My parents - Head over Heels

I've talked about my parents before.  I absolutely love them. They're the kind of people if I wasn't related to them I'd wish I was, and as an only child I'm very close to them, It also has to be said I find them incredibly entertaining. 

Take for example last month. I had a day off, and they were going to Sainsburys and offered to take me with them (always worth going to a supermarket with them as they always have coffee and toast after doing their shopping). So we're on the way, with me merrily tweeting away in the back of the car (note: I was posting on twitter, not making bird noises!)  My parents are bickering, as only a couple who have been married for 52 years are qualified to bicker.

THINGS THEY HAVE RECENTLY BICKERED ABOUT

• My dads refusal to call Primark 'Pree-mark' or 'Pry-mark, he instead insists on calling in 'prim-mark'. Despite him doing this for 20+ years it still riles my mam. He now does it on purpose and she picks him up on it every time.
• My mams refusal to put the extractor fan on in the kitchen, because the noise of it irritates her. Pan frying Salmon turns into a highly hazardous experience, reminiscent of the blitz. By the time the skin is crispy and the salmon is cooked you couldn't find the extractor fan if your life depended on it.
• My dads recent diagnosis with glaucoma (my mam already has it, diagnosed 4 years ago) 'He can't let me have anything!!!
• My dads insistence of giving my mam obvious instructions 'I will pick you up outside of Morrison's, if it is raining when I pick you up don't stand in the rain, stand under the shelter'

So we're driving along Coniscliffe Road (To anyone who isn't from Darlington, Coniscliffe Road is one of the more affluent roads in town, full of houses set in their own grounds and more Barbour than you could shake a stick at), my dad is at the wheel and my mam is in the passenger seat when my dad suddenly gets cramp in his foot, his clutch foot.  He tries to drive but every time he lifts his foot off the clutch it goes into spasm so he has to pull over.  He really can't carry on driving so they decide to swap sides, he'll be the passenger and my mam will drive. I offer to drive, however, despite it being 20 years since I passed my test, they look at me like I'm a naughty 7 year old who has just made a silly suggestion. It's easier just to shut up. So the decision is made, they will swap places.

Now I can't stress this enough, not only are we in one of the poshest roads in town, we are in the posher end of it, near to the town centre. We are also parked in front of a retirement village which probably costs per week what most north easterners earn every year.  As I said, affluent. 

My mam is getting out of the car on the passenger side, chatting to my dad who turns to open his door. He turns back round, just as I look up from my ladybird book (my phone, I obviously meant my phone) and my mam has disappeared   She is literally no where to be seen. Then we hear a voice which seems to be coming from under the car.....I get out of my booster seat and scoot along the back seat to look out of the kerb side window and there she is, my lovely mother, laid in the gutter.  By this point my dad has realised what happened (she got tangled in the seat belt and fell out of the car) and is getting out of the car to go and help her up.  I can do absolutely nothing as I am child-locked in (I might as well stay put and just drink the fruit shoot my mam gave me)  My mam has obviously seen the funny side as I can hear her laughing (from the gutter). 

My dad steps out of the car and the leg with cramp partially goes out from underneath him, so he does a sort of crampy stagger around the car to my Mam. He's holding onto the car, relying heavily on his good leg as his cramp leg keeps collapsing.  He gets to the other side of the car, they're both past themselves with mirth by now, and as he pulls my hysterical mother out of the gutter it suddenly strikes me, despite barely ever touching a drop, they look like they are completely hammered.  Her rolling about in the gutter, him stumbling around trying to pick her up. They've attracted quite a bit of attention by now, curtains are twitching and Barbour-clad locals are looking on in horror. I'm not surprised.  It's half past ten on a Wednesday morning, in the poshest street in town. 

I lie down on the back seat.  I'll sit back up when we're at Sainsbury's.

Did I mention my parents are in their early seventies.

What an amazing pair............

