Y'know those times we all dread? The times we (well, not me 'cause I'm a laydeeee - cough) allow an unguarded fart to fall from our arses. They always seem to rip out in a satisfying manner only for you to realise you aren't alone! That recently happened to a rellie of mine (you know who you are!) I had a similar but 'un-guilty' experience which is, in fact, just as bad.
Right, I was at the gym and had worked hard so was a bit on the sweaty side. Being a fucking short-arse I had to get on my tippie-toes to get on the exercise bike (even though I'd lowered the saddle to dwarf height) and well, I sort of dragged my arse across the seat and, to my mortification, it made a squeaky sort of loud fart sound! It wasn't a fart but by fuck it sure sounded like one and there were people there - REAL people who I don't know. No one moved (other than to continue exercising) or looked my way but my reaction was as if I really had let out a gigantic fart and no matter how much I squidged around on the seat I couldn't reproduce that sound in order to prove my innocence. I looked at myself in the giant mirror and could see the fart-guilt written all over my face. I wondered how people would react if I jumped down from the bike, stood at the front and explained to everyone that I wasn't guilty of a fart crime but then people might not have heard me after all and then they might believe I WAS guilty of the fart. What a dilemma. I just continued pedaling in the sure knowledge that every time those people came to the gym and saw me they'd associate me with farts and there's nothing I could do about it.
Other than that, I had a couple of food related accidents. We ordered a lovely pizza and I was attempting to add a little salt (which some people find weird). The salt was still in the container it came in and had become a little damp. All I did was smack the thing a bit hard but the lid came off and the entire pot of salt landed on my frickin' dinner! I did try to brush it off and carry on eating but it was so horrible I could feel a salt related Stroke coming on so had to throw it away. Sigh. The next day I put a plastic pot of pumpkin soup in my bag and rushed off to work. Fuck (I'm rather sweary again aren't I?) knows how I did it but the plastic container split and I ended up with a bag full of mushed pumpkin. It looked as if I'd vomited into the thing. I have done that before (only it was purple from over-drinking pernod and black. Jesus Christ, what had I been thinking?) I wonder if I can post photos to this thing...
I wonder if Samuel Pepys ever diarised his own humiliations or discussed farting. I'll tell you something else that arsehole Pepys never did - took photos of dirty toilets! Did they have cameras in those days? Well, ok then, did that arsehole Pepys ever sketch a dirty toilet and then paint it in oils? Did they have toilets in those days? I'm probably getting confused with Black Adder and the woman who preferred to 'crap out of the window'. Blimey, do you think Pepys crapped out of a window? Nah, he'd have a poe. Any way, I am slowly collecting pictures of dreadfully unloved toilets. You may wonder why. So do I.
PS. I don't know why Pepys suddenly became an arsehole in this diary. He was probably a totally ok bloke (despite being rich and powerful).
Sketty (30 September - ?)isn’t a 17th Century English naval administrator or Member of Parliament. Furthermore, she has never met King Charles II or King James II. This may be due to both being dead at the time of her life. In fact, this isn’t so much a diary but the unedited spewings from the brain of one of the Century’s leading cretins. Some of it may develop into comedy unless I get to spend time in a lovely facility where someone will give me dinner.
Saturday 23 October 2010
Wednesday 13 October 2010
Too much thinking
I've been really twitchy today. Weirdly twitchy in the kind of way I felt a bit like I wanted to shout out random abusive words or jump high into the air and kick like a Ninja (in my mind I'd have looked like a Ninja. In reality I'd have looked a complete dick). I did ease some of the pressure by calling my sort of 'mental health twin' work colleague a motherfucker, a wanker and a moron. Don't worry, she appreciated it and we laughed heartily as we abused each other in the office. I seem to recall being called a tosser, a twat and an arsehole.
At lunch time I went upstairs to the staff room and ended up laughing loudly in the face of another work colleague who had been sitting there quietly eating an orange. I, in fact, could not stop laughing for a while when I realised I'd walked into a previously quiet room in minor hysterics and had therefore shocked a colleague. If you can't shock a colleague every day then I don't know WHAT you can do! I felt I had to offer her some sort of explanation as I then became, through my tears of laughter, paranoid that SHE would be paranoid that I was laughing at her. The thing is, as I'd run up the stairs I'd got the handle of a spoon in my mouth (yeah, well....I could have just held the spoon but I've got a life to lead and it was all too much effort to use a gripping action at lunch time), and, as I'd bounced up the stairs I remembered the thing at school where people always yell that you shouldn't run with a pen in your mouth or with scissors in your hand. I was then whisked away into another reverie where I could see myself falling backwards on the stairs with a look of shock on my face, spoon handle still in my mouth and arms flailing as I blindly tried to grip at something to stop me from falling. I then saw myself lying crumpled at the bottom of the stairs sort of dead with a spoon handle jammed into the roof of my mouth and either out of my eye or into the base of my brain (yeah, my own demise - hysterical. These flashes only lasted for about 6 stairs. Wonder if I achieved some sort of ridiculous reverie record). I, of course, shared this with my bewildered colleague who really didn't see what was so funny and I agree, it wasn't really funny but y'know, it sorta was. You should have seen the look on my face as I was falling - BRILLIANT!
She then, in a flash of weird paranoia (this is what my place of work is like) said I can't die on the stairs as they'd all think she'd pushed me. I agreed and said I would therefore intend to live and I'd blame her only no one would understand what I was saying as I'd have a big fuck-off hole in the roof of my mouth. As I impersonated how I'd sound, my colleague was busy worrying about how she'd get the blame for it all and said I would still be able to write my blame for her down and then she'd lose her job. I totally love the fact my mid-morning insanity spread to another. I am also proud that I recognise that my mind hasn't been right today. Hello, I'm Sketty and today my mental health is a bit fragile in a freaky rather than sad kind of way!
So, after lunch time my twitchiness continued and I shared with my original (and complicit) work colleague that I often fantasise about throwing myself to the floor and screaming loudly over and over whilst twitching and flailing about. She agreed that this would be lovely. I then asked whether, when she's dealing with an arsehole or someone really moaning and it saps your will to live, whether she's ever suppressed the desire to just flash her vadge at them by way of a response before just walking away. She laughed and said that it would be brilliant.
