Things I Have Learned This Week:

*****

1. 'compromise', in Mother's world, translates to; 'I'm going to do what I want, so there'.
     - I mean, okay, it is HER pension money, but seriously; is it so wrong to ask her to spend it on HER, rather than on other people?
     - well, you may think you've won, but watch this space, Mother, because I 'aint done arguing the toss yet...

2. there is a simple, easy way to prompt a computer to print pictures from web pages that it doesn't seem to want to.
     - thank you, Geoffrey, for that.

3. no matter how many problems a friend has disclosed that she is having - physical, financial, familial, general, or all of the above - the correct response upon being told that she is pregnant for the second time is NOT a gasped "oh, no".

4. it is possible - somehow - for my beloved Mopping Machine, Petal, to suck pieces of debris up into her tank that are far bigger than the circumference of her pipes.
     - I also learned that this practice can cause a lot of problems later on.
     - I've grown to hate the fact that on Saturdays, someone else drives Petal. Every time I come in on Monday morning, something - usually small, always preventable - has gone wrong that I have to fix.

5. it turns out that I didn't know how to spell 'circumference'.
     - I thought I did, but I didn't.

6. 'BEQ' is Library code for; 'this item has been reserved'.

7. I want a rabbit.
     - I am not going to GET a rabbit. I have neither the space nor the time - or money, for that matter - necessary to adequately care for a rabbit, and so I shan't get one. But nevertheless, I still want one.

8. the main character of The Story has turned out to not be who I thought it was. Or at least, it IS, but it isn't.
     - still, everything is now clear and established and I now have a clear insight and feel for where The Story is actually supposed to be going, so I am very pleased. Now I am getting somewhere, and can start to make some real progress.

9. in order to have a chance of working in a school environment - as a Librarian or anything else - I am going to need to get some experience working directly with children.
     - at my request, the Library manager is looking into options that might fit around my current working hours, as is the nice lady attached to Kidderminster College. I'll probably have to wait until I know how much time I'll need for my course in January, though, before I make any definite decisions.
     - in any case, what with the course, and my volunteer work plumping up my CV, I have high hopes for finding a much better job in 2017.

10. one of the members of Store Staff fancies me.
     - it's a man, unfortunately, but still.

11. when talking to someone that struggles with English, I do what everybody else does and raise my voice - whether I like it or not - as though it will help.
     - thankfully, with effort and patience on both our parts, I managed to resolve the man's problem and get what he needed converted into a savable and printable form.
     - I didn't get to practice my new 'reveal all' trick though, as it wasn't do-able in the format I had to work with. But, oh well. We managed in the end.

*****

And that's it.

For now, at least.
     The week's not over yet, after all...

B.C.B.F.L.B x

I Always Wondered Why That Woman Didn't Seem To Like Me...

*****

 

~.START.~

Scene is set; B.C.B.F.L.B is making her way home via the library - she needs to order her dog's Christmas present, and the internet connection at home is unreliable - in the rain. As she walks across the college car park - wishing that she had remembered to put her umbrella back in her bag - she spies the one of the women that works in the café at The Store a little way off (nice girl, in her mid thirties, lovely and big and round with dark hair and a cheery smile. Married and heterosexual, but then one can't have everything); she is crossing the car park in the opposite direction, in the company of her mother - a sour faced woman of indeterminate age that regularly visits The Store and is in the habit of glaring unnervingly at B.C.B.F.L.B no matter how nicely she is smiled at in return - and noticing B.C.B.F.L.B, she smiles and waves. B.C.B.F.L.B smiles and waves back. As usual, sour-face does not smile and wave, opting instead for one of her better glares.
     As the two sets of people actually cross paths, the following snippet is overheard...

SOUR-FACE: (in stage whisper, eyeing B.C.B.F.L.B suspiciously) ...is that the one? The one that's gay?
NICE CAFE GIRL: (wearily) yes, mum...

Scene ends; with Nice Café Girl and Sour-Face carrying on their way, and B.C.B.F.L.B carrying on hers.

~.END.~



 

*****

In other news; as I sit here typing, Petal is mid-way through being fixed. She will be fully up and running by the end of the day.
     So tomorrow, I shall be able to catch up with all of the machining that should have been done yesterday and today, and I can rest easy knowing that I'm not going to be summoned in to discuss the repercussions of completely writing off a piece of equipment worth at least a few thousand pounds second-hand.

Also, I've ordered Caffrey's (he's my sponsor dog) and Bingo's (you already know him) Christmas presents. Caffrey is going to receive a football, which he'll love. Bingo is due to receive a new collar and lead, which I imagine he will be less thrilled about than Caffrey will be with his football, but he desperately needs them. And in any case, I'll make it up to him by getting him a pig's ear from the market as well.
     Now all I need to do is write my Christmas cards and begin my annual please-can't-we-decorate-the-house-early-this-year? battle with Mother (I always lose, but feel compelled), and I'll be completely ready.

...T'is the Season...

B.C.B.F.L.B x

And Thus, The Week Ends With A Slip, A Crash, And A Bang.

~.START.~

Scene is set; B.C.B.F.L.B is sitting in an office located in The Store's warehouse, trying to both work up the courage to make the phone call she knows she has to, and block out from her brain the image of the water seeping carnage that is currently sitting in a heap just outside the closed door at the same time. Eventually, she takes a deep breath, picks up the phone, and dials...