The dangers of eating mayonnaise

I'm the first one to admit that I'm on the accident prone side, in fact I've mentioned it in my blog previously, but what happened to me at the weekend is possibly the most ridiculous thing to happen to anyone since Joe fell out of first floor window onto a trampoline or my dad (aged 65 at the time) gave himself a hernia coming down a fireman's pole in a playground.

Our fridge is one of those Smeg style ones, about 7ft tall and with one hell of a powerful suction on the door.  Sometime you have to practically wrestle it open, which is what happened to me on Saturday.

So its about 10am and I'm awake and in the kitchen I'm immaculately dressed, with perfectly groomed hair and full face of make up (pink jama's, hair shoved up in a bobble and possible slight smears under ones eyes where make up has been quickly removed with a baby wipe) and I'm wrestling with the fridge door to try and find something cold to drink (slight hangover from previous nights 'what the hell it's Friday night' vodka or six).

I manage to eventually pull the door open and realise a jar of mayonnaise has jumped out of the fridge and is falling towards me.  I panic, try to catch the jar, fumble it and actually throw it further in the air.  I appreciate, for me, the story has been fairly normal up to this point, however this is where it gets ridiculous.  It could however have been so easily avoided. *press pause*

HOW THIS WHOLE SITUATION COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED

• By buying mayonnaise in a squeezy bottle, which we normally do, for some reason (cost I presume) we currently have a huge glass jar of the stuff in the fridge.
• By buying extra light instead of just normal mayonnaise, the jar would have obviously floated out of the fridge
• By putting the mayonnaise back in the door or on a shelf and not perching it in a can holder in the door where it is ALMOST BLOODY CERTAINLY going to fall out when you open the BLOODY SODDING DOOR! (Investigations are ongoing as to who is responsible for this)

So where were we, Oh Yes. The Mayonnaise is level with my eyes in mid air, I have already fumbled it once and its about to fall to the tile floor and no doubt shatter into a trillion pieces.  *un-pause*.....and there it goes, but there's an unexpected twist. 

The jar doesn't hit the floor it hits my foot!  'Oh darn it, that smarts just a touch' I think to myself !  I look down to see whats going on and I go a bit funny (ooh actually I went a bit funny then just typing it, I might have to have a Kitat just for the shock).  Where I expected to see a foot and an intact jar of mayonnaise, there is a glass disc, an empty glass jar, a lot of mayonnaise, and EVEN MORE BLOOD!!!

WHY IS THERE BLOOD EVERYWHERE? (aka 'the science bit)

Here's why (what I now know happened when the jar fell)

• The jar fell from approx my eye level (about 5ft 7) and hit my foot.
• On hitting my foot the heavy glass base sheared cleanly off the jar.
• Despite the lid remaining on the jar, the mayonnaise escaped.
• Either the glass base or the glass edge of the jar sliced through a blood vessel on the top of my foot

So I'm there, as my foot pumps blood into the mayonnaise on the kitchen floor.  I shout for Syd (in the back room with the xbox - like cluedo just more up to date!) to go and get his Dad out of bed, Syd takes one look at what is now, quite frankly, turning into a bloodbath, and runs off screaming for his Dad at the top of his voice.

Now prone as I am to slight embellishment, I am absolutely telling the truth here, there is blood pumping out of my foot at an alarming rate. I decide to try and wrap it in a tea towel to stop the bleeding, or stem it at least.  Now this, that I'm about to tell you is a useful tip, that, if you're wise, you'll take with you throughout life.

BLOOD MIXED WITH MAYONNAISE ON A TILED FLOOR IS SLIPPY!!!

I know!  I was shocked too! So I'm no nearer to reaching a tea towel, I am however now lying on the floor on my side, where I have slipped over.  At this point Phil arrives, with Joe and Syd hot on his heels, in the kitchen.  He obviously was aware about the handy hint regarding blood/mayo/tiled falls as he stops short of the blood and therefore remains on his feet.

