other half are doing cock-a-hoop laps of honour before they leave for better jobs), I decided to silence him with some club photos on the internet. There were all my old friends and my instructors busting incredible moves, there were the guys listing me on facebook and then blanking me, there was a huge chapter of my life that had been brutally ripped out of my story. My workmate kept asking why I didn't train now and I said it was because I had moved down here, which is partly true because I can't find a club in the same fed down here. I'm not afraid of dropping a few belts and working up again. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realised how much has happened since I stopped training and why I stopped training and why I was too ashamed to talk to people at the club and why I feel they abandoned me and why I feel thrown by the facebook listings. One of the 5 tenets of taekwondo is indomitable spirit. Try being dependent on a wheelchair for 6 months, try spending the subsequent 4 months in a psych hospital, try losing a unique scholarship in the field you desperately want to work in, try having one of your new best mates kill himself just as you attempt to live on your own again, try putting some kind of life back together after all that, knowing that you are an embarrassment to everyone and everything you did before.
I wrote a song (I haven't got my notebook here) to calm myself down about how I'm happy if I don't worry about tomorrow, I don't drag up yesterday and I just make the most of today. Cheesy maybe, but it was a kind of affirmation to myself. I am ok, I have done well, I have fun, I have found different old and new interests to enjoy, God loves me and I don't need to worry- indeed it is futile to worry- how or why people remember me.
I'm making my first bid on eBay this week and getting in rather a pickle! Not sure I've got the whole strategy thing sorted out yet. Keep thinking I've made a cunning move- like I checked the other buyers' bid histories and soon sorted the big boys from the wannabes and saw who had bought similar things in the past and was evidently going all-out to make a collection. Then I get overexcited and bid again too soon. It doesn't close until Sunday night so there's 2 more nervewracking days of games and second-guessing! It's a considerably rare book so it's worth putting a little more in than I've currently bid, but I know in the face of buying a house and car that rare books are hardly a priority purchase. I don't mean to covet, but it's really, really tricky!
Current Mood: Dinkycento-tastic
April 10th, 2007
|01:57 pm - Am I living in a box? And driving an even smaller box?|
Well isn't blogging a biatch; the moment life gets interesting, I get too busy to blog and too tired to get my thoughts out as fast as they come into my head. Then I get days like today, when I feel really low and I think 'maybe I should let it all out the way I used to'. Auntie Mickie's dying of lung cancer, suddenly going downhill very rapidly and this is throwing up the usual quesions of faith along with the dilemma of whether I go to see her this weekend or go to Malc's wedding, as planned, and hope she can hold out until the following weekend. Now how callous does that sound? I feel callous anyway and my family don't seem to appreciate why. I almost felt lonely yesterday and that was weird, too. It was Easter Monday, the steam fair was in town and I decided to go and have a look around. Ma said it was a shame I had nobody to go with, which sounds utterly tragic and pitying but is fairly accurate. As I said to her though (I can't remember in reference to what), this is an observation not a criticism. For a moment I did think 'ooh where did everyone go?' and then I remembered...
Friends are overrated
People like what I do even if they probably don't understand who I am
I seldom let myself go through a week without phoning someone
Fitting in is a luxury I will receive in the next life
I have heaps more fun than most people I know
A lone experience is better than no experience
Being seen as popular yet spending 99% of my time by myself is actually a curious achievement!
So off I went. I have a new car this week, a Dinkycento (see entry pic) with a ferocious 900cc, 39bhp engine! It fits into parking spaces sideways, it fits in my handbag; what more could a girl want? My pastor said it's small and cute, just like me. Hmm, except I'm more butch! It seems most bargainous though- insurance is £150 a year and yesterday I filled the tank from empty and it only cost £24! Does it run on air? This is the start of living life in a model village. You see, I am also in the process of buying a weeny, 38m2 flat by the river. My offer's been accepted, the mortgage is approved and the estate agent has a similar opinion of me to my pastor so it's go, go, go except for the legal crap! God-willing, it will all be settled by early May. The bungalow dream has had to be shelved for now, but a new era looms of building flatpack furniture and reclaiming my job as a taste tester for ready meals. I love my parents and it's mostly a lot of fun living with them, but I desperately need my own space, my own sleeping hours (I can only sleep when they're asleep and end up having ridiculously late nights enjoying the silence at 1am!) and a sense of being settled. I'm planning a glorious, rose-tinted summer of having everything in my life sorted, time to dream, time to be creative, time to relax. Yes, I did decide to smile sweetly at the mortgage dude when asked whether there was a chance of me being made redundant. It's more like a certainty, but not in the foreseeable few months. And I will be by the river again, just like in Factory Lane except with a park and boat yards rather than factories and demolition in progress!
