Much too busy to post right now. Moving house, stressing about moving house, packing everything in boxes, redirecting post, stressing, etc., etc.
No, really, that's all I have time for. I'll be back when the stressing subsides to normal daily levels.
I will say this: if you're ever bored, why not try moving house? It's more fun than you can poke a stick at. Well, more fun than poking a stick in your eye, but it's a tough call.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
London welcomes me back in style...
Well, I’m returned from my little break in the wild lands of the north. Had a lovely time, but now the cold reality of work and London itself is hitting me roughly about the head. I think I had convinced myself that after taking a little break, I might find my work a bit more fascinating on my return. Not so. Not yet anyway. Not whilst there is still more HTML to be painstakingly keyed into the archaic database our time-warped boss refuses to update…but let's not get me started on that.
I’d also hoped that when I came back, perhaps the tube would have sorted itself out, and there would not be any problems on the Northern line. I know, I know, it was a foolish notion. On Tuesday evening, after a VERY long day at work, I descended into the depths of Goodge St. station, only to find the platform uncharacteristically rammed and the temperature roughly 105 degrees. It was that old chestnut: signalling problems. Although I am not usually claustrophobic per se, being sandwiched between a vending machine and two tall men wearing bulky rucksacks, who were in turn hemmed in by everyone else, I started to feel a leetle beet tight-chested. The awful thing about these situations is that when you suddenly realise that you have to get out, and you can’t bear to be underground a moment longer, you have to resist the urge to panic since you can’t simply run out of there. Oh no. You have to slowly push past, round and through a sea of people, most of whom aren’t at all keen to give way. So. Twenty minutes later, I get back up onto to Tottenham Court Road, having made no progress in my journey home whatsoever. Hit by a flash of inspiration, I take the bus down to Warren Street and get on the Victoria line. Actually get a seat in the carriage, get my book out and start to feel a little bit smug about my triumph. Oh, folly, folly. Get as far as Victoria and the driver announces there is a ‘signalling problem’ and that everyone has to get off the train. Scream inside. A couple of beleaguered tourists lose their rag and start shouting and swearing about what they have had to endure in their journey so far. I’d sympathise, but you don’t associate with people making a spectacle of themselves at rush hour; you just move on. Decide to try to catch an overland train, controversial, but needs must. Go from Victoria to Clapham Junction. Of course the train is delayed, but at least I’m not underground any more. So. Get to Clapham Junction, or as I like to call it, the sixth circle of hell. Because I don’t use the station regularly, I never know where I am supposed to go to get the connecting train, and am usually forced to walk the entire length and breadth of it until I unwittingly stumble onto the correct platform. Managed that, got the next train and although it was just as rammed as the tube train, elbowed my way off at my destination. Of course, I wasn’t actually home yet. Now I had to catch a bus. Bus arrives, all going well. I sit down and breathe huge sigh of relief – it’s nearly all over. I regret taking a deep breath as it immediately becomes apparent that one of the passengers has not washed for many a year. The smell was completely over-powering and permeated the entire bus. There was a uniform opening of the windows, but it made no difference as the bus was stuck in traffic. All the women, including me, were holding their scarves to their faces and trying not to breathe at all. I can’t describe how bad the smell was. I just can’t. Finally get off the bus and start to walk towards my home, and it starts raining. I do not have my umbrella with me. I left the office at 5.45pm, it’s now 8.30pm. Oh how I love this city, let me count the ways…
I’d also hoped that when I came back, perhaps the tube would have sorted itself out, and there would not be any problems on the Northern line. I know, I know, it was a foolish notion. On Tuesday evening, after a VERY long day at work, I descended into the depths of Goodge St. station, only to find the platform uncharacteristically rammed and the temperature roughly 105 degrees. It was that old chestnut: signalling problems. Although I am not usually claustrophobic per se, being sandwiched between a vending machine and two tall men wearing bulky rucksacks, who were in turn hemmed in by everyone else, I started to feel a leetle beet tight-chested. The awful thing about these situations is that when you suddenly realise that you have to get out, and you can’t bear to be underground a moment longer, you have to resist the urge to panic since you can’t simply run out of there. Oh no. You have to slowly push past, round and through a sea of people, most of whom aren’t at all keen to give way. So. Twenty minutes later, I get back up onto to Tottenham Court Road, having