He looks down at me in complete horror.  In hindsight I realise I am dressed from head to toe in pink and am lying in a foetal position in a mixture of blood and mayonnaise, which has taken on the look of marie-rose sauce. Its highly likely that I look like a giant prawn cocktail!

He's very good actually and calls 999 immediately, the children are past themselves with worry.

• Syd crying and shouting 'Are you going to die?'
• Joe taking photos of the blood to put on Facebook later

999 lady tell him that I have to get up and put my foot in the washing up bowl as they need to know if I've lost more than a mug full of blood apparently.

For some reason at this point I take very badly to the idea of using my red washing up bowl for anything other than washing up and point blank refuse to put my foot in it.  Strangely at exactly this point, Phil's patience runs out, I still have bruises on my calf where he wrestled my foot into the washing up bowl.

At this precise moment Joe decides he is going to faint and comes over all unnecessary in the kitchen doorway.  (Come son, join me in the blood and mayonnaise, there's room for one more!)  He thankfully doesn't faint.  Actually I'm convinced the blood has nothing to do with him feeling faint, its the first time in his life he hasn't had free access to the fridge, it's highly likely he's in the grip of malnutrition/shock.

I'm irritated by whoever is making that shrill high pitched screeching noise, and I'd like them to shut up.  If I'm going to bleed to death I'd like to do it in peace.  Its only when Phil tells me to shut up because he can't hear the 999 lady, that I realise its me that's making the noise.  Goodness how embarrassing.

So it would seem that Phil and the 999 lady have decided that its quicker for him to drive me to hospital than wait for an ambulance. Which is why Saturday morning sees me laid on the back seat of the car with my foot wrapped in a towel, inside a carrier bag, in blood stained jama's and my dressing gown heading for A&E. 

Despite looking like the Dingles in A&E, and almost vomiting on myself because Syd is parading around the room wearing the cardboard hat they have given me should I feel the need to puke, I survive the experience. 

I'm sure I'll look back on this and laugh.

An open letter to a Doctors Receptionist.

Dear Doctors Receptionist

Today I have holiday  from work and typically am unwell, therefore I have had the need to call you to ask if I can come and see a doctor so he can make me better.  I honestly wish I had never bothered.

Firstly you ask me if I I'm ill.  Surely the fact that I'm calling you and asking for an appointment suggests I am.  I'd have thought that since you've been doing this job since the dawn of time you'd have noticed that its not just a coincidence that only sick people ring you.  I consider telling you this but I've played this game before.  You're in charge of this conversation, I have to whistle to your tune, my tonsils are quite literally now in your hands.

So I tell you I'm ill and I ask to see a Doctor, I'm even doing my best poorly voice.  Straight away I can tell you're suspicious.  It makes me wonder if you're briefed by the Doctors each morning before you start work.

(I imagine you and your receptionist colleagues sat, pens poised for the days briefing as a straight backed GP marches amongst you, barking orders)

'RIGHT! Lately we have noticed an increase in healthy patients turning up in our office.  These people are in perfect health and they are 'stealing' appointments and you lot, YOU are allowing it.  So from now on take no-one's word for anything, unless they can prove it to you they must not be allowed an appointment.  They need to get past you.  I'M RELYING ON YOU HERE, EACH AND EVERY GOD-DAMN ONE OF YOU!!!'

OK, I probably imagined that but here I am, still waiting for you to offer me an appointment.  I can hear you banging on your keyboard and having a chat with your colleagues. Finally you speak to me:

'You can see a doctor on 2nd March at 9.15am'
I nearly choke........that's 6 weeks away. 
'That's 6 weeks away!!! 6 weeks!!!! I won't be ill by then' I splutter
'Then you won't need to see a Doctor, will you?', you retort, your voice is still dripping with honey. I know your type, you're like one of those super cute cuddly toys, you look and sound sweet but your head is held on with a 6 inch steel spike which could have my eye out in a crack.

