...Think, Think, Think...

The Life That I have

The funeral is on Thursday.  

I can't wait.  Its a funny thing to say, I know.  Its not that I'm excited, I just want it to be over with, not to be rid of her but to be allowed to move on and have some closure.  I have been a nightmare for my friends this past week.  The ones I've told anyway.  I'm up and down like a whores drawers.  

This week has been the hardest of my life.  Stuck in limbo.  Waiting for the really bad day.  The day she died was bad, but it was what needed to happen to release her from the pain and I felt some sense of relief for her.  The funeral is another story altogether.  Its more for us than for her.  I'm stressing out about what to wear.  I don't want to be scruffy at the funeral.  

Problem is I always feel scruffy.  

I went out to try and get new shoes and a new bag today.  I couldn't find anything that felt right.  So I'll be making do with something I've got already.  How awful.  Wearing a "make do" outfit to a funeral.

I'm going to read a poem.  I asked my dad if anyone else was going to say anything and he said he was leaving it all to the vicar.  Somehow that didn't seem right.  Someone from the family should speak and so I volunteered.  I'm not afraid of speaking in public.  I've done small amounts of theatre and my attitude to it is "Well, if I'm shit, they'll boo me off.  I don't have to do it again."

I'm not even scared of crying in front of them all, in fact its the opposite.  What if I don't cry?  I feel as though everyone is going to look at me and think "Some granddaughter she is, not even shedding a tear.  What a bitch."  

At the moment, I'm pretty much calm about it all until I speak to one of my friends in particular.  I don't know what it is about him, but he's being so nice that I always end up in tears.  I suppose its like someone asking you if you're okay when you aren't.  There are only some people you can tell the truth to.  

The poem I'm going to read is one that my Grannie had torn out of the newspaper.  Dad found it when he went to her flat.  It was written in WW2 by Leo Marks.  He wrote it for his girlfriend who had just been killed in a plane crash in Canada and then later used it as code for agents working in espionage behind enemy lines. He tended to use original poems rather than well known ones as code, that way if they were intercepted the enemy had a much harder time deciphering it.

I'm not sure why she'd kept it.  It must have been something she'd liked and perhaps it reminded her of my grandfather, who was in the military police during the war.  He died of cancer almost 22 years ago and perhaps, in her harder times lately she was missing him.  That was what Dad said she'd be thinking while she was sleeping in the hospital; "I'll be with George soon".  In all honesty I've never really bought into the heaven and hell angle of life after death, reincarnation makes more sense to me. But now though, I hope that they are reunited after all this time.  Wherever that may be.

The Life That I Have

The life that I have

Is all that I have

And the life that I have

Is yours

The love that I have

Of the life that I have

Is yours

And yours

And yours

A sleep I shall have

A rest I shall have

Yet death will be but a pause

For the peace of my years

In the long green grass

Will be yours

And yours

And yours

A Good Innings

My Grannie died last night.  Well, this morning really.

She's been unwell for a long time.  About 9 months ago she started having problems eating, saying she felt sick all the time.  They did all the tests, there was nothing medically wrong.  The more she didn't eat, the worse she got, the worse she felt.  You couldn't tell her that by not eating she was making herself worse.  She didn't seem to listen, but now I realise that it was her body that was putting the stops on it, not her mind.

November/December last year she was doing okay, still not eating but in and out of a couple of different care homes.  All the family scratched their heads and wondered what more we could do to try and help.  We tried everything to no avail.

A few days before christmas she was taken into hospital and never came out.  They were going to re-do all of the tests, then she got some kind of nasty flu virus that was going around the hospital and had the whole place pretty much locked down.

Two weeks ago, the consultant told one of my uncles that "he thought" she'd had a stroke.  7 years of medical school and apparently matey boy couldn't be sure.

On wednesday of this week, I was out of the office all day and my dad called me literally as I was walking into a meeting at 10am.  "John has spoken to the consultant this morning.  He says she's got 2 or 3 days left at best." 