PHONE OPERATOR: you are through to The Company Central Helpdesk! Hello, my name is Stuart; how can I help you?
B.C.B.F.L.B: hi, Stuart, this is B.C.B.F.L.B. I am calling from the Kidderminster branch of The Store, and need to report a fault in our scrubber dryer machine.
STUART: uh-huh, okay no problem. Can I just take The Store's reference number please?
B.C.B.F.L.B: it is '13412'.
STUART: (typing) okay, good, Kidderminster, yes. We have two branches of The Company there. I take it that as you've mentioned a scrubber dryer, this is to do with cleaning rather than catering, so... - just logging in to the correct system - ...great. And can I have your first and last name please?
B.C.B.F.L.B: (...rattles off first name and surname, along with spelling...)
STUART: (typing) great. Okay. Can I have the make and/or model of the machine, along with the serial and/or bar-code number please?
B.C.B.F.L.B: (...rattles them off, too...)
STUART: (typing) right, good. Ah yes, the 'Profy Fimap', of course. It's a mopping machine.
B.C.B.F.L.B: (cheerily) yep. Her name is Petal.
STUART: (pausing briefly, but otherwise unfazed) right, Petal. So, B.C.B.F.L.B; what seems to be the problem with Petal?
B.C.B.F.L.B: well, thanks to me, she is broken. Badly.
STUART: (surprised) badly broken?
B.C.B.F.L.B: (nodding, forgetting that he can't see her) yes. BADLY broken.
STUART: (curious) what happened?
B.C.B.F.L.B: (breathing a deep breath in) right, well, see, I was trying to refill her batteries - I do that every couple of weeks - and if possible, I do it in the warehouse, rather than the cleaning cupboard, because there's more light there - I can do that, providing the warehouse staff aren't using the forklifts - and our drain has been blocked, so I've been emptying Petal's tanks outside in the Garden Centre - I can do that too, providing that we don't use chemicals, as the drains outside are linked to a river rather than a sewage system, so I've been cleaning the store with just water, which is fine; personally I can't actually tell a difference, and I'm good at spotting differences like that as I've been a cleaner for a very long time - so ordinarily I would have emptied Petal already outside, but this time I didn't because I needed to swill her tanks out and the cleaning cupboard drain can cope with one lot of water being emptied into it, so I thought I'd just do it in there, and so I drove up to the cupboard and was about to drive in when I remembered her batteries, and needing the light, and the warehouse wasn't in use at all so I knew I could do it, and so I lifted Petal's back panel - she has two sets of batteries: one at the front under the driving seat, and one at the back under her largest tank - to get started refilling, only I'd forgotten that I needed to empty the tank out first, and I hadn't, so it was too heavy for me and instead of moving slowly on it's runner into the open position it was flung away from me out of control and at speed nearly taking my arm with it and fell all the way backwards and slammed into the ground with a great loud CRACK and a BANG, and now her hinges are all busted open and bits have snapped off from somewhere - I don't know where: underneath - and so now she's broken badly, and here we are.
STUART: (stunned temporarily into silence by this fast, unstoppable outpouring of words) ...um...I...um...so...okay...let me get this straight. You forgot to empty the tank, and lifted the back panel, and...wait: why did you lift it up again?
B.C.B.F.L.B: to reach the tubs that her battery fluid is kept in, so that I could refill them.
STUART: (still sounding stunned) ...yes, right, of course. So you lifted the panel up to do the batteries refilling, forgetting that you needed to empty the water tank first, and because you'd forgotten that, it was too heavy for you, and so instead of opening normally, it...
B.C.B.F.L.B: (finishing for him) ...fell all the way backwards and slammed into the ground with a great loud CRACK and a BANG, and now her hinges are all busted open and bits have snapped off from somewhere - I don't know where: underneath - and so now...
STUART: (finishing for her) ...the mopping machine is broken.
B.C.B.F.L.B: yep. Badly.
STUART: (breathing out loudly) badly broken.
B.C.B.F.LB: yep. BADLY broken.
STUART: (after another stunned pause) ...wow. I mean...
B.C.B.F.L.B: (sagely) yeah, I know.
STUART: (breathing out again) ...that's just...
B.C.B.F.L.B: (sagely) it is.
STUART: (after mulling over the right term to describe it) ...dramatic.
B.C.B.F.L.B: (sagely) it was.
STUART: (sounding awed) I...I mean...wow. Are you okay? Are you injured?
B.C.B.F.L.B: (breezily) nah. I'm okay.
STUART: good. (recovering composure, he reverts and becomes a formally polite help-desk operator again) right! So. what damage seems to have been done?
B.C.B.F.L.B: (sighs) well, definitely the hinges of the panel are broken. And stuff has snapped off from underneath. Not to mention that Petal's back panel is currently hanging upside down. sat on the floor with water out of seeping out of it slowly but surely.
STUART: (typing furiously) can you lift the panel back up again?
B.C.B.F.L.B: (gloomily) no. My supervisor has gone to fetch some more people to try, but I think we might have to try and drive her back into the cupboard as is.
STUART: (still typing furiously) and water is leaking. Where from?
B.C.B.F.L.B: I can't tell definitely, but I guess her tank. (...has an idea...) if we can manage to get her into the cleaning cupboard, we may be able to reach her pipes to empty her out; then we might be able to lift the panel back up again.
STUART: (still typing furiously) good, good idea. Okay, I'm just finishing getting all of this down. So, you try to do what you said, and if you manage it and find any further damage that you can identify, call back and ask to be put through to me, okay?
B.C.B.F.L.B: (breathing out loudly) okay.
STUART: (stops typing) good. Okay. So, we'll leave it at that, unless there is anything else that I can help you with?
B.C.B.F.L.B: (hopefully) any chance you would consider telling my manager that YOU broke Petal instead of me?
STUART: (regretful but firm) ah, no, I will not be doing that.
B.C.B.F.L.B: (sighs, all hope lost) I thought not. It was just worth a shot. Okay. Thank you Stuart. Other than refusing to take the blame for something I did, you have been very helpful.
STUART: (cheerfully) no problem. Your repair reference is '91507'. Good luck.
B.C.B.F.L.B: (gloomily) thanks. Bye.
STUART: (cheerfully) goodbye.
B.C.B.F.L.B / STUART: (...both hang up...)

Scene ends with B.C.B.F.L.B and Supervisor managing, after several failed attempts to lift the panel back into place, to get Petal back into the cleaning cupboard. Once there, the tank is emptied, flooding the cupboard and the warehouse floor surrounding it with filthy stagnent smelling water, and at last the panel is able to be lifted back into place. Further examination identifies severe damage to the bar and the nuts and bolts holding it in place, so after dealing with the worst of the flood, B.C.B.F.L.B squelches her way back to the office and calls the help-desk back again to report it, leaving The Supervisor to finish up. Once both things are done, B.C.B.F.L.B sets about letting the manager of The Store know that Petal is out of action until repaired - as news of the accident has spread like wildfire, this comes as no surprise to anyone, and said manager can barely contain his amused smirk as he is given the information - and then ringing her own manager to inform her - as usual, the phone is off, so she leaves a message - before squelching her way back to the cleaning cupboard and collecting her things, finally able to go home. 
     She makes it outside The Store before her cheery calmness is replaced by something else. 
     Stood beside the exit, bag and coat in hand, she bursts into tears.

~.END.~

Y'know, beside the dramatic and tragically funny event detailed above, other happenings throughout the rest of the week seem pretty tame in comparison, but meh, what the heck?
     Here they are anyway...

*****

1. during my second one-to-one session at the Library with Client 1, my lack of understanding of how to operate the badly malfunctioning, barely responsive and callously unpredictable Tablet created enough frustration that Client 1 demanded my removal and replacement by somebody that "knew what the heck they were doing", then, as none of the Librarians available could make the damn thing work either, she left unsatisfied and with an appointment booked to liaise with the only other Digital Champion that the Library currently has (who, I am confidently informed, will have no more luck than the rest of us did, because whether Client 1 is prepared to accept it or not, the damn thing doesn't work).
     Other than that, things are going well, I am doing well.

2. rehearsals have started ready for Kidderminster Choral's grand Christmas Gala concert. As usual, we have a selection of well known carols, a few less well known ones, a handful of pleasing Christmas themed songs from a variety of musicals, and at least one modern monstrosity that while composed by somebody very skilled and clever, is dire and will be hated by 99.9% of the audience (along with 100% of the choir).
     Still, The rest of the stuff is great. Plus, Santa will be coming.

3. As the story has slowly developed and grown over time from simple, to less simple, to complicated, to more complicated, to why-the-hell-has-it-become-THIS-complicated?, to so-complicated-that-it-is-now-pretty-much-unworkable, I have become increasingly uncomfortable and unsatisfied with it.
     So! Two days ago I made a decision. The subject(s) surrounding the two main characters make(s) for a Story in their own right, independent of those involving the other character, so I have opted to accept this, separate them out, and go from there. So, now I have two Stories, about two characters, about two different things, and I have picked The Story of Character 1 as the one I shall be working on for the time being.
     ...hey; =shrugs=. Whatever works, right?

4. On Friday, I received a letter/card from my sponsor dog, Caffrey. In it, he waxes lyrical about how brilliant his life is and how excited he is about Christmas coming. He also drops several heavy hints about his need for a new football (or three).
     ...Yeah.
     Of course, I'm looking for one.
     I'm a sucker. Sue me.

5. I had another date.
     Or, rather...well...I don't know that I would class it as a 'date'.
     ...An 'experience'?
     Nope; =shakes head=. That doesn't fit either...

Anyhoot.
     A girl had sent me a few messages, and we chatted a little, and she's staying in Kidderminster right now, and wondered if I might be free for an hour or so for us to meet up in between classes, and on Tuesday afternoon I was, So - ignoring my misgivings about her use of 'text speak' and the gap in our ages - I agreed, and on Tuesday, I went, and; OH MY GOD.
     Best Friend 0.5 (1); remember what you said about your last date, and 'pulling teeth'?
     ...Yeah. It was like that.

She was very young (early twenties, according to her profile but seemed far younger).
     Over a glass of wine (mine) and a pint of whatever-the-heck-it-was (hers), we sat awkwardly and uncomfortably while I spent a frustrating hour trying to get her to SAY SOMETHING. I managed to learn the following:
* she was studying beauty at the college, along with taking a computer course.
     ...she had no idea what the computer course was...
* she liked going out with friends and having fun.
     ...as far as I could gather; 'fun' entailed going to various pubs/clubs in a large group and getting drunk - or as she called it; 'lashed' - with dancing and dope smoking occasionally thrown in...
* this was the first time she had gone out on a 'lesbian' date (emphasis hers).
     ...for undisclosed reasons, her friends were sure she was gay, so persuaded her to 'have a go'...

...and that was it.
     After prizing each gem of knowledge from her reluctant lips, I gave her a little tit-bit of information back about myself (I have no clue why: she sure as hell didn't ask for it), then my phone bleeped - it was The Supervisor, wanting to know if I could bugger up the weekend I had booked off several months previously to get her out of a hole she had managed to dig herself into. My answer was simple: no. - and Sigourney, as she was called, used this as her cue to gratefully take her leave and get back to the college.

After she left, I ordered another drink - non alcoholic this time - and sat watching the world go by through the window with a sort of half cheerful, half weary acceptance.