I consider shouting at you, but I don't. I've been here before remember, I know it won't do me any good.  This is similar to hostage negotiation, one false move and I can kiss goodbye to an early appointment.  There's nothing left for it, I'm going to need to beg.

'Please'  I'm begging you now, I am on my proverbial knee's. I explain again that I need to see a Doctor, I know what's coming and I'm right.  You ask me what's wrong with me, in that conspiratorial voice that suggests if I tell you you'll get me an appointment but I don't want to tell you, yet I'm not sure I have a choice. I consider making something up, something so revolting that you'll regret you asked, but I know you, I know how your operate, you're a professional, nothing can turn your stomach, you're like a machine.

I end up whispering 'I'd rather not say'.

We're nearly at the end now, you know you've won, I know you've won, there's only one question left to ask.  You ask it.

IS IT AN EMERGENCY?

There is no way to answer this.  You know that.  You've kept up your part of the bargain and offered me an appointment (albeit in 2014), you've tried to help me out (tell me what's wrong, I'll try and get you in) and now you're asking if its an emergency.

I consider saying the following things to you:

'I've woken up today and found I am suddenly fluent in Persian. 'I ave noo eeenglishh'

'I was chopping onions, slipped and accidentally disemboweled myself'

'I took off my polo neck and surprisingly my head came off with it, I've tacked it back on but I'm not confident its secure'

Obviously I say nothing of the sort (there is no point, you'd still ask me if I thought I needed an emergency appointment)

I just thank you for your time and hang up. I'll take my chances at the walk in centre.


Yours sincerely

Jools

New Years Resolutions (REALISTIC VERSION)

New Years resolutions are generally known as a bit of waste of time aren't they?  They may as well call them 'January's To Do List', because lets be honest they're generally all but forgotten by February.

How many of us are still using a new word every day by May, still eating only spinach and boiled eggs by June or still ironing every day to avoid the dreaded ironing mountain.

So this year, I'm cutting out the unrealistic resolutions and I'm making ones that I can stick to.  Maybe you can follow suit.

• DRINK LESS COFFEE - I did consider drinking more water, 6 litres a day, however I have two children and I'm not sure my bladder is up to the job.  I did get obsessed with pelvic floor exercises at one point.  It was actually another unrealistic new years resolution. I resolved to exercise my pelvic floor so much it would resemble a bulldog clip.  Ladies, have you ever done pelvic floor exercises in public?  No matter how hard you try to be discreet  (go on have a go now, clench...hold, hold....clench harder....hold....hold....), you inevitably will pull a really weird face, something close to holding in an unexpected poo.  So, to recap,  I will drink less coffee! I will combat this by increasing my energy drink intake by 300%. The positive upside of this is that I will enjoy hoovering at midnight.

• SPEND TIME WITH NEGLECTED CHILDREN - Mainly mine. Will try not to sigh and roll my eyes when one of the boys asks me a question I consider to be stupid. IE: When will there be food in the house again? Is 'chappie' a real cereal? Do other children wear trousers made from old curtains? Why have we got 'egg boxes' and not 'x boxes?

• STOP CUTTING MY OWN HAIR - I'm sure people with beautifully groomed hair couldn't get away with this kind of behaviour, however my hair is practically a hedge of curls so cutting it myself is, in the main, unnoticeable (until I straighten it),  I often get bobbles stuck in it, so I just cut them out.  Lately at work I have developed a disturbing habit, if I'm on a conference call at my desk, I spend my time wisely and inspect my split ends.  I don't have any scissors (we're not allowed sharp things) so I have taken to trimming the edges of my hair with my hole punch. I estimate in the last month I've punched off at least 3 inches.  I recently twisted my hair up with a rubber coated pen.  That was a disturbing episode.  I had to wait until I got home to cut it out. I've so far managed to conceal the bald patch.