made no progress in my journey home whatsoever. Hit by a flash of inspiration, I take the bus down to Warren Street and get on the Victoria line. Actually get a seat in the carriage, get my book out and start to feel a little bit smug about my triumph. Oh, folly, folly. Get as far as Victoria and the driver announces there is a ‘signalling problem’ and that everyone has to get off the train. Scream inside. A couple of beleaguered tourists lose their rag and start shouting and swearing about what they have had to endure in their journey so far. I’d sympathise, but you don’t associate with people making a spectacle of themselves at rush hour; you just move on. Decide to try to catch an overland train, controversial, but needs must. Go from Victoria to Clapham Junction. Of course the train is delayed, but at least I’m not underground any more. So. Get to Clapham Junction, or as I like to call it, the sixth circle of hell. Because I don’t use the station regularly, I never know where I am supposed to go to get the connecting train, and am usually forced to walk the entire length and breadth of it until I unwittingly stumble onto the correct platform. Managed that, got the next train and although it was just as rammed as the tube train, elbowed my way off at my destination. Of course, I wasn’t actually home yet. Now I had to catch a bus. Bus arrives, all going well. I sit down and breathe huge sigh of relief – it’s nearly all over. I regret taking a deep breath as it immediately becomes apparent that one of the passengers has not washed for many a year. The smell was completely over-powering and permeated the entire bus. There was a uniform opening of the windows, but it made no difference as the bus was stuck in traffic. All the women, including me, were holding their scarves to their faces and trying not to breathe at all. I can’t describe how bad the smell was. I just can’t. Finally get off the bus and start to walk towards my home, and it starts raining. I do not have my umbrella with me. I left the office at 5.45pm, it’s now 8.30pm. Oh how I love this city, let me count the ways…
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
There must be some way out of here
Work is killing me today. I'd make a break for the door, but no-one would cover me. I'm working on the company website today - it is so thrilling that I am losing the will to live with every piece of HTML I write. To make matters worse, the phones are down, so there is an eerie silence, and no hope of a distracting interruption. There's an engineer working on the phones right now, but if he's the same guy they called out last week (3 times), and yesterday (twice), then I don't hold out much hope of getting it fixed.
Oh, so bored. On the upside, I seem to have got over my cold - hurrah. But on the downside, time seems to have slowed to the point that it is actually going in reverse. But that could just be all the clocks in this building...
Oh, so bored. On the upside, I seem to have got over my cold - hurrah. But on the downside, time seems to have slowed to the point that it is actually going in reverse. But that could just be all the clocks in this building...
Monday, October 03, 2005
Signs
There are all these little signs that winter is officially here now. Quite apart from the mean drop in the temperature, which makes it that bit harder to get out of your lovely, warm bed in the morning, there's all these other charming little signs that herald the change in the seasons. Like when you go to Sainsbury's, looking for the peanut butter, only to find they've moved it to another aisle, without warning, and leaving no forwarding address, to accommodate 22 varieties of xmas puddings/speciality xmas biscuits/racks of xmas card box sets and tinsel. Who buys their xmas pudding now? Or the sudden increase in adverts on TV for kids toys - which are always all priced £39.99, whatever it is, and ker-azy fun board games, intended to keep the family entertained over the holiday period, but which will almost certainly be the trigger for the mother of all family rows...
And there are other, more subtle signs, that winter, and indeed xmas is on its way. For example, when I got on the tube this morning, all I could hear was people coughing, spluttering, sniffing and sneezing. Yep, we're here again, that most wonderful time of the year when people like to share...their germs. I know catching colds is pretty unavoidable if you use public transport and have day to day contact with, well, people, but some people are just a bit too keen to share, if you know what I mean. What happened to covering your mouth when you cough, you sickos? And if you are sneezing with such force behind me that you cause my hair to part, then you should be in bed at home, NOT breathing on my neck. Take the day off! Yeuch. So I blame these people for what feels like a cold coming on. I've been in denial about having this cold - I've been upping my vitamin C intake, doubling up on the zinc, drinking Lemsip instead of tea, and pretending these are just 'precautions'...I feel like I am fighting it off, but it is probably just 'hovering', waiting until I have plans at the weekend to become a fully-fledged, streaming head cold. Something for me to look forward to, eh?