I have no idea what, if anything, Sigourney gained from her first 'lesbian' date, other than a very obvious realization that I wasn't the best choice of whom to have it with, but hopefully she was able to draw something positive from it.
     I sure did.
     I drew the realization that it is a good thing to LISTEN TO YOUR BLOODY GUT.

*****

So; work and usual family stuff apart, that was my week.
     I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.
     =bows. walks off=

B.C.B.F.L.B x

A Mixed Week.

The past seven days have involved a series of Ups and Downs.

UP: on Monday morning, I got to laze in bed until 7-AM before taking a leisurely stroll wi' t'dog.

DOWN: my first one-to-one on at the library didn't go all that brilliantly, due to the person in question needing help figuring out how to do certain things on her new Tablet, which I have no experience of using whatsoever.
    - Thankfully both the client (hark at me. I have 'clients'. Whoo!) and myself kept good humour throughout what turned out to be an hour fraught with problems - some due to inexperience, some due to the Library's computerized system playing up, and some due to The Tablet itself; which was afflicted with a reaction time so slow that the Tablet fell asleep half way through whatever it was doing and then get confused, and a malfunctioning Google Keyboard - and the client happily booked herself in for another session the following week so that we could have another go once I had spent a bit of time researching tricks of the Tablet trade.

UP: straight after client 1 had hobbled off, I had another appointment booked, and that went swimmingly

DOWN: after the successful appointment with Client 2, I fell up the stairs, bruised my hip, and strained my foot.

UP: while resting my foot under a bag of frozen peas the next day, I was able to relax guilt free (released from the usual inner screeches of: DO SOMETHING that I normally endure), re-watching some of my favourite episodes of N.C.I.S and C.S.I and getting a bit of writing done, along with chatting with a nice girl called Lara87.
     - The latter didn't come to anything, in the finish, but it was nice all the same. Anybody that has both the ability and the will to type in complete sentences is worth giving the benefit of the doubt in my book,

UP: during my volunteer stint on Wednesday, I put my Digital Champion skills to good use, helping folk with a range of issues; from navigating their way through the purchase of airline tickets, to scanning, printing and then photocopying a driving licence.
     - I know it's vain, but that awed/impressed look that people give me when I do something with an electronic device that I find easy but they don't? Yeah, I like that.

DOWN: as I left the library, I received a phone call and found out that Cousin 1 was unable to travel down to Kidderminster due to a problem with her car. It couldn't be helped, and we rescheduled our meeting for another day (actually a better day, for both of us), but it was still a bit 'Meh', y'know?

DOWN: by the end of said Wednesday, the slightly runny nose that I'd had for the past few weeks had decided to develop into a full blown cold. Sore throat, clogged sinuses, aching joints, grogginess, asthmatic cough; the works.
     - Considering that I was already limping quite badly, I found this a trifle unfair.

UP: on both Thursday and Friday, I got to have yet more guilt-free lazy days in order to try and 'get me right' ready for the choral concert on Saturday.
     - I got to cuddle the dog a heck of a lot, too. There were no more girls to chat to though, apart from the usual 'hey u hot like gr8 sex' crowd.

DOWN: my cold and poorly foot - although much improved - made my contribution to Kidderminster Choral Society's Splendours Of Baroque concert far less perfect than I would have liked.

UP: I still sang in the concert anyway (mostly), gave it my best - albeit ill - shot, and despite feeling incredibly wobbly, didn't fall off the stage or otherwise do anything to embarrass myself or anyone else.

UP: another Librarian post has cropped up. I finished the application today.
     - fingers crossed.

DOWN: today is the last day of my holiday. Tomorrow I am due back at work.
     - =SIGH=

UP: I have things to look forward to over the next few days, and will continue to have positive things to work towards for far longer than that,

And, that's it.

     ...Well, I think it's best to end on an UP, don't you?

B.C.B.F.L.B x

PS: as requested, Best Friend 0.5 (1), here is a picture:

Enjoy.

Lazy, Lazy Sunday.

I am being lazy today.
    Walking the dog, and typing up already existing snatches of The Story that I've had scattered across the house on various bits of paper in various notepads - and have been meaning to get around to sorting out - were the the only goals of the day, and I've accomplished both of them already.

Now, all that is on the agenda is relaxing.
     That, and catching up on episodes of Law & Order and N.C.I.S.
     Yep.
     Corpses, cops, and lawyers: you can't get more relaxing than that.
     =nods. yawns. stretches=

Anyhoo.
     Hi.
     =waves=

I haven't posted for a while, because my emotions have been all over the place, to the point that simply making myself get up in the morning to face another day has been hard.
     So, it's been as much as I can do to keep plodding along in the real world, let alone thinking of things to say within the cozy confines of my little online one.

But over the past few days, I have started to feel better.
     I wouldn't say I'm completely back to normal, not yet, but I've sufficiently improved enough to feel as close as being back to normal as is probably possible for the moment. Close enough to take real pleasure in things again; to laugh, and to smile, and to notice the positives in the world around me...
     Just better in general, really.

I have the next week off from work - my paid work, that is, my new, mini unpaid gig at The Library will continue unabated. My first booked one-on-one appointment is booked for tomorrow at 2PM - and have various bits and bobs to be getting along with; the main ones being helping The Brother to decorate his flat, practicing ready for the choral concert next Saturday, and getting more of The Story out of my head and onto paper (or, in this case, onto computer).

And, of course, spanning further into the future, I have other goals that I am working towards, too,
     Attending college and continuing to look for a better job are at the forefront, along with finishing one or more of the books I have been working on, and of course there's the next touring holiday to start saving for - that'll take about a year and a half. I was thinking Tuscany this time, or perhaps Croatia; they grabbed me as fascinating/fun - and once the 8 weeks probationary peroid is up I'll be hoping to extend and expand my duties at The Library, and then there are a few smaller things I have been (and intend to carry on) concentrating on as well.
     Plans are in motion, anyway.

This afternoon, though, as I said; there is only one thing I plan to do.
     And that is to sprawl out, kick off my slippers, and laze the day away.

Because I can.
     Yep.
     =nods=

...Happy Sunday, y'all...


B.C.B.F.L.B x

Nightmares Ahoy!

Boy, did I have nasty dreams last night.

I can only remember the one; the others - thankfully - faded away the way that dreams sometimes do the moment I awoke, leaving behind that uneasy, unhappy 'bad dream' feeling that we all know so well.

The one that I remember involved a little bee, or some other such buzzy flying insect, ending up in my ear, where it buzzed and buzzed in a terrifying and unpleasant kind of way while I, as The Brother (who happened to be there) put it - and forgive my language - "freaked the fuck out".
     It fell to The Dream Version of The Brother to rescue me, which to give him his dues, he duly did, annoyed by my histrionics or not.
     It took a long time and was a painstaking and brow sweating process - not helped by my continuing to "freak the fuck out", which entailed a lot of screaming and crying - but eventually, he managed it, pulling a mangled looking bee from my ear and holding it aloft in the manner of a conquering hero. Which, of course, he was.

- Speaking of which; Dream Version of The Brother, if you happen to be reading this, thank you very, very much. I am eternally grateful, forever in your debt, etc. etc.
     =bows=

Anyhow, that was my dream.
     Awful, wasn't it?

Even thinking about it now, hours later, gives me the shivers, so I shall stop, and instead shall stroke the dog.

That's much nicer.
     Yep.
     =nods=

B.C.B.F.L.B x

   

Bless.

I'm feeling far too raw to talk about the events of the last nine or so days (even the good parts), so I shan't - for now, at least (sorry, Best Friend 0.5(1); I know you were looking forward to the second rendition of your Alternate History Lesson) - and will instead focus on something else, which in this instance, is the cat.

Suzie wanted to go into the kitchen. The door leading to it, however, was shut to and wedged against the skirting board (technically open, but with too narrow a gap for her to fit through).
     So! The following occurred...

At first, she tried to simply walk through into the kitchen anyway (as you would) but found - amazingly - that the door didn't yield to her will, opting instead to remain solid and un-go-through-able.

...Then she tried glaring at the door, but - more amazingly still - that didn't work either.

...Then she upped the ante and hissed at it, only to find that the door, which had already proven itself to be a bad sport, still refused to co-operate, which of course was so amazing as to beggar belief.