• ACTUALLY LISTEN WHEN PEOPLE TALK TO ME - I'm really serious about this one.  I often find myself drifting away when people speak to me. I can see their lips moving and I know they're speaking however I can't hear a thing.  I'm generally thinking about stuff, or things or swans.  I only know they've finished talking when I notice a questioning face looking at me.  They say 'so what should I do?'.  I generally do the standard Manager thing and say 'what do you think you should do?'.  So they start telling me what they think they should do.  Now here's where you think I'd have learned my lesson. I should be listening but I'm not, now I'm worrying about why broccoli soup isn't greener, why you never see baby pigeons, WHY THAT PERSON IS STILL TALKING TO ME???....Then they do that questioning face again.....'Well, should I ?'......'Yes' (I always say), 'Yes'( I always agree.  I have probably just agreed to them popping on a tinfoil hat, setting fire to their pubic hair and running pant-less around the building Note: If they frown, then I shake my head and say 'no..no,no,no,no definitely no) This year is different. I'm listening this year! (....do toys come alive when we're asleep....). No really, I'm listening.  Always listening. ALWAYS.
• NOT INJURE MYSELF UNNECESSARILY - I am well known for being a touch on the accident prone side. Previous injuries have included: Breaking my nose in the cinema (I bent down to silence my ringing phone and headbutted the seat in front)  Tripping over a giant gorilla  hand in a science museum (people invited to try it on to see how life would be if one had giant gorilla hands) and breaking my wrist N.B contemplated suing them however claim would have read 'idiot woman was walking and texting in Giant Gorilla area, unsurprisingly she fell over and broke her wrist - claim void due to woman being complete dickhead)  Falling into (and struggling to get out of) the newly dug foundations of our extension and twisting my ankle (I was trying to get to the other side to water my chili plants - b*stards went and died anyway - couldn't get to them with a twisted ankle) Slipping in my slippers and sliding down the garage wall. Skinned my arm from elbow to wrist (resulting in arm looking like a side of uncooked gammon, would have looked much better with fried egg/pineapple ring adorning it) and my favourite: Closing my straighteners on my ear, then taking at least 4 seconds to realise what I'd done (my ear looked like crispy bacon and smelt like burnt pork crackling for at least a week - during this week became very attractive to dogs and fat men)  This year I will wear a padded suit and a crash helmet. I will not injure myself at all. I promise.

Lets have your ideas for New Years Resolutions.  Comment below. I'm off for 6 Red Bulls, this hoovering isn't going to do itself.  If you don't hear from me again I've somehow managed to trip over the hoover and suck out all of my internal organs.......

Rounder than a planet and twice as big......

'Look at the size of her head'  That's what you're thinking isn't it. Yes I've changed the layout of my blog and am playing with the idea of having a photo on there.  I didn't anticipate it would be the size of Middlesbrough.  Anyway I'm going to keep it there for a while, if I'm offending you/putting you off your lunch please let me know and I'll remove the image.

That reminds me though, you won't know but I do have an inordinately large head.  I've never known the joy of wearing a paper hat out of a cracker.  My dad always had to leave the table to staple two together for me, which takes the magic away from Christmas a little.  I also didn't have a blue speedo regulation swimming hat at school. I had a bright red, sort of bubbled swimming hat.  Only one other child had one, Jennifer Clayton, and she had hair to her arse. She needed the room in her hat. I had a crop.  Bobbing about in my hat in the deep end you would have been forgiven for thinking I was buoy.  (Actually at the time I had short hair and no chest so buoy/boy???)

I know I have a big head. I've learned to live with it. My husband Phil, softens the blow with his loving nickname for me. He calls me Moonhead.  I can imagine my big round face, with its soft glow and authentic craters in the cold dark night are a comfort to him in some way.  I'm quite surprised channel 4 haven't approached me to make a fly on the wall documentary 'the woman with a moon for a head'.

And don't think its just at home a suffer from the taunts, for christmas my team gave me a splint for my neck (apparently its bound to snap one day) and this beautiful picture.......

HAHAHAHA I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT........(love moonhead x)

P.S I can only wear wooly hats and even then they're stretched to capacity. I'm trying to get my hands on a wheely bin cover in time for the cold weather.......