Then, to be serious we discussed that these were the thoughts of proper crazy people and that the only thing that set us apart was our 'self control chip'. We're both hypochondriacs so we then spent the rest of the afternoon silently worrying that as we grew older our 'chips' might start to fail and then we would genuinely become like those people who walk around town shadow boxing at the heavens, flashing our 'lady garden areas' at strangers or randomly shouting or laughing. Or, right - the 'chip' might just fail during times of stress and we would (I say 'we', on reflection, I was doing most of the talking and my colleague may have been humouring me. Nah, she was right there with me!) just do it at work and wreck our careers!
Bloody hell, I got debts and she wants a new car!
Mental Health Colleague started to bite her bottom lip with worry and said that we'd get taken away and put away somewhere. This in fact sounds lovely. Taken away and put in a bed (with Valium? She'd asked, perking up) YES.
"So Sketty, where do you see yourself in 5 years time?"
"Medicated and in a secure unit please!"
Lovely. I hope the dinners are nice.
I now have to discuss why I posted all of this on-line with myself. I think it was cathartic - I needed to get rid of it all just so I can lay the twitchiness to rest. I do actually feel better but I did go to the gym for the first time since just before I went away. It broke my heart but I had to go. I've noticed that over time I've lost weight and toned up somewhat by my stupid tits remain the same ridiculously gigantic size. Stupid tits :(
At lunch time I went upstairs to the staff room and ended up laughing loudly in the face of another work colleague who had been sitting there quietly eating an orange. I, in fact, could not stop laughing for a while when I realised I'd walked into a previously quiet room in minor hysterics and had therefore shocked a colleague. If you can't shock a colleague every day then I don't know WHAT you can do! I felt I had to offer her some sort of explanation as I then became, through my tears of laughter, paranoid that SHE would be paranoid that I was laughing at her. The thing is, as I'd run up the stairs I'd got the handle of a spoon in my mouth (yeah, well....I could have just held the spoon but I've got a life to lead and it was all too much effort to use a gripping action at lunch time), and, as I'd bounced up the stairs I remembered the thing at school where people always yell that you shouldn't run with a pen in your mouth or with scissors in your hand. I was then whisked away into another reverie where I could see myself falling backwards on the stairs with a look of shock on my face, spoon handle still in my mouth and arms flailing as I blindly tried to grip at something to stop me from falling. I then saw myself lying crumpled at the bottom of the stairs sort of dead with a spoon handle jammed into the roof of my mouth and either out of my eye or into the base of my brain (yeah, my own demise - hysterical. These flashes only lasted for about 6 stairs. Wonder if I achieved some sort of ridiculous reverie record). I, of course, shared this with my bewildered colleague who really didn't see what was so funny and I agree, it wasn't really funny but y'know, it sorta was. You should have seen the look on my face as I was falling - BRILLIANT!
She then, in a flash of weird paranoia (this is what my place of work is like) said I can't die on the stairs as they'd all think she'd pushed me. I agreed and said I would therefore intend to live and I'd blame her only no one would understand what I was saying as I'd have a big fuck-off hole in the roof of my mouth. As I impersonated how I'd sound, my colleague was busy worrying about how she'd get the blame for it all and said I would still be able to write my blame for her down and then she'd lose her job. I totally love the fact my mid-morning insanity spread to another. I am also proud that I recognise that my mind hasn't been right today. Hello, I'm Sketty and today my mental health is a bit fragile in a freaky rather than sad kind of way!
So, after lunch time my twitchiness continued and I shared with my original (and complicit) work colleague that I often fantasise about throwing myself to the floor and screaming loudly over and over whilst twitching and flailing about. She agreed that this would be lovely. I then asked whether, when she's dealing with an arsehole or someone really moaning and it saps your will to live, whether she's ever suppressed the desire to just flash her vadge at them by way of a response before just walking away. She laughed and said that it would be brilliant.
Then, to be serious we discussed that these were the thoughts of proper crazy people and that the only thing that set us apart was our 'self control chip'. We're both hypochondriacs so we then spent the rest of the afternoon silently worrying that as we grew older our 'chips' might start to fail and then we would genuinely become like those people who walk around town shadow boxing at the heavens, flashing our 'lady garden areas' at strangers or randomly shouting or laughing. Or, right - the 'chip' might just fail during times of stress and we would (I say 'we', on reflection, I was doing most of the talking and my colleague may have been humouring me. Nah, she was right there with me!) just do it at work and wreck our careers!
Bloody hell, I got debts and she wants a new car!
Mental Health Colleague started to bite her bottom lip with worry and said that we'd get taken away and put away somewhere. This in fact sounds lovely. Taken away and put in a bed (with Valium? She'd asked, perking up) YES.
"So Sketty, where do you see yourself in 5 years time?"
"Medicated and in a secure unit please!"
Lovely. I hope the dinners are nice.
I now have to discuss why I posted all of this on-line with myself. I think it was cathartic - I needed to get rid of it all just so I can lay the twitchiness to rest. I do actually feel better but I did go to the gym for the first time since just before I went away. It broke my heart but I had to go. I've noticed that over time I've lost weight and toned up somewhat by my stupid tits remain the same ridiculously gigantic size. Stupid tits :(
Saturday 9 October 2010
Dead woman's case thing pt. 4 San Diego
Evenin' all. Had a nice long lie in today, blew off going to the gym (heck, I'll go tomorrow) in order to lie in bed watching re-runs of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and to be appalled that the hairy dog which I had earlier discovered had eased me against the wall and taken over most of my bed (complete with her head on my pillow)was now licking her arse next to my face. Pet ownership really is a misery. Nothing else noteworthy happened today so I'll get straight into the next part of my travel journal.
Monday 20th September 2010 - San Diego: Spent most of last night puking [this is a lovely start to my journal isn't it? You'll soon discover the full extent of my shitty digestion] and being wide awake. My chest feels like it's had a good kicking. I coughed and coughed all night from the reflux I get but felt surprisingly chipper today. Everyone else on the tour is actually very pleasant [take note of this sentence and laugh heartily as my opinion rapidly changes].