Have made a most terrifying decision. Lily, who makes very few commitments to anyone or anything beyond this week and has bad connotations with church membership, has realised that to buy a house 2 minutes from church and not be a member is rather silly. I participate in the worship band every week, am on the listening team, go to a housegroup, do random dramas and have just helped with the church Easter festival so it's not like I'm on the edge looking in. It just seems a bit final being a member; it's a step I've never taken before, but that's probably a contributory factor to my (mostly irrational) fear. I have never felt so welcomed by a church before so it's time to face another fear.
I am having the most pointless day in the history of work. I went off for a 10 day holiday leaving a huge mess and lo! I return to an empty office and nothing to do. Score! I've had a stunningly relaxing time cycling around Exmoor. Good fun, good food, good weather and good roads would be a neat little understatement. It was so beautiful that I stopped cycling at one point and burst into tears, just feeling blown away by the creation God has given us to enjoy. I arrived in style at Watchet on the WSR steam train, I went horse riding in Doone Valley and cantering across the moor, I ate fish n chips by the harbour in Ilfracombe, I spent Palm Sunday meditating at (a totally deserted) Cleeve Abbey, I had a Jane Austen day at Arlington Court complete with a carriage ride, promenading around the lawns and playing a gorgeous 1872 piano and check this, I'm sunburnt! It was one of those weeks you wanted to go on for ever. The final youth hostel in which I stayed was on the hill where All Things Bright and Beautiful was written and you could see all the verses in the view- the purple headed mountains, the river running by, each little flower that opens, each little bird that sings. It was just brilliant. The last time I was in Somerset was 12 years ago and although there were a few bits I recognised, it was quite an adventure and there seemed to be an endless stream of delights to discover. As I was cycling down a wooded lane along the top of the cliffs near Lynton, I passed a National Park sign with the Bible verse 'lift up your heads ye gates, that the King of Glory may come in'. It was unexpected, bizarre and superb; there should be Bible quotes all over the countryside! I don't know how anyone can be out in the hills or by the sea and not feel close to God and think all of this majestic world was a nifty consequence of chance.
There we are Lily; no need to feel down. Remember the wonders of the past week, remember God's love, remember the joys of blogging and killing another hour of a slow day. Choose life, choose procrastination, choose clearing your head out, choose filling cyberspace with pointless ranting, choose sunburn in April and having a glorious time...
Current Mood: mind-bendingly tired
August 31st, 2006
|02:41 pm - Would you like extra fries? Day|
Comedy supermarket promotion of the day: I took a video back to the library this morning and thought, “ooh, I’ll just pop into Marks and get a nice healthy salad for lunch”. I find an appealing salad in the ‘count on us’ healthy range and espy a large red sticker on its lid. “Ooh! I do like a bargain!” thinks Lily. So what have I got free with my nice healthy salad? A 500 calorie, 30 grams of fat (16 grams of saturated) cheesecake! You bet! Come on Marks, you’re just not helping the cause…
It being my birthday, office tradition dictates that I bring in cake (hence the particularly strong urge for a nice healthy salad). Consequently, I had a jolly baking fest last night and made two out of my three favourite sweet farinaceous products, both of which are usually super crowd pleasers: chocolate brownies and carrot & pineapple cake with cheesecake topping and lots of cinnamon. Mmm… the other baking marvel in my top three is topical gingerbread shapes by the way. By topical, I mean as well as the men I have ladies, butterflies, stars and some especially versatile (or ambiguous) cutters that double up as angels at Christmas and backpackers at other times if baking for a hiking trip! Anyway, the cake’s are going like they are hot. I’m quite hyper today; got up at six to ice the cake, popped to Tesco and was at my desk by 7:30!