Somehow, I held it together through my 10am meeting.  I don't suppose I said much (I was only observing really anyway) but I didn't cry.  When I got into the car with my boss to go to the next meeting, I broke down a bit.  I've just cleaned out my handbag and realised that I've still got his hankie covered in smudged mascara.  I managed to play a useful part in my 2pm meeting too, I don't think they had any idea what was going through my head.

The drive back home was hard.  My boss tried to keep my mind off it or when my mind was on it to say the right thing.  He was good about it all.  Told me just to do what I needed to do.  Family is the most important thing.

The next day my dad and I drove up to Chester.  I didn't really know if I wanted to go, to lose the memory of the woman I had always known.  But then I realised, if I didn't go, she'd know.  I didn't want her to think I didn't care.

We went straight to the hospital and she was asleep.  Morphined up to the hilt to keep her comfortable.  She looked so tiny and frail, nothing like my grannie.  Someone else, with similar hair.  She was swollen and puffy from something or other.  The nurse, who was called Blessed, explained to us what was going on.  All the drugs she was being given.  Morphine for the pain, something-zine for nausea, an-azepam to relax her.  I don't suppose I'll ever forget that nurses name as long as I live.

I asked my dad how he was so calm about it all, he just said; "When you get to my age, you start to think more about the other person than yourself.  You don't want them to suffer.  A bit like you wouldn't let an animal suffer if it was in a lot of pain."

We stayed with one of my uncles and his wife that night and the next day, the four of us, plus another uncle and his wife went to visit.  She was sleeping when we arrived and another nurse explained that they'd just bathed her and turned her over so she was comfortable.

Within a few minutes she woke up.  The day before I was okay.  She was frail, but peaceful.  Awake, it was another story.  Not only was she frail and swollen, but she couldn't speak and to hear her even try was heartbreaking.  We all said hello and she tried to reply to us but couldn't.  Trapped in her own body.  She used to be so vibrant, so active.  She went on coach trips, painting classes...you name it, she did it.  She had a better social life than I did (or do, for that matter).

Dad nudged me and told me to go round and speak to her.  I couldn't though.  I managed a very weak "hello" and after that my voice just disappeared.  In that one second, the grief took everything from me and all I could do was stare.  I hate to think what must have been going through her mind;"Why is she staring at me?  Do I look that awful?"  I couldn't even manage to tell her that I love her.  I'll probably never forgive myself for that.  I know she knew, but that isn't the point.  I should have told her.

I probably only stood there for a minute before I had to walk away, I didn't want her to see me crying.   That was the last I ever saw of her.  I came home on the train hoping that she'd go soon.  Wishing, urging the universe to take her and stop that pain for her.

I went out to a work dinner on Friday night.  One of my colleagues lost his own grandmother on Wednesday of this week in a similar way, so I felt like he understood more than the others who asked.  Those that bothered to speak to me were very nice.  Those who didn't (but I'm sure had a good bitch behind my back along the lines of "why has she come tonight?  She's just had two days off, she can't be that upset") can pretty much fuck off.  I've got no time for them.

Knowing that the inevitable could happen at any point, my dad and three of his brothers (and their wives) were going to go out to dinner on Friday night and start discussing everything you have to discuss at these sort of times.  There is a fourth brother who refused to go.  He lives closer to the hospital than any of the others but he couldn't be fucked. 

They didn't think she'd make it through saturday so a few of them went and sat at the hospital for a few hours last night and at about 1am they got the call to say that she had passed away.

I know its for the best, I wouldn't want her to carry on like that.  Its no life for anyone.

She was 88.  That is, apparently, a good innings.  But I don't know what that really means.  I'd love to know who came up with that saying.  Which idiot thought it would provide any sort of comfort to the loved ones of the deceased.  It doesn't.  Its just some hollow cliche that people seem to throw in when they can't think of anything original to say, or can't bear the silence.  A bit like "there's plenty more fish in the sea" when you're dumped, or "we must meet up soon" when you bump into someone you used to know.  All meaningless.

I'm not really sure when the funeral will be.  Dad has lots of paperwork to sort out over the next few days and I guess we'll know sometime this week.  He said the hospital give you a little booklet with info on all the things you have to do.  I think that's quite nice, but a little odd.  Can't imagine the opening line of that one.