...Then, the piece de resistance: she bit it.
     Now, that, she was obviously thinking, that would surely teach that idiotic wooden affront masquarading as a door precisely who was boss...?
     But no! To her intense shock and disbelief, it didn't!

...Then, at last, realizing that all efforts had failed - and that to save what remained of her dignity, any effort to ask for help from the human in the room was obviously out of the question - she did what any self respecting female would do and turned her nose up at the whole thing before stalking away, presumably so as to ruminate on the appropriate method of revenge to deploy later in private, flicking the door dismissively with her tail as she did so.

...And now. five minutes later, having turned her back on the world, she is fast asleep, exhausted into dreamland by the ordeal of coming up against an object too stupid to listen to either reason or threat.

=smiles to self=
     ...Well.
     That was fun.

B.C.B.F.L.B x

Thanks, Mom.

~.START.~

Scene is set; Alice is sat in her seat during a rehearsal. The rehearsal gives way to an interval, as per usual, at 8:45-PM. Quiet is called for so that announcements can be made, and the chatter calms down into silence. This is the moment when Alice bends down to pick up her water bottle, and is also the moment that Alice's body chooses to let out the biggest and loudest fart that that church hall has ever seen. Cue, Alice jerking upright, with colour flushing her face. The other choristers do the good old British thing and pretend that nothing happened at all, and after a further moment of - now excruciating - silence, the announcements commence. Alice takes advantage of this to slip unobtrusively out of the hall and down the stairs towards the toilets. Once safely inside, she takes a few deep breaths, fans her burning face and fetches out her mobile phone. She needs sympathy. Somebody to say something along the lines of ..."oh, poor you, never mind, could happen to anybody, and it'll be forgotten next week"... something like that. So, she starts typing a text message...

ALICE: Oh God, oh God, I just broke wind really loudly, and it was really quiet and everybody heard it!

MOTHER: Blimey. I'll have to pretend I don't know you.

ALICE: (typing crossly) Hey! You'd deny your own daughter due to a fart?

MOTHER: Yep. Without hesitation.

ALICE: You cow! I reached out to you, my MOTHER, in a time of great embarrassment. I was expecting sympathy, and you say that!

MOTHER: Look, in times of trouble, generally I dispense hugs. But trump in public, dear, and you're on your own.

ALICE: Thanks, Mom.

MOTHER: Any time. See you at supper.

ALICE: (mutters aloud) ...bitch... 

~.END.~  

B.C.B.F.L.B x

Well, That's One Question (Asked Yesterday) Answered.

QUESTION: how many cleaners - momentarily distracted by a low flying dove - does it take to send a smallish child - completely distracted by having the time of her life skating up and down the aisles of The Store as fast as she can on a pair of Heelys - careering off course and into a wall?

ANSWER: just the one (me).

Thankfully, said smallish child was unhurt, and even more thankfully, there appeared to be no parent nearby ready to scream at me.
     All the same, though, after checking that the little girl was alright - which she was. A little stunned, but otherwise healthy - I gathered my equipment and took my leave in a hurry, just in case.

This incident, however, raises more questions:

1. why do so many (so-called) parents allow their children to race up and down in crowded places completely. unsupervised? Surely, even when not in a potentially dangerous place like The Store I work in, that is terribly treacherous?

2. yesterday's child may have been lucky, but how many children - along with innocent passersby - to date have been injured in accidents associated with Heelys?  And how serious an injury would it take to be for the imbecilic product* to be taken off the shelves? Does a child actually have to die?

Anybody with answers to either of those, would you please get in touch?
     Ta.

B.C.B.F.L.B x

* should anybody stumbling across this Blog be offended by my comments regarding Heelys, I have the following to say: 
a) there is a time and a place for pretty much everything, but with regards to skating; in an enclosed space, littered with large immovable objects (many of them with very sharp edges) and surrounded by crowds of people is not one of them.
b) I am thinking primarily of the safety of the children involved, here. To me, at least, the idea of little heads being cracked open on shelves is an unpleasantly realistic one.
c) bite me.  

Okay! Now, give Me A 'B'! Give Me A...

~.START.~

Scene is set; Mother, Alice and Brother are sat around the table in the kitchen, faces set with competitive concentration as they stare down at the scrabble board in front of them (well, Brother and Mother's are; Alice has little chance of winning, and thus is simply having fun). Presently, Brother, who's turn it is (and who is determined to make use of a particularly inhospitable spot that is enticingly labelled as 'treble word score'), speaks...

BROTHER: (after very long pause) how do you spell 'jot'? Does it have two T's or one?
ALICE: (pondering) um...one, I think. ...Yeah. One, I'm pretty sure it's one. Mother?
MOTHER: (a little absently, concentrating on her letters) er, yep, it is spelled j-o-t. Unless you have 'jotted' something down, in which case, it uses two: j-o-t-t-e-d.
BROTHER: (mutters something under his breath) ...well, how about 'jut'?
MOTHER: same principle: j-u-t, or j-u-t-t-e-d.
BROTHER: (after very long pause) oh, bollocks!
MOTHER & ALICE: (instinctively in unison) ...and that would be: b-o-l-
BROTHER: (sarcastically) ...oh, ha ha, very funny...

Scene ends; with the whole family exchanging glances and dissolving into helpless laughter, which lasts for quite some time and is engrossing enough to temporarily stall the game. 

~.END.~

B.C.B.F.L.B x

I Think I May Be Allergic To The Cat...

...at a distance, I am fine, but as it turns out, close up; my allergies play up massively and I suffer from what feels like Hayfever-X-10.

The problem with this is that it took quite a while for my brain to make the connection between cat and allergy - shut up; it's easily done when one suffers regularly from allergies anyway - and the cat (who I am having to lean over gingerly to type this) has been curled up comfortably on my lap for some time now, purring gently in her sleep (sweet).

So; I am feeling quite poorly.

BUT, I do not want to disturb the cat.

...Help!...

B.C.B.F.L.B x

UPDATE:

While I was still fiercely debating the remove-or-not-to-remove-the-cat issue with myself, the outcome was unexpectedly decided for me when the dog let out a sudden loud sneeze, which caused him to wake up, and the cat to fall off.

    So; she is now sulking in the corner, glaring at the dog, who unfortunately for her is totally unconcerned by her steely gaze as he has fallen back to sleep.

     On the downside, my allergies are settling down, which points very strongly towards my suspicion of my reaction being caused by my beloved Suzie's unusually close proximity being correct.

     However, on the plus side, her being foisted from my lap was the dogs fault and not mine, so; she still likes me. Yay!

=SIGHS=

     I am such a coward.

I Am Sat In The Living Room With The Pets...

...and I think the cat just told me to shut up.

It's common knowledge that I talk to the television / computer about what I am watching - in this instance, 8 Out Of 10 Cats Does Countdown, which I am still working my way through whenever I get a spare hour, during which Mother is not here - and usually, this is fine. The dog pays no attention, and the walls are thick enough that the neighbours don't either.
     Not so, the cat.

A while back, Suzie started infiltrating the living room. She started subtly, just sort of edging her way in bit by bit - she has never been banned, you understand; she has the run of the house. She just hates and avoids the dog (who, in turn, is rather terrified of her) - before upping her game and taking possession of one of the arms on Mother's chair. Then she tried to lay claim to the chair as a whole, but mother wasn't having that, so she relocated to the mat beside the door, only to find that it wasn't a wholly ideal place to lay one's head due to occasional foot traffic (we considered the idea of only coming in through the back door, but just as with the idea of giving up her chair, Mother found the concept excessive), then she decided upon lying beside Mother's chair - looking disgruntled, until everyone was out, upon which she would zip into position and sprawl out right in the middle of it - and finally, she has decided that the table tucked away in the corner where Billy The Computer is stored (along with everything he sits on while in use) is the perfect place for her; secluded away from the dog while giving her a good view of the room and easy access to the door in case quick escape is needed.
     So, there she is, and there she intends to stay (Mother and I are still arguing that point, but meh; I'll find somewhere else for Billy to live).

...Anyway! Back to Countdown. I was laughing - possibly a little loudly - at something the brilliant Johnny Vegas had said, when I heard an incredibly annoyed yowl sound from the corner, and turning to look, found Suzie, apparently shaken out of slumber, glaring at me pointedly.
     Stunned, I said; "...sorry...?", which got a sort of sighing huff in reply.
     Then, sighing a second time, she curled herself back up and closed her eyes.