Had to be on the bus for 8am - what a godforsaken hour to be setting out when on holiday! Actually, it turned out to be ok and we were taken on a tour of San Diego. Beautiful architecture and interesting. Very Mexican and at the harbour really military. Had photo stops at a giant statue of a sailor kissing a nurse which was inspired by the famous photo taken of V.J. Day and put on the cover of Time magazine. Also loved the Bob Hope entertaining the troops memorial (with sound). As a stand up I felt a lot of warmth for this memorial and could only dream of having such an appreciative audience (oh, and talent no doubt). We also stopped somewhere else but I couldn't see the point of that one, it was just a grassy area near the bay. Mom and I took the piss out of the abundance of joggers running, no, NOT running; staggering along at less than crawling speed and with pained expressions on their stupid faces. I've run in the past - I was forced to by my friend Nigel who was immune to my crying and pretending to be dead whenever he came around, and I can confirm that even in that state I wasn't as ridiculous looking as the joggers I saw during that stop! Mom and I have already got a nickname for an actually very pleasant woman on the trip who's genuinely got no ankles - Cankles. Her husband is Mr Cankles (for calves/ankles). We're wicked bleeders we really are.
Stopped and had some cake and fed all the little sparrows (I bloody love little cheeky sparrows). They must have found the cake a little dry as they all flew to a nearby fountain and drank heartily before coming back for more cake. Gawd bless 'em. At the end of the tour we were given an hour and a half to look around Old San Diego which was really Mexican and, I thought brilliant but Mom didn't care much for any of it so we didn't spend much time in the shops which were full of stuff for the Day of the Dead festival. I figured housemate Steph (the goth) would love some of the stuff but then realised it was a bit too bulky to carry PLUS it was potentially just ebay fodder I'll hang on and see if I can find any thing Steam Punk for her. I know I'm worrying my mother with my inability to eat without puking and I don't want it to be an issue as I know I get good days and bad days. I was able to get a cheese salad for lunch (at a place called O'Hungry's) and kept it all down (thank fuck for that). Felt better once I'd eaten.
My phone is really pissing me off. Been getting loads of Twitter updates and Steph's attempt to stop them failed and now I'm getting phone updates from all 94 people I follow. It's a fucking misery and because I'm abroad it's costing me a fortune! I know it's pissing my mother off. Note to self: Dump Twitter when I get home.
After this tour we were sent on a harbour tour. Sat on top deck and it was really rather pleasant until the boat turned around and sailed into the wind. Bloody Brass Monkey's (for non-UK people that means it was cold enough for 'balls' to drop off). Mom was disappointed that we saw just one....oh I can't think what it's called now - bird with a big beak that hangs down and fills with fish. I've got 'Gannet' or 'Heron' stuck in my head but it's neither of them. Perhaps I'll remember before I finish. We did get to see a bunch of fat seals basking on a platform. That was cool. We hung on in the wind freezing our tits off until the boat turned again but it was still bloody cold so we decided to go below decks. Found a diamond ring on the floor but gave it to the foreign woman with bad teeth and poorly applied lipstick who had been sitting there. She didn't thank me, miserable freak-faced cow. [I'M GOING TO EDIT OUT THE NEXT PART OF THE JOURNAL AS IT MAKES ME LOOK REALLY BAD. MWHAHAHAHAHA!]
Back on shore we were given a couple of hours to explore Seaport Village which was really cute and interesting but there was nothing really to buy. There was a pet shop full of dog costumes (if only Batdog wasn't so old and the Kraken not so mad I've have got the shark costume or the ear of corn one), a Pirate shop run by a bloke dressed as a Pirate (is there much call for Pirate stuff on a daily basis?), a Christmas shop which aims to remain open ALL year and another that just sells wind chimes. All lovely shops but how do they survive? I can't imagine the wind chime shop would get much repeat business as, let's face it, once you've got something dinging in your garden you don't really need something dinging at a slightly different pitch a yard away.
...or is it just me? Have I no imagination or magnificence to my soul?
Did buy a giant chunk of fudge for us both - I had Rocky Road and Mom had Maple and Walnut. Came to nearly $14!!!! Fuck, had I inadvertently walked back into the Pirate shop or even the Daylight Robbery shop? Robbing bastards. Did have the most perfect ice cream in the world though. Cop this for perfection:
Ben & Jerry's (I've got your attention already haven't I?) IMAGINE WHIRLED PEACE in a choc and nut waffle cone. I died and went to heaven until I started to feel sick 'cause it was too big and rich. Like a proper girl though I carried on eating the bugger. Then a really tatty, death's door type pigeon started to hang around. I gave him a bit of cone and where there had previously been NO wildlife for miles, a bunch of other pigeons came down so we just left. My betting is they keep 'Brian' looking sickly and send him out to look pathetic around the tourists. The legend (amongst pigeons) that is 'Brian the Bait' !
Oh yeah, we found Kettner Boulevard. Probably named after yet another sodding rich and unknown to my bit of the family relative. The Fates really do like to yank my chain about how my portion of the ancestry pool did shitly for themselves and therefore left no legacy for me to live off and become arrogant about. I'd LOVE to be rich and arrogant. People say that I wouldn't be the person I am today had I not experienced the shit I've experienced but I say 'who gives a shit?' Who WANTS to be me with my personality. I have to edit down my journal posts so as to hide the fact I'm really rather horrible and judgemental. I might be nice and rich if only my ancestors had got off their arses and worked a bit harder at saving Kings or inventing stuff. Lazy bunch of dead bastards....
Mom gave a homeless guy $5 but he was so out of it he didn't even look up. I think she felt bad for him 'cause I'd pointed out that he'd got a packet of Uncle Ben's dry rice in his shopping cart. Where the bleedin' hell is he going to cook that? He also had a pot of mustard.
For dinner I had linguine in a creamy pesto sauce and was able to keep it down (yay for my digestion!). Heard my mom fart in the night and discovered it was a gentle little whisper of fart. Started to form a theory that when at rest and the 'ring-piece' has no real tension to it, farts are unable to 'rip' themselves out and into the world. Would like to research this but wouldn't know where to start and I don't know who would be interested in the findings.