The picture below is of me and my Grannie 3 years ago on New Years Eve.  My cousin and I had nipped in to see her and she'd offered me a drink.  When I asked what she'd got, she replied; "Gin, Vodka, Whisky, Wine, Brandy, Sherry, Beer.."  I asked (and I'm not sure why!) for a sherry.  "Dry? Medium?  Sweet?"  If I remember right, she served it to me in a white wine glass.  I ended up quite pissed, quite quickly!

This is how I remember her:

I doubt that the recently deceased read blogs, but if you do Grannie, or even if the vibes are just out there in the universe - I love you very much and we all miss you.  It won't be the same without you, thats for sure xxx

Live In the Now

Last year, I was really excited at the prospect of a new year.  2009 was going to be my year, I thought.

I think a lot of people thought that and for everyone I know, it really really wasn't.  

2010 has brought a fresh start and a different attitude.  I can't expect the entire year to be perfect.  Perfection is a myth.  Doesn't exist.  And if it did, where would the fun be?  You'd have nothing to strive for.  Nowhere to improve.

I made some shallow beauty resolutions for 2010, but as for life resolutions I only stumbled across mine while I was thinking about what I should blog. 

I had initially thought about posting how brilliant my 2010 has been so far.  How well things are going at work, how much fun I had shopping on my birthday, how yummy the kangaroo I had for my birthday lunch was, how I've lived off of M&S birthday cake this week and how much I'm loving watching my way through all available series of Entourage.

I was going to say how well it had all started and how I hoped it would continue.  I do, but its not a realistic thought.

Its unrealistic of me to expect this level of awesomeness to continue all year.  Which lead me to my resolution:

Take each day as it comes.  Live it and then move onto the next.  Don't worry about the future or rehash the past.  They're both either gone and can't be changed or not here yet.  Either way, I can't control them.  Why waste precious time and energy trying?  

I have been known to get upset and fraught over things that ultimately, cannot be changed and do not matter.  I'm not going to do that anymore.  I'm also going to try and stop having episodes because other people are retards.  Yes, there are too many.  Yes, they interrupt the flow of my day and generally fuck things up that I really don't need fucked up, but I can't control them.  All I can hope is that they reach their full potential quickly (a chav baby and a council flat) and that they get the fuck out of my way.

I just thought I'd share that with you all.  Now I'm going to go and have some more birthday cake. 

Probably with some of the brandy ice cream we got at christmas. Real brandy by the way, none of this brandy flavour nonsense.

I'll probably watch another episode of Entourage too...just for good measure.

And yeah, you're right.  I did steal the title of this post from a Wayne's World quote. 

B'bye 2009

I didn't really enjoy 2009.  Yeah, there were some good things that happened but overall it was a bitch.

Shame really, as I started it so optimistically.  It was going to be MY year, I was going to have a great one.

I didn't.  At least it feels like I didn't.

In January:

• My best friend and his partner took me wine tasting for my birthday.  I learned the proper way to get pissed on wine.
• I saw a burlesque/circus act where a woman pulled a hankie from out of "there" as a magic trick and another deep-throated the leg of a bar stool.
• I had a terrible birthday itself (got locked out in the rain, had to cook my own dinner).
• I fell on an incy pavement and hacked my knee to shreds (still have the scar).

In February:

• Someone tested the water to see if I'd be up for a threesome.
• I was a mere micron away from flashing someone in the pool at the gym.
• I got promoted.

In March:

• I felt stuck in a rut (kind of a theme for the year).
• I asked everyone to tell me their favourite quotes (then put them in a word doc and didn't put them into a book like I meant to).
• I got a funny phonecall.

In April:

• It was suggested I swear too much. (Fuck, no!)
• Someone looked at my blog in search of mother/daughter relationship advice (wrong blog, sistah!).