And I know no-one ever needs a cold, but I really don't need one right now. I'm in the middle of trying to escape the flat from hell and the evil clutches of Tall One and Short One, which involves not only showing prospective tenants round the flat, but continuing to keep the cramp twins on side so they don't scare off said prospective tenants. It's more than a bit stressful, I can tell you - I'm acting my socks off: 'oh yes, they're lovely people, so down to earth and not petty at all...no, no strange ticks, and certainly, neither of them suffer from OCD, and no, I never caught either of them watching me sleep, ha ha, what a suggestion, etc.' Ahem.
Also, feel so goofy when showing people round, like some eccentric tour guide who constantly states the obvious: ‘this is the living room…as you can, er, see/this is the kitchen…in case you were wondering what we call the room where we keep the oven and the fridge/this is the bathroom and shower, obviously’ and so on. Hopefully I'll get some takers soon. Please. God. Soon.
But you know, it's not all doom and gloom here, oh no. I mentioned my trip to Sainsbury's earlier. I went there to replenish my peanut butter supply. I've recently found that if you have a jar of peanut butter in your house, then things can never be that bad. Seriously. In case that sounds odd, let me try to explain. I have come to peanut butter rather late in my life, having only discovered what all the fuss was about in the past month or so. For some random reason, I never ate it as a child, and not at all until 4 weeks ago. I had a mad urge to buy a jar of the crunchy variety and try it on...toast. The results were outstanding. I am now a serious devotee, and am telling everyone, from my closest friends to random strangers, in a similar tone to the way weirdos tell you they have found god, that I have found peanut butter. My life will never be the same again, but in a good way.
It's so good - how did I never know before? Maybe it even boosts your immune system? Think I'll just go get a bit of toast and try that theory out.
And there are other, more subtle signs, that winter, and indeed xmas is on its way. For example, when I got on the tube this morning, all I could hear was people coughing, spluttering, sniffing and sneezing. Yep, we're here again, that most wonderful time of the year when people like to share...their germs. I know catching colds is pretty unavoidable if you use public transport and have day to day contact with, well, people, but some people are just a bit too keen to share, if you know what I mean. What happened to covering your mouth when you cough, you sickos? And if you are sneezing with such force behind me that you cause my hair to part, then you should be in bed at home, NOT breathing on my neck. Take the day off! Yeuch. So I blame these people for what feels like a cold coming on. I've been in denial about having this cold - I've been upping my vitamin C intake, doubling up on the zinc, drinking Lemsip instead of tea, and pretending these are just 'precautions'...I feel like I am fighting it off, but it is probably just 'hovering', waiting until I have plans at the weekend to become a fully-fledged, streaming head cold. Something for me to look forward to, eh?
And I know no-one ever needs a cold, but I really don't need one right now. I'm in the middle of trying to escape the flat from hell and the evil clutches of Tall One and Short One, which involves not only showing prospective tenants round the flat, but continuing to keep the cramp twins on side so they don't scare off said prospective tenants. It's more than a bit stressful, I can tell you - I'm acting my socks off: 'oh yes, they're lovely people, so down to earth and not petty at all...no, no strange ticks, and certainly, neither of them suffer from OCD, and no, I never caught either of them watching me sleep, ha ha, what a suggestion, etc.' Ahem.
Also, feel so goofy when showing people round, like some eccentric tour guide who constantly states the obvious: ‘this is the living room…as you can, er, see/this is the kitchen…in case you were wondering what we call the room where we keep the oven and the fridge/this is the bathroom and shower, obviously’ and so on. Hopefully I'll get some takers soon. Please. God. Soon.
But you know, it's not all doom and gloom here, oh no. I mentioned my trip to Sainsbury's earlier. I went there to replenish my peanut butter supply. I've recently found that if you have a jar of peanut butter in your house, then things can never be that bad. Seriously. In case that sounds odd, let me try to explain. I have come to peanut butter rather late in my life, having only discovered what all the fuss was about in the past month or so. For some random reason, I never ate it as a child, and not at all until 4 weeks ago. I had a mad urge to buy a jar of the crunchy variety and try it on...toast. The results were outstanding. I am now a serious devotee, and am telling everyone, from my closest friends to random strangers, in a similar tone to the way weirdos tell you they have found god, that I have found peanut butter. My life will never be the same again, but in a good way.
It's so good - how did I never know before? Maybe it even boosts your immune system? Think I'll just go get a bit of toast and try that theory out.
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