PELICAN!
It was a Pelican. It's now 5am and I'm wide awake. Can still hear fucking Twitter messages coming through.
Monday 20th September 2010 - San Diego: Spent most of last night puking [this is a lovely start to my journal isn't it? You'll soon discover the full extent of my shitty digestion] and being wide awake. My chest feels like it's had a good kicking. I coughed and coughed all night from the reflux I get but felt surprisingly chipper today. Everyone else on the tour is actually very pleasant [take note of this sentence and laugh heartily as my opinion rapidly changes].
Had to be on the bus for 8am - what a godforsaken hour to be setting out when on holiday! Actually, it turned out to be ok and we were taken on a tour of San Diego. Beautiful architecture and interesting. Very Mexican and at the harbour really military. Had photo stops at a giant statue of a sailor kissing a nurse which was inspired by the famous photo taken of V.J. Day and put on the cover of Time magazine. Also loved the Bob Hope entertaining the troops memorial (with sound). As a stand up I felt a lot of warmth for this memorial and could only dream of having such an appreciative audience (oh, and talent no doubt). We also stopped somewhere else but I couldn't see the point of that one, it was just a grassy area near the bay. Mom and I took the piss out of the abundance of joggers running, no, NOT running; staggering along at less than crawling speed and with pained expressions on their stupid faces. I've run in the past - I was forced to by my friend Nigel who was immune to my crying and pretending to be dead whenever he came around, and I can confirm that even in that state I wasn't as ridiculous looking as the joggers I saw during that stop! Mom and I have already got a nickname for an actually very pleasant woman on the trip who's genuinely got no ankles - Cankles. Her husband is Mr Cankles (for calves/ankles). We're wicked bleeders we really are.
Stopped and had some cake and fed all the little sparrows (I bloody love little cheeky sparrows). They must have found the cake a little dry as they all flew to a nearby fountain and drank heartily before coming back for more cake. Gawd bless 'em. At the end of the tour we were given an hour and a half to look around Old San Diego which was really Mexican and, I thought brilliant but Mom didn't care much for any of it so we didn't spend much time in the shops which were full of stuff for the Day of the Dead festival. I figured housemate Steph (the goth) would love some of the stuff but then realised it was a bit too bulky to carry PLUS it was potentially just ebay fodder I'll hang on and see if I can find any thing Steam Punk for her. I know I'm worrying my mother with my inability to eat without puking and I don't want it to be an issue as I know I get good days and bad days. I was able to get a cheese salad for lunch (at a place called O'Hungry's) and kept it all down (thank fuck for that). Felt better once I'd eaten.
My phone is really pissing me off. Been getting loads of Twitter updates and Steph's attempt to stop them failed and now I'm getting phone updates from all 94 people I follow. It's a fucking misery and because I'm abroad it's costing me a fortune! I know it's pissing my mother off. Note to self: Dump Twitter when I get home.
After this tour we were sent on a harbour tour. Sat on top deck and it was really rather pleasant until the boat turned around and sailed into the wind. Bloody Brass Monkey's (for non-UK people that means it was cold enough for 'balls' to drop off). Mom was disappointed that we saw just one....oh I can't think what it's called now - bird with a big beak that hangs down and fills with fish. I've got 'Gannet' or 'Heron' stuck in my head but it's neither of them. Perhaps I'll remember before I finish. We did get to see a bunch of fat seals basking on a platform. That was cool. We hung on in the wind freezing our tits off until the boat turned again but it was still bloody cold so we decided to go below decks. Found a diamond ring on the floor but gave it to the foreign woman with bad teeth and poorly applied lipstick who had been sitting there. She didn't thank me, miserable freak-faced cow. [I'M GOING TO EDIT OUT THE NEXT PART OF THE JOURNAL AS IT MAKES ME LOOK REALLY BAD. MWHAHAHAHAHA!]
Back on shore we were given a couple of hours to explore Seaport Village which was really cute and interesting but there was nothing really to buy. There was a pet shop full of dog costumes (if only Batdog wasn't so old and the Kraken not so mad I've have got the shark costume or the ear of corn one), a Pirate shop run by a bloke dressed as a Pirate (is there much call for Pirate stuff on a daily basis?), a Christmas shop which aims to remain open ALL year and another that just sells wind chimes. All lovely shops but how do they survive? I can't imagine the wind chime shop would get much repeat business as, let's face it, once you've got something dinging in your garden you don't really need something dinging at a slightly different pitch a yard away.
...or is it just me? Have I no imagination or magnificence to my soul?
Did buy a giant chunk of fudge for us both - I had Rocky Road and Mom had Maple and Walnut. Came to nearly $14!!!! Fuck, had I inadvertently walked back into the Pirate shop or even the Daylight Robbery shop? Robbing bastards. Did have the most perfect ice cream in the world though. Cop this for perfection:
Ben & Jerry's (I've got your attention already haven't I?) IMAGINE WHIRLED PEACE in a choc and nut waffle cone. I died and went to heaven until I started to feel sick 'cause it was too big and rich. Like a proper girl though I carried on eating the bugger. Then a really tatty, death's door type pigeon started to hang around. I gave him a bit of cone and where there had previously been NO wildlife for miles, a bunch of other pigeons came down so we just left. My betting is they keep 'Brian' looking sickly and send him out to look pathetic around the tourists. The legend (amongst pigeons) that is 'Brian the Bait' !
Oh yeah, we found Kettner Boulevard. Probably named after yet another sodding rich and unknown to my bit of the family relative. The Fates really do like to yank my chain about how my portion of the ancestry pool did shitly for themselves and therefore left no legacy for me to live off and become arrogant about. I'd LOVE to be rich and arrogant. People say that I wouldn't be the person I am today had I not experienced the shit I've experienced but I say 'who gives a shit?' Who WANTS to be me with my personality. I have to edit down my journal posts so as to hide the fact I'm really rather horrible and judgemental. I might be nice and rich if only my ancestors had got off their arses and worked a bit harder at saving Kings or inventing stuff. Lazy bunch of dead bastards....