So there you go. The cat just told me to shut up, so that she could have some peace and quiet.

To which, I (maturely) give the answer of this:
     =BLOWS RASPBERRY=

Thank you.
     That is all.

=bows, walks off. ...then walks back...=

By the way; in honour of Best Friend 0.5 (1) - t'is his Birthday today - I have decided that from now on, I will be referring to myself by my nickname: Batshit Crazy, Big Fat Lesbian Bitch, or B.C.B.F.L.B for short.

Okay.
     That is all.

=bows, walks off again=

B.C.B.F.L.B x

Bid-um Bid-um Bi-di-di-dum: Phwoarr.

During my ‘relaxing’ time (or my ‘avoidance’ time. Whichever), I have been watching the utterly splendid 8 out of 10 Cats Does Countdown, and during this highly enjoyable viewing process I have come to a realization:

Sod Rachel Riley. I fancies me some Susie Dent.

She's unutterably lovely. 

Thank you.

     That is all.

=bows. walks off=

Alice x

It's That Time Of Year Again...

...autumn is here, and the temperature of Worcestershire is dropping, slowly but surely.

This is great news for me, overall.
     It means that I can conduct my normal day to day life without sweating like a pig (sexy). It means that I can enjoy being outside without worrying that I will either smell or burn. It means that walking becomes pleasurable for me again.

This is all very lovely, obviously.
     However, there is one downside to this, as the coming of autumn/winter brings with it a change in the temperature inside as well as out, which is bad news for me, because in our family, our home has a nickname. It is called 'The Icebox'.
     And true to its name, it is (something to do with the cellar, apparently); it seems to draw cold air in, and kick warm air out. Which is brilliant, in summer, but not brilliant at all in winter.

Today, therefore, the Icebox is an icebox. Outside, the sun is gently warming the ground below and all is pleasantly cool. Inside, I am wearing thick trousers, thick socks, a thermal vest and a thick dressing gown. That would be enough, usually, but since returning from taking the dog for his morning walk - we saw pheasants, coal tits and gold finches, and there was a tantalizingly brief glimpse of a king fisher as well - I've been sat here in one place all morning not moving all that much. First I had to finish sewing the makeshift tail feathers onto Paddy's bird ready for Mother to take it with her after lunch, and then I got down to dealing with deactivating all of those darn e-mail alerts from the recruitment websites that have been bothering me for the past few months  (my Lord, do the designers of the websites make that a long-winded process, or what? Are they hoping people will just give up?), and I am now coming to the conclusion that all the garb I have on isn't enough, actually. I may have to go and fetch a blanket as well.

...I know what you'll be thinking.
     Turn the fire on, you berk! Activate the central heating!
     But the thing is, I can't.
     The central heating we simply don't use ever (long story. I think I've told it, actually. Look back a-ways), so that's out. The fire, we do, and usually the living room is nice and toasty from the first sign of nip in the air (gas bill be damned), but this year, Mother is, well... - how can I put this delicately? - ...Mother is getting very warm at the moment, and with increasing frequency.
     So, I can't put the fire on. Or at least not yet. She is due back from church any minute (late service: Harvest Festival), and she will almost certainly be hot and bothered and probably very much looking forward very much to entering The Icebox. It would be the height of insensitivity, given her current delicate and precarious hormonal condition, to turn the living room into an oven in the meantime.

She will be leaving again shortly afterwards, though, and then will be out for the majority of the afternoon (with a brief reappearance in the middle to bring the dog back), so the fire can go on then.
     Until then, though...

=gets up and hurries off to fetch a blanket=

Alice x

UPDATE

Mother just got back, and upon entering the room, shivered and said "brr! It's cold in here! Pop the fire on for a bit, will you?"

=rolls eyes=

...Go figure...

At (Insert Expletive Here) Last!

I have been invited to an interview.
     Office Junior. Worcester.
     The actual job itself is situated a few minutes walk from the Crowngate Shopping Centre, but the interviews are being conducted through the recruitment website it was advertised through (in this case a company called 'Jark').
     The first time I was subjected to this form of interview process - about 6 and a half years ago, now - this was an incredibly strange and suspicious seeming practice to me, but I quickly learned that it's just the way some company's choose to do it. Out of I think 10 such interviews that I attended over a three year period, only one turned out to be bogus (in Birmingham, this was. I took one look at the supposed 'office' and didn't go in. Which turned out to be good, as the company - I forget the name - was plastered all over the internet soon after warning people that the company was a front for a lucrative scam).
     Anyway, I'm going to give it a shot. At worst, I've wasted the train fare, at best, I'll get a job. And even if not successful, your details are kept on the recruiter's file, which has the potential to prove incredibly useful later on (it was that which led to the job I have now).

I may get it, I may (given the lack of current experience) not. But the point is; I have been invited to an actual interview.

So I am very pleased.
     Yup.

=nods=

Alice x

...UPDATE...

Yeah. I think my initial pleasure was misplaced.
     Having sent a message agreeing on a time, I received a reply confirming it, along with a small list of the things I was expected to bring:

* Birth certificate or Passport
     - for proving country of origin.
* National Insurance Card or proof of National Insurance Number.
     - for proving eligibility to work in the UK.
* Details of bank account.
     - for...?

Yep. I've dealt with this before.
     It isn't a scam. Or at least, it is in my opinion, but legally speaking it's not. This is - most likely - a registration process to join the agency for a "small monthly / weekly fee", in return for which, I will be "guaranteed" work.
     The problem with that - not just for me (which was a while ago) but for others I know of far more recently - is that the type of work offered is so rarely in any way suitable as to make the registration utterly useless. In my case (Hewett Recruitment: Advantage Plus, it was called. To my knowledge this no longer exists, which hopefully means the company wised up and dropped it), I received repeated offers of - definitely - part time and - definitely - temporary contracts. In the case of my cousin - for another example - when she was made redundant recently (I must check the name of the one she joined), she was also offered work; of a completely unsuitable nature in completely unsuitable locations. Once she found a job under her own steam (she is now what I suppose could be called an Assistant Pharmacist) and all was well, she recalled the kind of conversation she ended up having with the eager and well meaning Personal Recruitment Specialist with rueful amusement:

" ...what? what do you mean you can't take on a 3 month contract for an essentially German speaking post in New Zealand? ...You need work in England, you say, and cannot speak German*? ...Well, are you sure??"

...Yep...

Anyway, I am still going on Tuesday.
     Sound crazy? Possibly, However, Jark is a genuine recruitment company - I've checked - and it may be on the up and up; fee paying registration may be a secondary and non essential part of an otherwise legitimate interview for an actual post, rather than an excuse to try and sign me up.
     If not, well, I've spent the money on the train fare, but gained some experience.
     Either way, I shall proceed with caution.

Alice x

* she does speak Italian quite fluently, though. 

Life Trundles On, Chez Collison:

* Grandmama's kitchen refit has finally (mostly) been fitted. The design promised 'more room for storage', so naturally there is now approximately half the amount of space that there was before.
     On the downside, this means that Grandmama - a perpetual and incurable hoarder of food and utensils - has had to get rid of a mass of stuff.
     On the plus side, however, this means that Grandmama - a perpetual and incurable hoarder of food and utensils - has had to get rid of a mass of stuff.
     ...And another plus; it does look terribly nice, and Grandmama is very pleased with it.

* Mother's recent attempt to broaden her mind has gone pretty much as expected. For a while, her usual Agatha Christi novel in the bathroom was replaced with Steven Hawking's "A Brief History Of Time". This led to four days of discontent and general defensiveness - as it became clear to Mother within one page that she hadn't the faintest idea what the celebrated scientific and mathematical genius was talking about - before she finally admitted defeat. Agatha has regained her rightful place on the shelf beside the 'throne' (as MJ calls it), and poor Steven's tome has been relegated to a pile of unwanted literature in the kitchen, destined for the Church raffle.

* ...speaking of Mother, she has finally heard back about her pension. With regards to the lump sum, it is due on 30th September - and is far higher than anticipated, which is very lucky, as Aunt 1 is going to need financial help soon if she is to continue Paddy's treatment regime, which is essential for him to a) live and b) be happy living - and with regards to the monthly payments, that will be slower getting off the mark due to the (stupid) way that the system is worked out, but we should apparently be good to go from November 4th onward.