In May:

• I started to get reeeeeaally unhappy at work.
• I had a brief existential crisis.
• When asked to name an intelligent person who didn't exercise, I came up with Prof. Stephen Hawking.
• I entered a pub quiz on a team called "quiz on my face" (and I'm still laughing).

In June:

• I thought I was out of the rut (wasn't.  so wasn't).
• I lost one of my best friends because I guess he had to make a life choice.  I'm just sad that a compromise couldn't be reached.

In July:

• I got the goose flu and spent 10 days sounding like Marge Simpson.
• My mother dramatically damaged Anglo-Norwegian relations.
• I got my own domain.
• I got a crush on Danny Dyer (oh, the shame).

In August:

• I did a quiz so you could all learn more about me.
• I got annoyed with the neighbours and their screaming kids.
• I apologised for whining so much.
• I identified some things that really piss me off.
• I got ID'd in Waitrose buying posh fruit cider and dinner.
• Not blogged, but this is when stuff started to get really bad at work.  Like crying before I left the house bad.

In September:

• I shared some brief insight to what breakfast is like when I'm unhappy (hint: not healthy).
• I saw Danny Dyer in a play (he was 6 feet from me, if that).
• I experienced the pain of calf massage.

In October:

• Someone found my blog upon searching for "Young Person with Bags Under Eyes" - nice ego boost.
• I got free trainers from www.fitnessfootwear.com.
• I went on an unsuccessful clothes shopping fit and had someone imply I was fat.
• Not blogged, but my maternal grandmother (who I had no relationship with) died.

In November:

• Not blogged, I went to the funeral of my maternal grandmother.  It reminded me how friends are the family we choose for ourselves and made me wonder if I'd see any of the people there again.  It was a very weird experience all around. There were only 3 of us in the crematorium not really grieving.  I felt like I was trespassing.
• Not blogged, by now work was pretty much destroying me and I'd started work on my CV.
• I was in a minor car accident for which I totally blamed myself.
• I met fellow bloggers and saw a play called Poles Apart, which was a wonderful experience.
• I revamped the beauty blog again.

In December:

• My role at work completely changed, meaning that I do virtually no direct customer service work, am not responsible for a team and work directly for one person.  I couldn't be happier, its like starting afresh.  The extra nice thing about this was that the person I now work for specifically asked for me to be the one to help him and its all going really well.
• I struggled to find the enthusiasm to put up Christmas decorations.  In fact I struggled with enthusiasm for Christmas altogether.
• I got some sort of lurgie which the Doc initially said was eczema and forbade me from having bubbles or hot baths/showers.  Turns out, after a second visit to another Doc its Pityriasis Rosea which will eventually go by itself.  This means that I can't treat it and have returned to the world of hot bubbly baths and long, hot showers.
• I wished all of my wonderful readers a Merry Christmas.

So, a long recap there (check out the archives for the original posts).  It felt like such a long, stressful year and I was constantly run down and ill.  It seems that stress will do that to you.  

2010 will be different.  I'm not sure how, but it will.  Today I'll be tidying all my shit so that I'm starting the new year I'll at least be able to find things.

I hope you all have a fantastic time tonight, whatever you may do.

I'll see you on the other side!

Bx

Merry Christmas!

This will probably be my last post before Christmas as blogging has taken a bit of a back seat for me lately.

For those of you who are interested (which I doubt is many) - I'm at a point where I think the nastiness that has kept me away from bubbles is not eczema but pityriasis rosea.  In spite of doing what the doc told me, the lurgie has spread all over my torso and I'm now a mass of little pink blotches.  The interweb says its a common misdiagnosis, but I'm aiming to get back to the docs this week to make sure.  I've actually had PR before, so I know what to expect.  6-12 weeks of blotch that can't be treated, then normal again.

I am extremely pleased that Rage Against The Machine are the christmas number one.  I have a real loathing for the X-Factor nonsense and it was nice to have a bit of a rockier option.  So pleased was I, that I actually paid for a download of the RATM single in spite of the fact that the entire album sits on my cd rack.  I might be a little biased because I think Zack De La Rocha is the 2nd coolest person to be born on 12th January.  Coolest being me, of course.