Mom gave a homeless guy $5 but he was so out of it he didn't even look up. I think she felt bad for him 'cause I'd pointed out that he'd got a packet of Uncle Ben's dry rice in his shopping cart. Where the bleedin' hell is he going to cook that? He also had a pot of mustard.
For dinner I had linguine in a creamy pesto sauce and was able to keep it down (yay for my digestion!). Heard my mom fart in the night and discovered it was a gentle little whisper of fart. Started to form a theory that when at rest and the 'ring-piece' has no real tension to it, farts are unable to 'rip' themselves out and into the world. Would like to research this but wouldn't know where to start and I don't know who would be interested in the findings.
PELICAN!
It was a Pelican. It's now 5am and I'm wide awake. Can still hear fucking Twitter messages coming through.
Friday 8 October 2010
The dead woman's case thing pt.3 - Bring Out Your Dead
Hello again. There's quite a bit of death in my travel diary today but I'll get to that in a bit.
....you want it now don't you? You awful lot. What is it with people and their morbid fascination with death? Talking about death (she said with morbid fascination) I had a weird head twinge this afternoon. It wasn't a twinge I was familiar with and so got lost in thought wondering whether I was about to have an embolism and drop dead at work which would be an awful place to breathe your last. My mind wandered to my underwear and I realised with a slight amount of shame that, having been away and not having fully dried my holiday laundry, I was down to the last dregs of my underpants and was in fact wearing some dreadful pink things with a run in them and weird faded patches. I then concluded that perhaps I was internally acidic and wondered how one becomes more alkali. After a while I came out of my reverie and noticed the weird twinge had gone so that was alright then. No death for me today, no siree!
Oh yeah, the work colleague who had the 'arse' with me couldn't keep up the pressure she'd put on herself and broke down to be nice to me. I'm quite upset really, if yer gonna decide you've got some principles then bloody stand by them and give me the evil eye, stand with your back to me, ignore me, just don't give me the cold shoulder for ONE measly day over an issue that really doesn't affect you and which is actually quite funny! Sigh, people nowadays just don't have enough bitterness coursing through their veins, I tell you!
Any way, here's pt. 3 of the travel diary:
Sunday 19th September 2010 - Mom and I were the last people down for the coach to Heathrow. Bleedin' hell! Mom apologised to everyone when we got on board and one person kindly told us we may be last but weren't actually late (phew!). Prior to getting on the bus and after realising the staff were waiting for just us, my Mother went a bit panicky and, well I don't know what she was trying to do, but she seemed to set off walking in a determined fashion to somewhere in the distance. Once stopped, the driver started to laugh and leaned in towards me saying
"Make sure your Mom has a wee before she gets on the plane"
Random. I was kinda glad my haunted case fell over on him now.
Check-In went smoothly and they accepted the passport I never thought I'd get after behaving like a total cretin at the American Embassy (you know I'm a dual national don't you?) and answering simple questions about myself incorrectly and signing my name in a totally different script than my usual signature before laughing like a machine gun in a panicked high pitched voice with wide eyes. During the wait to board we did nothing but run everyone down - people with kids/strollers a bloke in a woollen hat, a snot-faced woman, people stretched out on the seats, people eating like pigs - you point 'em out, we'll insult them quietly to each other. Y'know the film Love Actually? It opens and closes with an airport and talks about all the love which can be found there. Not where I was sitting. The stench of flatulence and burgers was all around, but love? Nah, kids having tantrums and me willing parents to lose it and hit them. THAT was EVERYWHERE around the area we sat. The thing that particularly peeved my Mother was the amount of hand luggage some people had with them. Actual suitcases on wheels in some cases! Who needs to drag so much shit around with them?
So, we got on the flight and I got the window seat which was great. It was next to the wing so I couldn't help but think about William Shatner on that Twighlight Zone episode where the monkey thing pulls chunks off the thing. Still, you don't hear about monkey things on wings very often so I guessed everything would be ok so long as the ailerons and Petot tubes took care of themselves (I really must stop watching Air Crash Investigation). It's ALWAYS the ailerons or the bleedin' Petot Tubes that cause the crashes on that show. They should...well, I don't know what they should do but whatever they should do they SHOULD do it and fortunately, on my flight they DID!
I was excited to find an episode of 'Rev' on my little telly. Despite my atheism (or am I a heathen?) I loved this sit com staring Tom Hollander. He was adorable in the show, bless him (she said slightly ironically). I also watched 'Shrek Ever After', 'How to Train Your Dragon' and 'Nanny McPhee and the Big Bang'.....shit, I just realised I regressed during that 11 hour flight. My vegetarian dinner was shit - they got confused and thought I was vegan. It was a vegetable masala and I HATE spicy food. I had my headphones on so didn't realise how loudly I said
'Well, they can shove that shit up their arses!'
I also sort of accidentally called the fat bloke across from Mom a 'greedy fat bastard' as he'd stuffed 2 desserts down his neck in record time. I think I embarrassed her but to be fair, she did have dinner all down the front of her. We did actually swap dinners and I had my Mom's penne pasta meal. After dinner my mother realised she had forgotten to put her anti-thrombo socks on and so asked for some assistance from me. There wasn't a fat lot of room and unfortunately I almost popped her hip out of it's socket whilst pulling at her leg in order to put the sock on for her. I wonder what we looked like in between the evil laughter, the horrified looks in my direction and the painful acrobatics. Oh yeah, there was a woman sitting just in front who kept turning around to look at us. We got into the pattern where we kept looking at her to see if she was looking at us but then she'd look around catch us staring at her! Mom won't go to the loo now because SHE'S there. I could do with a wee too.
Just to round off I'm going to confess something. One of the things that worried us most about the journey was that we were smuggling bits of 2 dead relatives into the country in my mother's luggage (in ash form). Having an American passport I got through immigration first and so went to collect the baggage. Found mine no problem but my mother's? No where to be seen. I was getting more than a little concerned that we'd caused an international incident and that I would be escorted to a side room where rubber clad, unforgiving fingers would want to explore my special places.