* Bingo appears to be growing stiffer. We have upped the dose of painkiller to full, but only for two days. Right now we are two days on, two days off, and plan to carry on that way for a few weeks to see what happens. I know that it would be better for Bings to have the full amount every day - the thought of him being in even slight discomfort is a terrifying one for me - but his tummy just can't cope with it. Hopefully this will be an acceptable compromise.

* My trainers split across the back this morning, mid shift. They've lasted two months.
     =sighs=
     It would be far better if I could wear my waterproof boots to work, but I can't. They haven't broken in as well as I'd hoped. I took a risk, buying army boots, that they wouldn't stretch as much at the toes - how I wish I could have had the next size up, but it was hopelessly too big - and the risk didn't quite pay off. Nearly, but not quite. Dog walking wise, the boots are perfect: my feet stay dry, and I can walk on pretty much any terrain without the fear of slipping over due to the terrific grip they have. I can only wear the boots for approximately two and a half hours, however, before they begin to pinch my little pinky toes (as I have fractured them both - on separate occasions, thankfully - they are misshapen and fatter than the other toes, which really doesn't help), and three hours before the discomfort passes the baton over to pain.
     So, they are my official super-duper waterproof dog walking boots. I am not sorry I forked out the money for them. These boots will serve my hiking needs for many, many years to come.
     ...As for work, well, trainers are no good. They are too soft, and the seams are not strong enough to cope with the stress put on them by my insoles. So, back to boots I go. Ordinary run-of-the-mill boots, non-waterproof, strong enough to cope with the insoles - hopefully - yet soft enough that my little pinky toes are able to keep from crying.
     I've brought the next size up, though (which with this style is do-able)  just to be safe. So, we'll see...

* The Story is growing, inch by inch, millimeter by millimeter. Carrying on like this, I should have finished it by January, which is my goal. It will be the third story I have written in full, and the first that has any real potential. The other two were written years before, and while they have some good ideas and some sections of them are quite good, I wasn't particularly happy with the result. I was stiff sort of 'finding myself', I think, writing wise (God, I hate that phrase!), and it shows.

* The money I've been waiting to hear about has been confirmed. It should be going in on October 10th. As soon as it's in, I'm ringing the college in Worcester and making an appointment to meet the head of the IT department. The sooner I'm enrolled, the better. Even if there's been a mistake, and I have to wait until January to start, I don't care: at least I'll be enrolled ready, and know that it's going to happen.

* My birthday is fast approaching. You know it's close when you find people are asking you sutble, non-obvious questions like; "...so, what did you want for your birthday...?".
     ...I'll be 32.
     Blah,..

* ...did I mention the trainers? Because they split today. Mid shift.

* I finally watched Suicide Squad the other day.
     Not bad. Not bad at all. I'll definitely be watching it again.

* I was the driving force behind stopping Felix - have I mentioned him? He is about 8 years old. and autistic (or so a trusted member of B&Q staff tells me); he comes in with his father every single weekday morning, and has a high fascination with all things mechanical and electrical - from having a meltdown this morning.
     God bless Petal. That mopping machine has stopped many a tantrum simply by driving slowly past, and it's always nice, but the huge beaming smile I got from Felix today was particularly sweet.


...and there you have it, lady and gent: the last few days in bullet points.
     Now, don't you feel special?

Alice X
   

Making Up Your Own Version Of History Is So Much Fun:

This time, it was the turn of Best Friend 0.5(1). 

     The origin of an elaborate and ornate clock in Birmingham Museum & Art Gallery was explained by Best Friend 0.5(1) thus…

***

In 1742, a dark time descended upon Birmingham.

It was the time of the Great Bakers’ Strike.

They had been unhappy for some time. The bakers had complaints a-many regarding their working and living situations. Their houses – behind the bakery – were cramped and decrepit; stifling in summer, frozen in winter, and falling apart at the rafters. The bakery itself was also in dire need of repair; the ovens intermittent and stubborn, oftentimes needing extensive coaxing to merely allow themselves to be lit.

But the most complained about aspect was none of these, dear reader. It was the amount they were paid.

            Contrary to other professions of similar status, which rose with a gentle but reliable consistency with the passing of time, their weekly wage had not risen in two decades or more. Why was not certain. The complaint had been taken to the Town Council more than once, but those in charge of such matters had reportedly bickered, passing the responsibility back and forth repeatedly between them before handing the matter back to the Council head, who then summarily refused to take action as a decision could not be reached.

The matter came to a head on the late eve of February 23^rd, 1742. A great knocking roused the Head Baker – a man who’s given name was Bernard, but who was aptly named Beak by his brethren – from peaceful slumber and drew him to the long since locked Bakery door.

            Noting the tall, shadowed figure of a man through the window pane, Beak contemplated walking away back to the warmth and comfort of his bed, then decided against it. He would probably keep knocking, he reasoned, and hinder any efforts to re-retreat into slumber. So he opened the door.

            It was Nealson, one of the lower members of the Town Council. An odious man, puffed up with false importance and swelled to unnaturalness by the wealth of his ancestors. Peering owlishly inside, he demanded in a voice too loud for the time – with the sour stench of stale beer rich on his breath – that he wanted a fresh cut loaf; heavily grained and plaited if possible.

            Well, Beak replied with the time honoured tact and patience of a man used to dealing with unreasonable members the public that he could not serve him at that time; the last loaf of the last batch had been sold to the last customer seconds before the store closed for the day. And the ovens were dead and cold and would be until 3AM the following day (Beak noted with an internal pang as he said this that that time was fast approaching).

            Nealson’s owlish face became more owlish as he stared at the Head Baker, outraged, before reminding him of his station and duty. Beak was a Baker. He was a Councilman. The lower orders were bound to serve those of the upper, and what he – an upper – wanted right at that second from him – a lower – was a fresh cut loaf: so, chop chop. He best get to it.

This was the precise the moment that something deep inside of Beak snapped, and the Great Bakers’ Strike was born.   

“Sod off, you c***t” was the reply Beak gave. An eloquent response given the circumstances, it was agreed by everyone later.

            And then he slammed the door shut.

It was to remain closed for three days after that point. Closed and barred from the inside and all knocks and calls and threats and pleas ignored.

            Then in the dead of night, under the cover of darkness, it was opened again, for approximately 60 seconds. Just enough time for the sign that was found the next day to be attached.

The announcement was simple:

“NO MORE PAY? FINE. NO MORE BREAD”.

The outcry this caused was loud enough to reach villages and towns several miles away. Loud enough for other Bakers to hear it, and immediately follow suit. Pretty soon, there wasn’t a Bakery within the entirety of lower England that was open for serving.

It was a problem, for certain. Councils met day after day as always with only the one subject on the agenda: how to end the strike. Or, to be more precise, how to end the strike without actually parting with any money.

            After two weeks’ worth of debate and deliberation, it was decided that the matter needed to be dealt with with an iron fist. A constable of the Council court was duly dispatched to post an official warning under the door – it had to be underneath, for Beak had wisely boarded the letterbox along with the door – warning them that as Bakers of the Crown, they were bound by said Crown to produce bread. If no bread was produced, then they were acting contrary to their sworn oath and could – and would – be arrested and tried for treason. They had 24 hours to comply.

The Bakers considered this for twelve hours. Then for 12 hours after, they coaxed the ovens back to life and started baking. Then just after, at 7AM, when the servant of the Head Councilman opened his door to retrieve the bottle of milk that had been ordered to be delivered ready for breakfast, he found a large basket covered over with a blanket. Calling to his master, he carried it inside. Upon inspection, the basket was found to contain bread. 

            Flat bread to be precise. Several loaves worth.

            On the top of the loaves was a note. It stated – in between various expletives –that if they wanted bread, they’d got it. One load of flat breads, made with unsweetened dough – there the quip was made ‘because all of you Upper Men are surely sweet enough’ – per day, to feed the Council, or the town, or whomever it pleased, and that was it. No more, no less, until the row was resolved. Until their needs were satisfied – on top of the original demand that their pay be raised to match inflation, it was also requested that an extra half day a week be given off to give the Bakers time to tend to their stricken houses, and also for their equally stricken ovens be paid to either be fixed or replaced – the Bakery doors would remain closed firm.