Things are looking up at work.  I've had a major change of role to doing something I'm enjoying a lot more and I'm not dreading going into the office which is a huge improvement.

I am not liking the snow one little bit.  I don't drive, so even the shortest journey is a slip/fall/cut/sprain risk and as someone with virtually no balance or spatial awareness the chances of me falling are quite high.

So...that'll be it this side of Christmas but I'm going to try to get a 2009 recap done before we hit 2010. I hope you all have a wonderful time with your loved ones and that you eat, drink and are as merry as you can possibly be.

Lots of love...

No Bubbles

The two most awful words to the ears of a beauty junkie.  No bubbles.

They screech, cutting you to your very core.  The horror.  THE HORROR.

A couple of weeks back, I noticed a little red round patch on my arm.  Nothing major, not itchy or weeping or anything grim.  Just a little red patch.

Then a couple of days later another one.  A bit further up on that arm.  At intervals, cue repeats on my thigh, my chest, back, calf, hip.  Some of them are a bit itchy.  Blech.

Last week I decided I'd best make myself a doctors appointment as it was definitely getting worse.  Earliest the one who specialises in the skin stuff could see me was today, at the surgery in the "group" that is the furthest from my house.  1.9 miles walking, according to Google Maps.

All weekend, I scoured the internet trying to self-diagnose, which we all know is a fools game.  Eventually I came to what I felt was the only logical conclusion.  It was Ringworm and it was obviously the cat's fault.  She hates me anyway, so why not infect me with hideous fungus?  Smug little sod.*

Turns out, I am not fungal.  Its eczema.  This brings both good and bad news.

Good news - I am not fungal.  Always nice to know.

Bad news - No bubbles.

By that, I mean that the doctor has advised that I use no perfumed products or bath/shower doo-dahs that lather until this is all sorted.

Its likely to be caused by a cold weather/central heating combo, mixed with my love for baths so hot you could cook food in them and a good dose of stress thrown in for seasoning. 

I've now got all sorts of new but boringly packaged, un-sexy smelling products to use.  E45.  Doublebase Gel.  Some sort of steroid cream just in case the itching gets unbearable.  And no more scalding hot baths.  I'm allowed short, warm showers.  Lucky me.  Just what you crave after a long day at work "Oooh yes, I'll have a quick splash in some lukewarm water for 30 seconds".  Great.

I'm torn between my love for soaking in a hot bubbly tub and my vanity i.e. knowing that to not look like a plague victim I have to take the advice.  Okay, I exaggerate.  I don't look like a plague victim.  children are not singing Ring a Ring o' Roses at me as I walk down the street** but I feel SO unattractive. 

I'll try to be good.  I switched from a daily shower/bath routine to a shower only routinue before when I had my tattoo done.  Although that was in late summer/early autumn so I felt less of a need to surround myself with a warm cocoon. 

As a plus point for friends and colleagues, I'll be going through my huge box of bath and shower goodies and handing out some castoffs.  I may alternatively open a branch of Boots.  I do believe I have enough stock to last until sometime in mid-February.

What I find most interesting slightly appalling is that the stress of one thing or another at work has had me feeling run down for ages.  It is only now that I'm showing physical/cosmetic signs of stress that my vanity kicks in and goes "Oi! You'd best do somethng about this.  You're starting to look a bit rough".  Am I really so shallow that my appearance is a stronger motivator than my health?

I'm not going to answer that.  You can draw your own conclusions.  The only hint I'll give you is that I will be redirecting my bath/body product fund into expanding my makeup collection.

* I apologised today.  I picked her up and hugged her and she looked more unimpressed at that than at the accusation.

** Did you spot the deliberate mistake here?  I know, I know.  Its nothing to do with the plague.  All a myth.  I was just testing.

Poles Apart

Last weekend, I went to see an awesome play called Poles Apart. I realise that approximately 1/3rd of my readership already know this because they were either watching the play with me, or they were in it.

I don't often meet other bloggers.  In fact there isn't anyone in my real life that even writes a blog themselves, although one friend is thinking about it.  He'd be a great blogger, he's the coolest person I know by a long shot.