Then I found it.
Left Los Angeles and decanted to hotel in San Diego.
....you want it now don't you? You awful lot. What is it with people and their morbid fascination with death? Talking about death (she said with morbid fascination) I had a weird head twinge this afternoon. It wasn't a twinge I was familiar with and so got lost in thought wondering whether I was about to have an embolism and drop dead at work which would be an awful place to breathe your last. My mind wandered to my underwear and I realised with a slight amount of shame that, having been away and not having fully dried my holiday laundry, I was down to the last dregs of my underpants and was in fact wearing some dreadful pink things with a run in them and weird faded patches. I then concluded that perhaps I was internally acidic and wondered how one becomes more alkali. After a while I came out of my reverie and noticed the weird twinge had gone so that was alright then. No death for me today, no siree!
Oh yeah, the work colleague who had the 'arse' with me couldn't keep up the pressure she'd put on herself and broke down to be nice to me. I'm quite upset really, if yer gonna decide you've got some principles then bloody stand by them and give me the evil eye, stand with your back to me, ignore me, just don't give me the cold shoulder for ONE measly day over an issue that really doesn't affect you and which is actually quite funny! Sigh, people nowadays just don't have enough bitterness coursing through their veins, I tell you!
Any way, here's pt. 3 of the travel diary:
Sunday 19th September 2010 - Mom and I were the last people down for the coach to Heathrow. Bleedin' hell! Mom apologised to everyone when we got on board and one person kindly told us we may be last but weren't actually late (phew!). Prior to getting on the bus and after realising the staff were waiting for just us, my Mother went a bit panicky and, well I don't know what she was trying to do, but she seemed to set off walking in a determined fashion to somewhere in the distance. Once stopped, the driver started to laugh and leaned in towards me saying
"Make sure your Mom has a wee before she gets on the plane"
Random. I was kinda glad my haunted case fell over on him now.
Check-In went smoothly and they accepted the passport I never thought I'd get after behaving like a total cretin at the American Embassy (you know I'm a dual national don't you?) and answering simple questions about myself incorrectly and signing my name in a totally different script than my usual signature before laughing like a machine gun in a panicked high pitched voice with wide eyes. During the wait to board we did nothing but run everyone down - people with kids/strollers a bloke in a woollen hat, a snot-faced woman, people stretched out on the seats, people eating like pigs - you point 'em out, we'll insult them quietly to each other. Y'know the film Love Actually? It opens and closes with an airport and talks about all the love which can be found there. Not where I was sitting. The stench of flatulence and burgers was all around, but love? Nah, kids having tantrums and me willing parents to lose it and hit them. THAT was EVERYWHERE around the area we sat. The thing that particularly peeved my Mother was the amount of hand luggage some people had with them. Actual suitcases on wheels in some cases! Who needs to drag so much shit around with them?
So, we got on the flight and I got the window seat which was great. It was next to the wing so I couldn't help but think about William Shatner on that Twighlight Zone episode where the monkey thing pulls chunks off the thing. Still, you don't hear about monkey things on wings very often so I guessed everything would be ok so long as the ailerons and Petot tubes took care of themselves (I really must stop watching Air Crash Investigation). It's ALWAYS the ailerons or the bleedin' Petot Tubes that cause the crashes on that show. They should...well, I don't know what they should do but whatever they should do they SHOULD do it and fortunately, on my flight they DID!
I was excited to find an episode of 'Rev' on my little telly. Despite my atheism (or am I a heathen?) I loved this sit com staring Tom Hollander. He was adorable in the show, bless him (she said slightly ironically). I also watched 'Shrek Ever After', 'How to Train Your Dragon' and 'Nanny McPhee and the Big Bang'.....shit, I just realised I regressed during that 11 hour flight. My vegetarian dinner was shit - they got confused and thought I was vegan. It was a vegetable masala and I HATE spicy food. I had my headphones on so didn't realise how loudly I said
'Well, they can shove that shit up their arses!'
I also sort of accidentally called the fat bloke across from Mom a 'greedy fat bastard' as he'd stuffed 2 desserts down his neck in record time. I think I embarrassed her but to be fair, she did have dinner all down the front of her. We did actually swap dinners and I had my Mom's penne pasta meal. After dinner my mother realised she had forgotten to put her anti-thrombo socks on and so asked for some assistance from me. There wasn't a fat lot of room and unfortunately I almost popped her hip out of it's socket whilst pulling at her leg in order to put the sock on for her. I wonder what we looked like in between the evil laughter, the horrified looks in my direction and the painful acrobatics. Oh yeah, there was a woman sitting just in front who kept turning around to look at us. We got into the pattern where we kept looking at her to see if she was looking at us but then she'd look around catch us staring at her! Mom won't go to the loo now because SHE'S there. I could do with a wee too.
Just to round off I'm going to confess something. One of the things that worried us most about the journey was that we were smuggling bits of 2 dead relatives into the country in my mother's luggage (in ash form). Having an American passport I got through immigration first and so went to collect the baggage. Found mine no problem but my mother's? No where to be seen. I was getting more than a little concerned that we'd caused an international incident and that I would be escorted to a side room where rubber clad, unforgiving fingers would want to explore my special places.
Then I found it.
Left Los Angeles and decanted to hotel in San Diego.
Thursday 7 October 2010
Travelling with a Dead Woman's Suitcase pt. 2 - Heathrow bound
It's occurred to me that 'Travelling with a Dead Woman's Suitcase' isn't the most pleasant of titles for a travelog but well, that's what happened. My Mother, helpful as ever, said she had a decent spare suitcase I could have and it was great. It wasn't until we'd left that she happened to casually mention the case had belonged to her neighbour's mother.
"Oh, doesn't she want it back?" I asked innocently
"No, she's dead"
"I'VE GOT MY STUFF IN A DEAD WOMAN'S SUITCASE?"
"Oh calm down - it's not like she died IN the case or anything!"
"Yeah, but......well, it's weird. A dead woman went places with her stuff in that case and now some stranger has it. Some random neighbour's daughter who she never even met or anything. It's awful."