Every day, Mr Angry brings a newspaper to work and every day by early afternoon he has slammed it down on the desk in disgust, usually with a summons of “Lily, is it me or is this guy a w*nker?” I just asked him if there was any idiots in the paper today and he said “no, just politicians”. I like that. I have the best bunch of guys to work with in the world.
I do, however, have slight concerns about their choice of birthday card: two aged naturists on a tandem! I went rather red in the face opening that in front of everyone! Where did you get that card? There was also a pot of bubbles in the envelope! All in all, it was immensely random, but highly amusing.
I’m doing something rash today: signing up to my own mobile phone contract. Dad has been looking after this for me since I was eighteen, but it’s high time I did it myself. It’s stupid; I mean I’m not stupid so I ought to be able to manage these things myself. I don’t know why I get so overfaced by anything to do with bills and forms and contracts; I’m still sorting out stuff from my old house and I moved out nearly a year ago! For goodness sake, Lily! Dad is obviously not going to be around forever and I’m most definitely an adult so I need to be able to cope with these things. Dad’s workfriend has found an offer too good to miss- a bargainous monthly fee inclusive of more minutes and texts than I should ever need and a free phone with mp3 player, camera, video, sat nav, email and internet. Hell, it even does phone calls! It’s a risk signing up for eighteen months, but I think I’ll manage better with a contract than pay as you go; I can’t ever run out of credit and the direct debit should look after itself more or less. I’m still nervous, though!
I’m hanging around waiting for people to assemble for a meeting. Think I’m in for a long day! I’ve bought some new card making stuff and I’m taking it all round to Wendy’s tonight to have a card making sesh with the gang. I don’t think they’ve done much of that kinda thing before so it will be fun to share with them.
Shout going out to my almost twin Becky! God bless us in our advancing age.
Current Mood: mega mega skill skill
August 30th, 2006
|08:08 am - X marks the mushrooms Day|
Why is it that every time I walk into a supermarket, no matter how rushed and flustered I attempt to look, the supermarket staff always look up in unison and think, “now here is a girl who likes to have fun. Here is a girl who appreciates a treasure hunt”. Special mentions should go to Budgens:
“Excuse me, where can I find eggs?”
“Next to the coffee”
A moment of puzzlement… no! I get it! Now I go and ask someone else where the coffee is! What a scream!
And also Tesco:
“Excuse me, where can I find mushrooms?”
“Next to the mushroom sign”
That was an enlightening clue. Thanks, I am now feeling particularly intelligent. Can I ask you where I find the mushroom sign?
I had an entertaining as always chat on the phone last night with Granny Cool. “Lily”, she says, “it’s all been a bit busy. I don’t think I’m going to get you a birthday present organised by Friday.” You would never guess that I’ve had my birthday on the same date for 25 years. She makes it sound like I’ve chosen this Friday as some kind of mischievous trick just to be inconvenient! Oh well, I’m not totally averse to my birthday stretching into a month long Lily Festival. Bring it on Grannio! I also eagerly await an Auntie Dot Glue and Glitter Extravaganza. I shouldn’t laugh; she’s nearly 90 and almost blind and thus quite legendary to still be making cards by hand. She has also had to accept the weighty mantle of equally great greetings card randomness long carried by Auntie Elsie until her death. Elsie’s “Hurrah! You’re 16!” card on my 18th was without a shadow of doubt one of the most hilarious and memorable birthday moments of my life and will never cease to make me chuckle. I think it was the “hurrah” that made it so funny, as if it was a huge relief that this momentous occasion had arrived. It took considerable willpower not to write “Hurrah! You’re senile!” on the corresponding thank you letter to her. God bless her soul.
Steve reassured me that he had remembered my birthday. Apparently this is easy, because it is the same date as his first wife’s new husband. Well of course! His daughter, Katie, has her birthday today by the way. I like having a magic date of birth; to my addled brain, this is what makes my birthday easy to remember. I was born in 1981 on the 1st day of the 9th month- in other words 1.9.81. Nobody in the current century will have the privilege of such a magic date. I think the next date with this magic will be 2.1.00. Please do not think that I view myself with some mysticism or am dictating national observation of Lily Day, I’m just mysteriously excited for the first time in years!