Weird things I've done when tired

It's time for me to go to bed. I'm really tired, which got me to thinking about how bizarre my behaviour becomes when I'm exhausted.  I don't know if I'm the only one who understands this, but when I'm really tired I get all confused, and that place between sleep and awake melds into a massive jenga game of confusion.  I melt into semi consciousness then a noise or a thought can pull one of those blocks out and I'm bolt upright shouting about oven ready chickens or coal or Norway.

So I'm going to quickly tell you of a few things that happened to me when I was in that middle ground. 

SLEEP/WAKE LIMBO

• In my last job I worked for a pension company. After another sleepless night with our then baby (Syd now 8) I went to work, but from the go get I was exhausted.  All I remember was a customer calling to discuss his pension.  I was that tired I couldn't really concentrate. He'd asked me a question, which I'd written down because I couldn't trust my pulpy baby mind to remember what he'd asked. I remember asking him to hold the line while I checked something (WHAT, WHAT ON EARTH WAS I CHECKING)....All I remember was sitting bolt upright and taking him off hold.....Imagine my surprise when I realised I'd had him on hold for 17 minutes.  That for me was an all time low. I'd had 17 minutes of quality sleep, he'd had 17 minutes of appalling hold music.

• Many, many years ago, in my early days with a well known north eastern newspaper I'd been out the previous night and was obviously exhausted, and dare I say, a tad hungover (this was 1997). I was talking to a customer and could hear him speaking but couldn't make much sense of what he was saying. He must have asked me a question, I'd probably been half asleep so hadn't answered him, therefore he didn't just repeat his question, he shouted it.....'CAN YOU TELL ME WHY MY ADVERTISEMENT DIDN'T APPEAR IN THE PAPER'....so I gave him the most comprehensive answer I was capable of at that time. I said.....And to this day I remember saying this......all I'll say is it made sense to me at the time. I said 'You opened the door and you let them all in....YOU LET THEM ALL IN'.  The shouting brought me to my senses.  I wasn't surprised to realise he'd hung up on me.

• Recently I was watching telly and reclined to level one (we have reclining sofas, level 1 just lifts your legs up, after that you can recline to fully laid out).  As I'm sure you'd already realised shortly after I found myself completely flat and apparently sound asleep.  During this blissful sleep I became aware of someone slapping my forehead. I came round enough to realise Joe was attempting to wake me up to ask me something.  I lifted my head which at the time was heavy like a massive bag of spanners, and spoke comprehensively in beautiful BBC English 'What is it my delightful son, do you wish to speak with me, how can I 'elp you' (I grunted).  I don't quite remember this, however apparently what happened is this.  I sat up and grinned. Joe passed the phone to me. My ex husband said 'hiya Jools' and I said 'HELLO, HELLO, IS THAT SOL, SOL, IS THAT SOL'  Then hung up.

I like Pro Plus and coffee these days. Very much.

A perfect day at the office.

Today I am demented.  No that's not enough.  Today I am DEMENTED.

Today is the day that everything starts functioning properly again in the UK.  There are no more bank holidays, no more skeleton staff, no more tins of roses for lunch, it is well and truly 'Business as  Usual'.

Foolishly I had expected things to still be fairly quiet and had planned a leisurely day, catching up with my team, wishing people happy new year and accepting compliments about my newly dyed hair (I've dyed it again since I mentioned it to you, its a glorious red now, rich and vibrant but more about my hair later)

Its the worlds windiest day and its raining that horrible sideways wind that soaks you so much more comprehensively than your standard downwards rain.  Its still pitch black and to add damp insult to sopping injury I somehow manage to get my feet tangled up in the strap of my laptop bag and almost end up face down in the car park (which won't be the first time as you know). However I manage to salvage the situation by doing one of those forward stumbling run things, which would make anyone look like a complete tit. I am soaked, my trousers and pants feel as they would if you had wee'd yourself (I'd imagine)

Anyway I arrive in the office to complete and utter chaos.  It would seem ours is the only office who's phone lines work, so we're getting every ones calls.  I think about cheerily greeting my team but they look like they might cry/kill someone.  I start to log my lap top in while surreptitiously sweeping all my dangerous stationary into my drawer and locking it.