"I don't think she ever used it actually"
"Oh great. Some woman, full of hope and joy, bought a suitcase with holidays on her mind and what, she just snuffed it? Oh God, that's even worse. I've stolen the happiness that woman was going to have with that case. Why don't I just poke through her stuff and find her holiday novel and sunglasses. Then I can fully flick 2 fingers up at her. Great, the case is going to be haunted by a woman scorned." (I wept ridiculously)
[SEE HOW I CAN NEVER BE APPEASED ONCE I'VE STARTED?]
Well, in actual fact the case was just a case. It was a shit case as it would never stand up but I suspect its original owner was a bit wobbly on her wheels too. Perhaps that was the legacy - I had a case that knocked everyone else's over whenever they were stacked up. Like a parent at a school Nativity, I would watch from afar (the coach window) as all the cases were taken out and lined up only for mine to forget its words and screw the whole thing up for everyone else.
What the hell AM I talking about? Shut up Sket.
Anyhoo, today. As I mentioned yesterday I was due back at work and it was clear that one person wanted to show that they were angry and were choosing to pointedly ignore me. It makes me laugh to think they thought I'd care, for, let's face it, the fewer people who talk to me, the less I have to talk back to anyone, and in my book that's a result! Yay to the colleague who dropped me in it whilst I was away!
Right, here's the next bit of my holiday journal. It's not very interesting but the good stuff will come up soon enough:
SATURDAY 18TH SEPTEMBER 2010: Nightmare morning. My mother was stressed 'cause her cat Jasper shit and vomited all over the house overnight. Then a number of people turned up at the house to see me before we left AND other people kept calling to wish me a nice holiday/happy forthcoming birthday. My Mom was obsessed she wanted the house to be immaculate before she left and all the visitors were a stressful intrusion for her.
Anyhoo, we were ready in time for the pick up by the tour company (it was a door to door service) and had to go and pick up another couple in the Shirley area of Birmingham. My Mother was at the point of explosion as we drove through Sparkbrook which was an area she knew really well as a youngster and was now like another country (if you get my drift). As she's become older my Mother has become increasingly intolerant towards pretty much everyone. We were taken to The Park Hotel at Heathrow airport ready for tomorrow's departure. The hotel is large but the room quite basic. I felt we got bleedin' ripped off with our dinner at their 'Bravo Bravo' restaurant. Despite allegedly having 20% off, we had a bill of £50 for one roast dinner, a tiny salad and 2 non-alcoholic cocktails. Robbing bastards. I had the salad and as I have shit digestion couldn't eat that much and so felt really bad. We can get a roast dinner for less than 4 quid around here! Back in the room I had a lovely long soak in the bath and we watched CSI shows all night before going to sleep. Unfortunately my Mother had a bit of a panic attack 'cause the windows wouldn't open and she wanted air. I'll admit to being a tad grumpy seeing her scratching at the window. Note to self - must be more tolerant and understanding.
"Oh, doesn't she want it back?" I asked innocently
"No, she's dead"
"I'VE GOT MY STUFF IN A DEAD WOMAN'S SUITCASE?"
"Oh calm down - it's not like she died IN the case or anything!"
"Yeah, but......well, it's weird. A dead woman went places with her stuff in that case and now some stranger has it. Some random neighbour's daughter who she never even met or anything. It's awful."
"I don't think she ever used it actually"
"Oh great. Some woman, full of hope and joy, bought a suitcase with holidays on her mind and what, she just snuffed it? Oh God, that's even worse. I've stolen the happiness that woman was going to have with that case. Why don't I just poke through her stuff and find her holiday novel and sunglasses. Then I can fully flick 2 fingers up at her. Great, the case is going to be haunted by a woman scorned." (I wept ridiculously)
[SEE HOW I CAN NEVER BE APPEASED ONCE I'VE STARTED?]
Well, in actual fact the case was just a case. It was a shit case as it would never stand up but I suspect its original owner was a bit wobbly on her wheels too. Perhaps that was the legacy - I had a case that knocked everyone else's over whenever they were stacked up. Like a parent at a school Nativity, I would watch from afar (the coach window) as all the cases were taken out and lined up only for mine to forget its words and screw the whole thing up for everyone else.
What the hell AM I talking about? Shut up Sket.
Anyhoo, today. As I mentioned yesterday I was due back at work and it was clear that one person wanted to show that they were angry and were choosing to pointedly ignore me. It makes me laugh to think they thought I'd care, for, let's face it, the fewer people who talk to me, the less I have to talk back to anyone, and in my book that's a result! Yay to the colleague who dropped me in it whilst I was away!
Right, here's the next bit of my holiday journal. It's not very interesting but the good stuff will come up soon enough:
SATURDAY 18TH SEPTEMBER 2010: Nightmare morning. My mother was stressed 'cause her cat Jasper shit and vomited all over the house overnight. Then a number of people turned up at the house to see me before we left AND other people kept calling to wish me a nice holiday/happy forthcoming birthday. My Mom was obsessed she wanted the house to be immaculate before she left and all the visitors were a stressful intrusion for her.
Anyhoo, we were ready in time for the pick up by the tour company (it was a door to door service) and had to go and pick up another couple in the Shirley area of Birmingham. My Mother was at the point of explosion as we drove through Sparkbrook which was an area she knew really well as a youngster and was now like another country (if you get my drift). As she's become older my Mother has become increasingly intolerant towards pretty much everyone. We were taken to The Park Hotel at Heathrow airport ready for tomorrow's departure. The hotel is large but the room quite basic. I felt we got bleedin' ripped off with our dinner at their 'Bravo Bravo' restaurant. Despite allegedly having 20% off, we had a bill of £50 for one roast dinner, a tiny salad and 2 non-alcoholic cocktails. Robbing bastards. I had the salad and as I have shit digestion couldn't eat that much and so felt really bad. We can get a roast dinner for less than 4 quid around here! Back in the room I had a lovely long soak in the bath and we watched CSI shows all night before going to sleep. Unfortunately my Mother had a bit of a panic attack 'cause the windows wouldn't open and she wanted air. I'll admit to being a tad grumpy seeing her scratching at the window. Note to self - must be more tolerant and understanding.