I am also fretting about Audrey’s wedding on Saturday. Not so much in terms of bad memories of previous weddings, a whole weekend of strained conversations and the absence of any music yet for my solo, but mostly in relation to my Marilyn Monroe dress. Pretty white floatiness and sleevelessness had seemed such a good idea mid-heatwave. Now it is freezing and rainy and my period is due. Nuff said.
My boss sent through a new target sheet today, with the deadlines for my projects. It was from the progress meeting I had a month ago, but he’s not had a chance to write it before now. I have to read it through, just to check that I agree. Suddenly I spot tomorrow’s date next to a particularly substantial piece of work on which I have done substantially little (hopefully due to other commitments) and the smile freezes on my face. It was a similar feeling to an incident at the barbecue on Monday. A lady asked if I had any nieces and nephews, to which I replied in the affirmative. She then asked his age and where he lived and I answered both questions. “Oh, lovely, that’s not too far away. Some people have nephews in Australia and never see them. That must be so awful, it’s unimaginable”. It was at this point that my smile froze and I excused myself to go and top-up my (non-alcoholic) drink.
Praise God, Laura has decided I'm "cool" again. Well probably not cool, but she's back to her old self and we've met up at lunchtime a couple of times in the past week and had fun. For all our differences, she is a good friend. Shel has also been back at work this week, although I don't think she'll stay with us long if another job comes up. On a similar theme, Anna has a job tomorrow 150 miles away from here. She's in a specialist line of work so if there's a good placement, she needs to go for it pretty much regardless of where in the country she would be located. I'll miss her a lot though. I miss Mike, but I guess I ought to try phoning him again.
Anyway, onwards and upwards! Nose to the coalface!
Current Mood: bit early to say!
August 29th, 2006
|08:32 am - Handbags, gladrags and cheesecake Day|
So there I was, running down the high street on Bank Holiday Monday with a cheesecake in one hand and handbag in the other. It had been a culinary disaster on an epic scale, considering I had decided to play safe by creating a pudding I have created many times before without major incident. Here you are, Lily’s easy peasy method for how not to create a lemon meringue pie in 3 hours:
· Assemble ingredients and realise that you have no sugar.
· Make errand to the supermarket through bank holiday traffic to fetch sugar.
· Roll out pastry and stun yourself with how well it has gone into its dish.
· Realise that lemons would be a vital ingredient for said lemon meringue and make second errand to the supermarket through bank holiday traffic.
· Heat the lemon goo too quickly so that it doesn’t thicken.
· Flush said goo down the toilet, only to watch it miraculously thicken and block the toilet.
· Heat a second batch of lemon goo to a passable turgidity and spread onto the pastry.
· Feeling like you’re now on the up, take a treasured bowl out of the cupboard in such an upbeat manner that it flies out of your hand and smashes.
· Create a superb meringue and top the lemon goo and pastry.
· Realise that you have not baked the pastry prior to filling the pie, thus rendering the masterpiece inedible.
· Make third errand to the supermarket through bank holiday traffic to fetch bought cheesecake.
Et voila mes amis! Une catastrophe idiotique, n’est pas? Quelle blague! Certainement, j’ai ri beaucoup et toutes les mouches sur les murs avaient mouri de rire aussi.
My quasi-infuriated outburst at the telly on Saturday night sums up rather neatly how intelligent a weekend I had: “I don’t need subtitles; I can read!” Tante pis, even an IQ of 140 needs a holiday sometimes…
Dizzy! I’m so dizzy my head is spinning… Maybe going on a big wheel didn’t help. After astounding my friends with a gourmet Italian surprise on Saturday (two meat, two cheese, mushroom and tomato pasta bake followed by just one Cornetto (each)- woo!), we went for a rather civilised postprandial potter in Windsor. We saw the castle- not seeing the World’s largest castle would be quite an oversight!- Nell Gwyn’s house, the Guildhall (where Prince Charles and Elton John got married, though rather boringly not to each other), the Crooked House and lots of ecstatic Japanese tourists. The good sheriff of Windsor (or something) has also put up a mini London Eye for the summer season, so we (and any budding terrorists) were able to survey Windsor in all its ye olde splendour from above. Gail and I were a little unnerved, being not so fond of heights, but it was great fun.