For a time, things continued in this vein, with neither side showing any sign of relenting. The Councilmen tried various threats to try and force the Bakers’ hand, but nothing worked. They couldn’t even manage to catch whomever it was that Beak was sending to deliver the grudgingly given offering of the day. No matter how closely the Bakery was watched or for how long, somehow the mystery man got through (it was later discovered that there was a disused mining tunnel, which not many knew of, leading right the way under the town).

Eventually, weeks and weeks later, the Councilmen bowed under the pressure brought by the populace – sick as they were of not having bread to go with their meat, and eggs, and fish, and cheese. And this wasn’t to mention the Councilmen themselves, who had had the bread supplied by Beak for all of this time, but were unutterably sick of sourdough – and called a special meeting to which Beak was cordially – and desperately – invited.

He arrived with great ceremony, flanked on either side by the largest Bakers of his brethren. He was offered the best seat in the Council House, and cigars and sweetmeats were wafted enticingly under his nose. He accepted a light for the former and smilingly refused the other – his wife, concerned regarding his health, had him on a low sugar diet – and after a few slow, savouring breaths of the delightful burning stick, he gave another amiable smile – the smile of a humble man that knows victory is close at hand – and asked what he could do for them.

…Well, reader(s), it was all settled very quietly and quickly after that. A special bursary was set aside for the updating of the outdated equipment in the Bakery. The half day was granted – but only on alternate Saturdays – and the long awaited pay rise was finally granted, on the condition that the Bakers wait for the start of the new financial year.

And so, the people rejoiced as the handiwork of the Bakers was restored slowly but surely to the bread and cake starved nation.

To celebrate this happy union, the Watch Makers’ Guild was commissioned to make a clock to commemorate the occasion. They initially refused – upset that due to the alternate half days off the Bakers would no longer be delivering the glorious platter of mixed sweet sandwiches that they had always so enjoyed and looked forward to every week – but a quiet word from Head Baker to Head Maker resolved the issue forthwith and the Guild – after a whispered promise that the platter would still be delivered every Saturday lunchtime providing that they didn’t mention the matter to anyone else – eagerly set to work.

This was the result:

And so it was, and so it is, and so – presumably – it will remain.

     ...Isn't history grand?

The End.

***

Two Things That I Have Found Out Today:

1. as well as having individual sections of pieces of music - in this case, J.S. Bach's Magnificat - Youtube also sometimes has the individual parts. So as well as following the music along with the backing of the entire chorus (which, to avoid Kidderminster Choral's AGM, is what I have been doing tonight), one can listen to their own line played on all its own.
     How cool is that?!
     I had no idea. I've never looked for an individual part (though having finally noticed, now it seems obvious). Previously I have just typed in the name, found a recording that has actual singing as apposed to merely being played by an orchestra, made sure that it plays all the way through with no interruptions, and then gamely set off.
     This way, though, when I haven't access to the choir (which is 6 days out of the 7), with this piece at least, I can have the best of both worlds: listen to the 2nd Soprano part in detail and allow my brain to take it in, then practice each section as a whole to see how the part fits in.
     Fantastic.

2. my dog REALLY hates it when I practice. I've noticed it more and more. If he is asleep during the process, all well and good (it doesn't seem to actively wake him up), but when he is awake, he tries everything he can think of to get me to stop.
     I thought at first it was my singing that put him off (it certainly puts me off, sometimes), but nope; it's not. It doesn't matter if I sing, or stay silent and follow the music that way, or - as I did this evening - a bit of both: he hates it, and he wants me to stop.
     Right now, he is sulking on his bed, because I wouldn't tolerate him hitting my legs and trying to clamber onto my lap.
     =shakes head=
     ...Funny dog...

Alice x

On A More Positive Note, After Careful Thinking And Consideration, Here Is My Action Plan:

***

IMMEDIATE.

1. continue looking for an administrative/office post.

     ~ tomorrow, for instance, as well as the usual trawl of t’web for jobs, I shall be popping down to a shop I have posted an application for 'Administrative Assistant' position to, to make sure they got it (whilst at the same time showing my face; letting them see that I am neatly turned out, articulate, well mannered…etc. etc.).

2. use what spare time I have to continue with The Story.

     ~ I’ve been mulling over some ideas to help it all fit together better for a while – whilst jotting down small snatches of bits of chapters here and there as they occur – and it’s helped a lot. I feel far more focused and happy with it all now.

3. continue with The Alice Plan.

NEAR FUTURE (6-12 months).

1. enrol in college.

     ~ in the event that the man I’ve spoken to about the course is right (likely); I shall be starting it in about two weeks. In the event that he is wrong (unlikely) and the course works to a term timetable rather than the ‘as suits you’ timetable he described; I shall enrol ready for the next part time semester, which is in January.

2. continue to look for an administrative/office post. In the event that I haven’t found any by the time my course is finished, move to stage two of Job Hunt Plan and start begging for administrative work of a voluntary nature*.

3. continue with The Alice Plan.

4. once Mother’s pension is in place and the money coming in, revert to halving bills and start saving any spare money not used for normal day-to-day living (including medication for the dog) and/or college travel costs in a separate fund ready for the final stage of the Action Plan.

EVENTUAL FUTURE.

1. once a new, better paying job has been found; continue saving for final stage of the Action Plan (hopefully even after additional travel costs, this will be more than could be set aside before).

2. as soon as it becomes feasibly possible, initiate final stage of the Action Plan and put down the necessary deposit on a small flat either closer to where new job is (very likely), or elsewhere in Kidderminster (given state of employment options in town, very unlikely).

3. settle in to new home. Spend a short while getting used to and enjoying it, then re-evaluate life. If completely happy, continue as per. If not, decide upon then work upon possible improvements.

***

And that, dear Reader(s), is my Action Plan (thus far).

Alice x

Drawing A Line Underneath What Turned Out To Be An Unpleasant Episode:

~.START.~

Scene is set; Alice is sat on the train, which is chugging its way towards Worcester. She is on her way to visit Cousin 1, and decides that she has recovered enough from the events of the day before to respond to the “how’d it go” questions that Best Friend 2 and Best Friend 3 have been asking. So, she gets out her mobile, and begins pressing keys. Best Friend 3 is the first to respond, and a conversation takes place...

ALICE: Hi! How goes your Sunday? If you’ve time to read the essay, I thought I’d fill you in on the events after my date, okay? …Well, it seemed great at first. We had had a great time and planned on meeting again. There was even talk of my staying with her overnight and, well, you know (on the one hand, sex on the 2^nd date; VERY soon. On the other; it’s been 10 years, and boy, did I want to!). So it was great. But then, things started to go…wrong. She started sending text messages over and over again, switching between trying to initiate phone sex (NOT my thing) and in not so many words, basically declaring her undying love. Between the text messages and two phone calls (which I couldn’t hear properly because my phone is dying) I learned that we were made for each other, that I was wonderful and lovely (…which I AM, but…), that we were going to live together A.S.A.P, that we were going to build a life together and be happy together forever…etc. etc. I tried to tell her gently that I’m not looking to build a life with anyone just yet – I’ve only just begun really work on building my own – in reply to which I got a mass of desperate texts/calls trying to change my mind. …In the end, I had to be blunt with her. Then, I had to ‘block’ her. The end. X

BEST FRIEND 3: PMSL*! I’m sorry, but that is just so funny! Oh well, at least you didn’t get murdered. Don’t worry, you’ll find someone, there are plenty more fish in the sea. X

ALICE: That’s what the dating website is called: Plenty More Fish. =shrugs= Oh well, it’s led to a funny story, at least. Boy, can I pick ‘em. X 

     …p.s. I’m very glad that I wasn’t murdered, too...

BEST FRIEND 3: PMSLM**! I guess it’s something to talk about on the next date?? It was an experience, right? I wonder why she acted like that?

ALICE: I think my profile may have given the wrong impression (not that that fully excuses her behaviour). I put that I was “looking for a relationship”. What I meant was that I would like that someday, after meeting the right girl and taking the time to get to know her, etc. But I guess, “relationship” is such a big word; it covers a wide range of things…

BEST FRIEND 3: yeah. It could be taken the wrong way. I’d change that. Can you?

ALICE: oh, done and done. I’ve reworded the ‘about me’ paragraph carefully, too.

BEST FRIEND 3: good. Well, I’m glad you didn’t get killed.

ALICE: (chuckling to self) …yeah, me too…

Scene ends; with Alice shaking head ruefully, then burying her head back in her notepad to continue the bit of The Story she was working on.