Wednesday 6 October 2010
Travelling with a dead woman's suitcase pt. 1 - last day at work
So, I'm just back from a trip to California and the West Coast. As I'm impoverished (awww, bless me), my Mother paid for the whole thing which was bloody nice of her. She'd been taking trips on her own for the past few years and I guess she wanted a bit of company. Way-hey! I'll come and be your sort of Edwardian 'Companion' type person; how 'Room with a View'!
Anyhoo, I'm back at work tomorrow (she reported miserably) and I've already been tipped off that I've somehow got myself into trouble without even being in the same country. Hell, I wasn't even on the same continent or time zone! Y'know, I don't know why I even bother to speak to people, 95% of them take joyous pleasure at dropping you in it. I'd be really happy living the life of a hermit only I don't fancy living in a cave. I'm sure hermitude isn't dependant on cave dwelling but the alternative is finding a hut in the middle of a forest and I guess there would need to be an exchange of money for that and council tax and well, then I'd have to earn money which would defeat the ultimate objective of telling everyone in the world to fuck right off.
...but I digress.
I've kept a journal and I'm gonna start tagging each separate day on the end of my diary posts. Here's Day 1 which was my last day at work:
Friday 17th September 2010 - Went to work and was supposed to finish at midday but didn't get my scary backlog of stuff done in time. You know how I solved that problem? [NEXT LINE EDITED OUT DUE TO THE VERY REAL POSSIBILITY I MIGHT INCRIMINATE MYSELF AND GET IN EVEN *M O R E* TROUBLE AND THIS TIME WITHOUT THE HELP OF ANY SEEMINGLY FRIENDLY WORK COLLEAGUES WHO LOVE TO DROP ME IN IT]. That's bad isn't it? [SEE HOW I LIKE TO TEASE YOU EVEN FURTHER?] Ah well, I couldn't give a shiny shite.
Anyhoo, I got out at 1pm and rocked up to the ferry terminal [I LIVE ON A SMALL OFF-SHORE ISLAND NEAR TO PORTSMOUTH] but found I couldn't get a sodding boat until 3.30pm! Bollocks! Swollen, sweaty ones at that! Ended up having to go home despite the goodbyes I'd said earlier, and had a sanga with housemate Steph. Went back at the right time and got on the stupid boat. Started to make good time - oh yeah, I was on my way to my Mother's house in Birmingham by the way, but then got stuck in rush hour traffic on the A34 around Oxford. Lost over an hour there so was getting a bit pissed off and my hands were becoming a bit claw-like. Got to my Mother's at 7.30pm only to discover I was the chosen driver to take us and a couple of rellies out for a meal. I still don't quite understand how I got lumbered with the driving after having spent so long on the road.
There is inappropriate journal stuff here that I really don't think I can add to a public diary but heck, I could be dangerous and just do it. Am I dangerous? IS Dangerous my middle name? No, it's Leigh.....
...all I will say is that there was someone 'different' to us at a nearby table and my cousin farted in all knowledge that if it stunk then the 'different' type of person to us would inevitably be blamed. There you go, not so much 'Dangerous', more like 'Dange.....' which is my way of saying I'm a bit dangerous. Don't worry though, I am famed for my usual ability to overshare. I am actually quite surprised at my unusual bout of self awareness.
Anyhoo, I'm back at work tomorrow (she reported miserably) and I've already been tipped off that I've somehow got myself into trouble without even being in the same country. Hell, I wasn't even on the same continent or time zone! Y'know, I don't know why I even bother to speak to people, 95% of them take joyous pleasure at dropping you in it. I'd be really happy living the life of a hermit only I don't fancy living in a cave. I'm sure hermitude isn't dependant on cave dwelling but the alternative is finding a hut in the middle of a forest and I guess there would need to be an exchange of money for that and council tax and well, then I'd have to earn money which would defeat the ultimate objective of telling everyone in the world to fuck right off.
...but I digress.
I've kept a journal and I'm gonna start tagging each separate day on the end of my diary posts. Here's Day 1 which was my last day at work:
Friday 17th September 2010 - Went to work and was supposed to finish at midday but didn't get my scary backlog of stuff done in time. You know how I solved that problem? [NEXT LINE EDITED OUT DUE TO THE VERY REAL POSSIBILITY I MIGHT INCRIMINATE MYSELF AND GET IN EVEN *M O R E* TROUBLE AND THIS TIME WITHOUT THE HELP OF ANY SEEMINGLY FRIENDLY WORK COLLEAGUES WHO LOVE TO DROP ME IN IT]. That's bad isn't it? [SEE HOW I LIKE TO TEASE YOU EVEN FURTHER?] Ah well, I couldn't give a shiny shite.
Anyhoo, I got out at 1pm and rocked up to the ferry terminal [I LIVE ON A SMALL OFF-SHORE ISLAND NEAR TO PORTSMOUTH] but found I couldn't get a sodding boat until 3.30pm! Bollocks! Swollen, sweaty ones at that! Ended up having to go home despite the goodbyes I'd said earlier, and had a sanga with housemate Steph. Went back at the right time and got on the stupid boat. Started to make good time - oh yeah, I was on my way to my Mother's house in Birmingham by the way, but then got stuck in rush hour traffic on the A34 around Oxford. Lost over an hour there so was getting a bit pissed off and my hands were becoming a bit claw-like. Got to my Mother's at 7.30pm only to discover I was the chosen driver to take us and a couple of rellies out for a meal. I still don't quite understand how I got lumbered with the driving after having spent so long on the road.
There is inappropriate journal stuff here that I really don't think I can add to a public diary but heck, I could be dangerous and just do it. Am I dangerous? IS Dangerous my middle name? No, it's Leigh.....
...all I will say is that there was someone 'different' to us at a nearby table and my cousin farted in all knowledge that if it stunk then the 'different' type of person to us would inevitably be blamed. There you go, not so much 'Dangerous', more like 'Dange.....' which is my way of saying I'm a bit dangerous. Don't worry though, I am famed for my usual ability to overshare. I am actually quite surprised at my unusual bout of self awareness.
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