I had a rather comedic answer to prayer on Sunday. I prayed on Saturday night that I would sleep better, after a rough night on Friday and woke up on Sunday highly refreshed… at 10:30! This meant I arrived at church 15 minutes late in a greasy haired fluster spluttering, “I’m late, but God was to blame!” There is so much love in that church. That was possibly the cheesiest thing I have written this year, but once again tante pis. The vicar talked about how you can feel like you don’t fit in with other Christians and how hard it can be to forgive other Christians. Lily wept. A lady who I hadn’t spoken to previously came and prayed with me and made a loose invite to dinner one day. The vicar also wants to come round to my house and talk to me one evening, which is even more daunting. I prayed with the lady that I wouldn’t be defensive and that God would show me if this was the right church and how best I could serve Him. I really want to make a concerted effort to try and settle in this town and I know I won’t do that without a church in which I can be active and feel at home. I mean this much more as an onus on myself than the church. This weekend I’ve also been praying and meditating on how I can be kinder to Ma and Pa when they return from their adventure in Derbyshire. They seem almost scared of me recently and I’m not having that; I’m not going back to being hard-hearted and I’m not having them walk on eggshells in their own house. It was really refreshing and fun to have my own space for once, but I did miss them and I do feel like I’ve been unnecessarily mardy recently. This is especially not clever in the week before my birthday, but I promise that is not the principle reason for my concern!
As a young, single woman it is a little cretinous for me to comment on parenting related matters. However, I will admit to watching an intriguing programme on telly last night about attached parenting and being horrified and grossly entertained all at once. The gist of this phenomenon, as passionately explained by a family from Northumberland, is that by allowing your child to breastfeed until primary school age they will have the maturity and independence to decide for themselves whether to take academic exams. “Tigers learn to hunt through play and children can learn everything they need in the same way”. Flawless logic that in 2006, mmm… Cots, highchairs and pushchairs are incarcerating, from birth children can be won over through reasoning and persuasion and school is ‘not fun’ and must therefore be avoided on pain of death. I worried in equal measures for both child and mother (because it was predominantly female extremists) upon the child reaching adulthood; the child facing independence after not having been separate from the mother for more than two minutes in their entire life and the mother with no interests or focus beyond her child facing a bottomless void of pointlessness upon the child leaving home. It would be interesting, if distastefully voyeuristic, for the programme to do one of those ‘Seven Up’ series of sequels.
At the opposite extreme from attached parenting, I had a real life convo at the weekend with a forty-something guy about parenting. I’m not going to say much, merely quote the following: “we realised we weren’t doing anything in the evenings except having dinner and going to bed early. Having kids have given us something to do in between dinner and bed.” Ever heard of bingo? I promise you, this guy was utterly serious. Praise God for granting me parents with an untameable sense of happy medium- they let me run wild, but they were there for me 24/7 not just postprandial (hey twice in one rant!). For all their crazy proclamations, my parents suddenly seem quite rational. I’m not going to rage about love, because I’m sure both the real life convo guy and the attached parents love their kids deeply. For the record though, in 99% of the situations I have encountered, I would choose my parents’ methods of showing parental love over what I have seen in and learnt about other parents.
It was all a bit parental yesterday; I went to a barbecue at my friend Andrea’s house accompanied by my sprint-finish cheesecake (see above). Lots of the other invitees had small children with them, which is marginally bewildering initially in that I am always consumed by a dread that they might expect me to interact with said small children and enthuse about their most basic functions (kicking legs, pooing etc.). Sure enough, Barnabas (age 2) decided my head and boobs would make a great highway for his truck and Seth (age 3) gave me an incomprehensible but lengthy speech and then stood there looking expectant for a good 30 seconds. I sometimes feel like telling parents that cuteness is a subjective thing, but then as this crossed my mind yesterday, a strange and troubling thing happened. I was left holding baby Jacob whilst his mother hunted toy cars in the shrubby jungle and I actually felt pangs of gooey sentiment towards this little chap. He really was wonderful, not just because he refrained from screaming and ripping my earrings out of my ears, but in the way he looked up at me all big trusting eyes and contentedness. This was the utopian image of motherhood as fun and affecting that is so ensnaring to teenage girls and forty-somethings with postprandial boredom. Now I get it!