A month or so ago Ellie from The Daily Smoke suggested that we meet up to see fellow blogger Daniel Hoffman-Gill in his play, Poles Apart.  I had what can only be described as a complete fucking whore of a month with one thing or another, but I did manage to get myself together and get a ticket booked.

On the day of the show, I texted Ellie in the morning and she said that she'd be meeting Rashbre, another blogger in the Commercial Tavern at 5:30pm with a view to getting something to eat before the show.  Rashbre is a blogger who I was aware of but I'd never really read his blog (he's in my google reader now but as I'm about a week behind I still haven't really read his blog!  But I will!). 

Its an interesting thing, meeting people off the internet.  Especially when those people blog anonymously.  You never really know what to expect.  You have an idea of their character but no idea what they look like or sound like.

I decided (in my total lack of wisdom) that I'd meet them via Oxford Street so that I could do a bit of Christmas shopping.  EPIC fail there.  You're shuffling along, stuck behind tourists who seem fascinated at the window displays and don't stop to think for a second that there are people with things to do and places to be.  I managed Debenhams, Selfridges and Ann Summers before I gave up.  Oddly enough, Ann Summers was the only shop wtih any breathing room.  I guess crotchless knickers don't feature on that many people's christmas lists.

I moved at a snail's pace back towards Bond Street Tube station and headed in the direction of Liverpool Street.  On my journey I tried to work out what everyone would look like.   Not easy.

It turned out that in the time it took me to get from Bond St to Liverpool St the heavens had opened and it was absolutely pouring down.  This meant that I had to juggle an umbrella, two bags of shopping (paper  carrier bags...which are of course, not waterproof) and Google Maps on the iPhone to try and work out where on earth the pub was.  For 20 minutes I wandered around, noting that the city looks a lot different at night than during the day. It was also slightly weird not following my boss - thats what I usually do in the city.  He knows where we're going and so I totter behind him (client meetings = silly shoes). Eventually, I gave up and got a cab.  

The pub itself seemed quite unusual.  From the outside, I wasn't really sure a - if it was open and b - how exactly to get in as none of the doors looked like a "main" door.  I worked it out and wandered through the extremely dim lighting towards my party - Ellie, Rashbre, Melanie and John.

We left the pub straight away and went to Brick Lane for some eats and Rashbre very kindly filled me in as to some of the local history as I'd never really been to East London before. After being accosted by the locals, we settled on what was pretty much the first indian restaurant we came to.  We were promised freebies that I'm sure we didn't get, but you could make an absolute killing if you were vigilant about getting what they offered!

We had a fairly quick meal as we were cutting it slightly fine to get to the theatre on time, but we still had time to chat and sort of scope eachother out.  I had no idea what Rashbre would be like but he was extremely warm and friendly.  He gave me a copy of his book which I've made a start on but I'm a notoriously slow reader so it may take me a while!  Melanie and John were very sweet but I didn't get much of a chance to get to know them (John's blog is also now in the reader to be caught up on!).  Ellie is what can only be described as effortlessly beautiful.  She was shorter than I'd imagined, but she's one of those people that glows.

Cobra..or maybe Tiger beers and a curry later, we're on our way to the theatre.  I was glad that everyone else knew where we were going because I had absolutely no idea.  Set me down in the West End and I'm fine, I can get wherever I need to go.  Anywhere else in London?  No.  I don't worry about getting lost so much, because I know that if you walk in a straight line for long enough you'll find a tube station, but when I've got to be somewhere I like to know exactly where I'm going.

Rich Mix on Bethnal Green Road is quite a nice venue.  Poles Apart was playing up on the 4th floor and it was a lovely space.  Probably only seats for 100 and so you're right on top of the action.  As I've mentioned before, I love that.

The play was, in my opinion, brilliant.  I spend far too many evenings at home and the utter crap on TV slightly astonishes me when I'm reminded that there are intelligent, funny, talenter writers and performers out there who don't get the recognition they should.