~.END.~

* for those blissfully ignorant of the dreaded ‘text speak’, this translates to Pissing My Self Laughing.

** …Pissing My Self Laughing More…

On A Happier Note, Here Is A (Direct) Quote From Mother:

"Y'know, I did think of the bin, but it was superseded by the lettuce."

...Yeah.
     I stood and blinked for a moment, too.

Alice x

It's Time For Another Picture Post Folk(s):

Yesterday went exactly as I'd hoped it would.

I got on the train, snagged myself a seat by a window, and proceeded to do as I usually do on trains: perch my bag on my bag on my knees, open up my notepad on top of it, and get writing.
     There were delays (as usual) caused by signal problems (also as usual), but I was unconcerned because a) I am well used to travelling via train, b) so were the people I was going to meet and c) I had managed to get to the station in time to catch an earlier one anyway. As it was, the train carrying moi chugged its way into Birmingham Snow Hill at exactly the time the later one should have done, which meant I was right on time.
     Then I made my way out of the station to find Birmingham Cathedral:

This turned out to be a wee bit closer than I had remembered. As Mother brilliantly put it when I returned and recounted my day, it was "...not so much 'exit station, turn right, walk' as; 'exit station, turn right, hop'..."
     Anyway, all was well. I rang Best Friend 0.5(1) - as he now must be known - and he and - as he is now to be called - Best Friend 0.5(2) were hot on my trail.
     10 minutes later, they arrived.

There was some dithering (I love a good Dither, don't you? Best Friend 0.5(2) is particularly excellent at it) with regards to where we should eat, but eventually it was decided that it should be Min Min...

...and off we went.

As we walked, I kept in contact with the fourth of our little group, Best Friend 2, who was running late - I should point out that while she has many excellent qualities and I love her dearly, lateness from this woman is as expected by me as it is from the public transport service - via text. As we actually walked through the door (both Best Friend 0.5(1) and Best Friend 0.5(2) had great fun showing me its 'air-lock' type qualities) she announced that we should go ahead and eat because she had already had lunch. Cue expressions like this from us:

...Yeah...she does this (I'd forgotten).
     So, we pulled faces, sent her a little 'Oh, you' message, and because we - unlike her - were good and hungry, moved swiftly on.

It was decided that rather than order 3 main courses, it would be better to choose four or five (five, as it turned out) starters and have a little bit of each. As I hadn't even heard of the majority that was on the menu, let alone tried it, I thought this to be a spiffy idea.

So, we ordered. While we waited for the food to arrive, we carried on chatting about anything and nothing (I love doing that, too) and traded affectionate insults between ourselves to pass the time before the serious business of Operation Stuff Yourself Silly began.
     In due course, the food appeared.
     To my sheltered and previously unadventurous eyes, the dishes seemed weird and fantastical. The most recognizable one of them looked like this...

...but, never one to shy away from food, I dug in gamely and found them all to be delicious, if a little hard to eat, armed as we were with only chopsticks and a fork.

Just in time for the ordering of dessert(s), Best Friend 2 arrived.
     While we waited and then while we ate, conversation continued unabated. We discussed various aspects of our lives: plans for a Masters Degree - Best Friend 0.5(1) - and a ITQ Level 3 computer course - me - and an engagement - Best Friend 0.5(2) ...when he gets around to it - and for Best Friend 2's husband to find a job, as well as the merits of quitting one's job to 'Find Oneself' whilst funded by one's future fiance - Best Friend 0.5(2) again - and the suggestion that technological untrackabilty gave weight to the suggestion that a workplace photocopier be used to aid in the decorating an office's walls with pornographic material - all of them verses me - and finally, the question of whether hating one's boss/employment should be cause to be allocated some form of disability allowance.
     There was also the chance for Team Best Friends, along with anyone else in the restaurant, to admire my handiwork as I produced my latest masterpiece from the depths of my bag, with the aim of getting one of Team Best Friends to take a picture of it for me. For those interested, here is the result:

Once dessert was dispensed with, we left and made for somewhere else to camp out.
     On route, we stopped in a Chinese confectionery store to look for Matcha Kit-Kats (Best Friend 0.5(1) and Best Friend 0.5(2)) and sweet biscuity things flavoured with Hawthorn (Best Friend 2).
     After a trek through a crowded part of town - during which Best Friend 0.5(1) had to keep reminding me to breathe - we finally arrived at EAT:

Best Friend 0.5(1) wanted to stop at EAT especially, due to his determination for me to try one of these:

...Yep...
     My first impression was that it looked like a milkshake gone wrong. It was mint green and incredibly gloopy, but to my surprise it was actually quite nice. It wasn't the gastronomical delight that the boys had claimed it to be, or at least not to me, but, yep. Nice, I guess.

Midway through the Matcha Munching (...can one 'munch' a drink?...), a guy called 'Rich' showed up. Apparently, in a moment of weakness, Best Friend 0.5(2) had agreed to help him move house. We all shook hands and said pleased to meet you and such, and then immediately returned to the debate that had been raging before his arrival; should washing done every day (YES!) or not (NO!). One argument (mine) was it should be done every day if possible (it isn't always possible, obviously, but mostly it is) because that's what responsible people do, and in any case, it takes approximately 10-bloody-minutes. The other argument (theirs) was that it didn't matter, the job wasn't going anywhere, after a full day at work including travel they had more important things to do (these 'important things' ranged from going out somewhere to having sex to watching the television), and that I "would understand when I lived by myself". I countered this with the comment that it depends on the person, not the location (after all, there are people that work 12-14 hour days that keep their entire house free of even the smallest spec of grime while at the other end of the spectrum there are folk that don't have a job at all and live in a veritable pigsty), and repeated that it takes 10-bloody-minutes. Rinse, wash, repeat. There were other arguments too; tumble drying verses hanging clothes up by hand, for example, but it was the Washing Up Debate that took the majority of the attention, and quite rightly so.
     Towards the end of the W.U.D, Rich and Best Friend 0.5(2) left to move Rich from one house to another. Then, once we had given up the W.U.D as a lost cause, I amused the other two of Team Remaining Friends with the anecdote of my River Cruise Experience - short version; a rift between the group members due to a dog made it a memorable occasion, I shall tell you about it sometime - as we finished our Matchas, before Team Remaining Friends got moving as well.

...As a brief aside, my choice of coat drew some surprised glances from passersby (along with, at some point, rueful head shakes from each and every member of Team Best friends). It's the only waterproof one I have, now my less standout-ish anorak is out of commission (short version: the cat got hold of it), and it looks like this:

...yeah.
     I know.
     But it works!

...Anyhoot...

We headed for a place called Cass Art so that Best Friend 2 could pick up an easel. From the outside, it looks as though it is quite a small, and unassuming kind of place, but inside, it looks like this:

 Cool, huh? The Aladdin's Cave of Paint...
     While we waited for Best Friend 2 to secure her easel, plus a few other things, myself and Best Friend 0.5(1) stood off to one side to wait. The W.U.D was rekindled briefly, then abandoned once we realized we were going round in circles (yet again).

After that, we headed towards a shopping centre in search of a hat and a rucksack (Best Friend.2 again). On route, we got distracted by and wasted a lot of time in a wondrous shop called Tiger, which sells all manner of marvelous, fun and useless things:

A while after that, once we had exhausted the possibilities of finding either a suitable rucksack or hat in the centre, we adjurned to the floor below - which handily contained one of the many entrances to New Street Railway Station - so that we could sit down, as we were all tired by that point and my heels were beginning to complain.
     A few minutes after that Team Remaining Friends decided to call it a day. Best Friend 2 went into New Street to await her train, while myself and Best Friend 0.5(1) made our way back to Snow Hill in order for me to catch mine (train) and him to catch his (bus).

While we waited for the train, we chatted about various things - that we had had a great day (answer: definitely), whether I intended to keep The Alice Plan going (answer: yes), when the best time might be for us to meet again (answer: possibly in a month or so, if not, during the next half term holiday), and what Best Friend 0.5(1) planned on having for dinner (answer: eggs).

Just before the 18:53 pulled in, Best Friend 0.5(1) told me he expected to see a Blog post describing my day in detail, to which I graciously replied, "of course".

So!
     Here it is.
     With pictures.
     Just for you.

Thank you. That is all.

=bows. walks off=

Alice x