I'm not for one second suggesting the current situation might cause my team to turn to violence but I'm taking no chances.  I once had to stop Claire from sticking a sign on the back of her orthopaedic chair asking people not to adjust it if they sat in it.  Which is fair enough, she does have a bad back, however the sign she typed up said.

'CHAIR SET BY OCCUPATIONAL HEALTH. PLEASE DO NOT ADJUST IT (or I'll slit your f*!(ing throat) THANK YOU'

You be surprised how much damage you could do with a hole punch I'm right to lock them away.  They're still snarling so I decide my red hair may well be angering them further (like irritated bulls) so I put  my black beret on tuck my hair up inside it and there I sit at my lap top in my hat.

After a couple of hours I'm called into a meeting to discuss resourcing (IE how many bums we have on seats).  I need you to understand that when I go into a meeting I change from myself into the bastard lovechild of Deborah Meadon and Alan Sugar.

• WHAT I'D NORMALLY SAY
• WHAT I SAY IN MEETINGS

• That's a good idea, we should do that.
• Awesome plan, you've got my buy in.

• Right, I'll ask him.
• No problem, I'll position that to him.

• I'll have a word with her
• Cool, I'll link in with her

• I'm sure we can sort it out soon
• Lets look for some quick and dirty fixes

• OK I'll tell them now that we're doing it
• Great, I'll 'comms' the guys to implement the workaround

• They're buying in shops and online
• Its all about the 'bricks and clicks' (I feel the most disgust about this one, so much so I've deleted it 6 times in case you think less of me)

I'll understand if you hate me after that confession but don't judge me too harshly, its my weakness. To be honest I might as well have a pile of money in front of me and every five minutes, in a Scottish accent, shout 'let me tell you where I am......ah'mmm oooot'  The second I leave the meeting I repeatedly hit my head off the nearest wall for being so much more of a corporate bot than anyone else, but the truth is, because I love my job I do get really into it. Too far into it perhaps. Oh dear.

Actually the banging my head against the wall thing leads me to another thing that happened to add to today's complete lunacy. I go to the loo for a quick wee when my phone starts to ring. It's a call I was waiting for so I'll be honest I did contemplate answering it but I find it quite unsavoury to have a conversation while weeing.  I'm always disturbed to hear people chatting whilst going about their daily business. How would that person in the bank feel discussing a direct debit if they knew the person they were talking to was 'mid wipe'.  Revolted I'd imagine.

Anyway so I'm hurrying to try and get out of the cubicle and I somehow manage to get myself tangled up (for the second time that day) which results in me falling forward and headbutting the toilet door.  It must have made a bang because the people either side of me ask if I'm alright. I'm actually not alright.  It really bloody hurt if you must know, however I do the British thing and laugh. Then I shout back 'hoho I'm fine, that'll teach me to drink vodka at work'.  Neither laugh. Oh dear god, they think I'm drunk at work, stumbling about headbutting doors. At that point I wish I was. 

When I finally do get out of the toilet (the walk of shame: would have only been worse had I just had a poo when I nutted the door) I notice in the mirror my forehead is forming into an egg and is the same colour as my hair (Still under my hat for fear of angering people)

I stay at my desk for the rest of the day. My trousers and pants are still damp from this mornings pouring rain. I don't take off my hat. I don't make eye contact with anyone. Everyone is still angry. There are still 2million calls in the call queue.  The stationary is still hidden. I am still the queen of corporate bullsh*t. I have headbutted a toilet door with my pants around my ankles. People at work think I'm drunk on vodka. (did I mention I wish I was)

I'm pleased to see the back of today.