As well as being very funny - laugh out loud funny, in fact - the story had a point.  These two men, instead of blindly going with the masses who rant "these bloody foreigners, coming over here, stealing our women and our jobs, they have it easy" decided that they would find out for themselves what it is really like to be an immigrant, not speaking the language, not knowing anyone. Off they went to Poland, with a comically translated letter, in search of employment.  Turns out, its not that easy.

I learned so many interesting things during the show - I had no idea how badly the Polish were affected during the war.  Of course I knew they were invaded at the beginning of WW2 (the fact was reinforced by the Fawlty Towers episode "The Germans") but I had no idea how hard they fought and how much they lost.  Its utterly tragic.

There were also some hilarious send ups of Nick Griffin - the man is a joke after all, so why not take advantage of that.

Reading his blog recently, DHG said that the show we saw may have been the last time that Poles Apart is performed, which hits me with both a sense of joy that I got to see it before the run ended but also with sadness that so many people will have missed out on such an entertaining, informative and downright funny show.

Thank you Ellie, Rashbre, Melanie and John for a lovely evening and great conversation, and thank you Daniel for a great performance and a wonderful, thought-provoking show.

To Do Today... / Christmas Decoration Trauma

Full list of actions to be taken to secure my status as Domestic Goddess/functioning member of society (for today at least).  In no particular order:

• Review of Poles Apart and lovely meeting with fellow bloggers
• Tidy House
• Bake - mint chocolate shortbread and homemeade mince pies
• Put up Christmas decorations
• Write Christmas cards
• Make shopping list for presents I still need to buy
• Assignment x 2 for courses I have ignored for almost 8 months
• Small amount of form filling for work, even though I'm meant to be on holiday

So far I have done none of these things.

I went out and bought a Christmas tree, lights and decorations.  The first lot of fairy lights did not work.  I find this out after I've wound all 100 of them around the tree.

I take these back for replacements.  I get home, feeling all clever in thinking I'll plug them in while I'm putting them on the tree so I know that they work. 

They do work.  For about 10 minutes.  Then... nothing.  Not even one little fairy light.  Unplug, replug, check for loose bulbs.  Darkness.

I can't put any more decorations onto the tree until I know whats happening with the lights.  Problem is I've now reached "christmas decoration apathy" and it can all just sod off. 

I realise this is probably my own fault.  These are Poundstretcher lights and you know what they say - buy cheap, buy often. But, I have another set of 50 from there that works fine, I just can't seem to make 50 go around the whole tree.

I will get to all the other stuff, but I now just can't be arsed.  Christmas is just so draining.

Too Slow

I was in a car accident on Saturday.  A minor one.  No one was hurt.

The shock hit yesterday evening.  Slow-motion replay over and over.

The car in front at the round about pulled away and then changed her mind.

Too late by then.

It was my fault we were out.   I wanted to go and look at stationery.  I don't need any stationery.  I just wanted.  Like I always do.  Curse of the only child.

I can see that she's stopped moving.  I say, "that car isn't moving" but I'm not quick enough.

Why didn't I just say "STOP"?  The verbosity present in every area of my life now spiders in to emergency situations, encouraging them rather than working to prevent them.

At work its quite amusing.  They call me Scrabble.  People have called into the office while out on the road to check they used the right word or spelling.

Yet I couldn't find one simple little "Stop".

No one was badly hurt.  Just twinges.  There are two damaged bumpers and an insurance excess to be paid, which is painful enough.

And its all my fault.  For being brattish and wordy.

Beauty Blog Revamp

I realise this will probably only appeal to a few people who read here, but I just wanted to post a quick update.

I've started a new beauty blog.  New domain, not linked to this one at all.  I am promising myself that I'll actually put in proper effort to update it the first one went totally by the wayside...Oops!.

If you'd like to check it out (and I really hope you will), its at http://www.glossgalore.com

At the moment there is only a welcome post up, but I'll be updating with a couple of reviews over the weekend as I got some lovely goodies today.

I've been off work this week using up a bit of holiday time, but hopefully once my cold goes (yep, another one!) life will return to normal and I'll be posting more exciting things here. 

Bx