I had a good chat with Steve last night about parenty things, too. In response to his concerns about me minding him having the kids around when I visit, I made the bold statement that his children are part of him so part of being with him is being with them. I do believe I have to stick with that. I would, in honesty, rather just have time with him by ourselves but he should never feel like he has to choose between seeing his kids and seeing me. That would be domineering and freakish; I should support him in his priority of being a dad, because I am proud of the increasing effort he’s been putting in during the time I have known him.
I phoned my esteemed friend Paddy to warn him of my impending visit Oop Norf. He gave me a briefing on the latest scandals- engagements, break ups, elopements, other departures, mayoral diddling, mid-life crises etc- and commented that he was about the only one left who was sane. Then he proceeded to tell me that two friends had had a petty argument, Wol had pushed over the female person involved in the argument and Paddy had called the police to charge Wol with assault. In short, saying that you are the only sane person in town after deliberately getting your friend a criminal record seems a little risible to me, not that I wish to cast stones…
I watched several films at the weekend, which I do if I’m home alone. As well as the old favourites of O Brother Where Art Thou? and Watership Down, I can thoroughly recommend that you watch Life is Beautiful. Without a doubt, it is the best film of which I have had an inaugural viewing this year. I felt a bit defeatist at first, because it was in Italian with English subtitles flashing up too fast to read, but I am so glad I persevered. If you want to see a quirky, refreshing and insightful take on human life and resilience to adversity, go and rent this film. Absolute brilliance.
Current Mood: busy, dizzy and whizzy
August 25th, 2006
|08:16 am - Tummies, willies, silly billies Day|
It’s ok! I’m alive, alive oh; I’ve just been celebrating National Gut Week in style. Bring on the diarrhoea! Bring on the food poisoning! Bring on the stomach cramps! Seize the licence to binge!
OK Mr Blair, I know we’ve had our disagreements in the past, but this little conspiracy is rather harsh. I’m not that obtuse- I was happy to make note of National Gut Week and spread the word to my fellow brethren about being kind to the gut. Feed it milk! Feed it soup! Etcetera… There was no need to hit me with the stomach situation from hell just to drive the campaign message home. Obviously, a little sprint training the length of the office to the bathroom is useful for honing my ‘run for the bus’ muscles and I am employed in the business of sewage so I might as well keep the wolves from my door and maximise my contribution to the system, so to speak. I have been feeling a little mardy, though, a little ruffled and very, very sore. Maybe it was punishment for eating jelly for breakfast on the Sabbath. “He shall smite ye oh Israel who eateth of the satanic gelatine, spawned from the hooves of the cloven footed beasts!”
This week’s prize conundrum is courtesy of my uncle, currently on holiday in South Africa. Who amongst you can solve the following cryptic text? “Hi Lily can you text your Captain Corellies (sic, in other words I can’t spell it either!) mandolin story. Ta.” The clues I can offer you are that he included my name- so it was destined for my phone, I have never read the book in question, never been on safari and do not play the mandolin or have a weekend job telling comedic mandolin-inspired stories.
Other than a licence to binge, Ging gave me an unconditional licence to be patronising. He phoned me at 3am possibly Wednesday morning in an uncharacteristic rage (though not uncharacteristic timing) demanding I spoke to him. I was very sleepy, half-delirious with Blairitis (see above) yet strangely unflappable so I dropped the phone on the floor and ignored his rants and subsequent texts. I gave him a quasi-stern lecture the following evening along the lines of “I have come to accept your drunken, abusive phone calls as an intrinsic component of your ever exuberant charm, however please limit this to before midnight on a weekday or 2am at weekends. Much as I love you and have a uniquely resilient ability to overcome exasperation, this is not amongst those abundant talents of yours that I most appreciate or wish to nurture. I am saddened that the entertainment you generously bestow is tainted by my inability to afford you the level of respect to which I believe every upright citizen is entitled. Please channel your self-evident energy into greater endeavours to restrain your wanton and persistent tendency to undermine the credibility of your counter-efforts to be mature and trustworthy.” Who says our friendship is destructive?
Wishing you a merry and sunkissed weekend one and all!
Current Mood: entertained by the masses