I know I should...

I should write something.

Anything.

It's been a while, hasn't it?

I've just not been inspired to write about anything.

Long Pause.

Yep. Still can't think of anything interesting...

Ho hum...

Went to see Iron Man tonight.

Is it a reflection of my tom-boy-ness that I really enjoyed it? In a schoolboyesque way? I was so amazed by the design and special effects I almost got carried away by it all and had to talk myself out of believing that Robert Downey Jnr was actually flying in that suit!

And just how lovely is Mr Downey Jnr? There is something so charismatic about him. And those soulful eyes. Grr.

I was also quite taken by Gwynny's eye make-up. I want to be able to make my eyes look all pretty like that, but as soon as I attempt any kind of eyelining, it all goes horribly wrong. But then I don't have my own make-up artist, I spose.

And I barely recognised Jeff Bridges.

Checks IMDb to make sure it is Jeff.

Not sure I'm going for the old bald-beard look though.

Anyway, all in all I was mighty impressed.

And now I'm getting distracted in one or two ways by my husband. Tut tut.

We're watching the scoring on Eurovision.

What on earth is the point of this?

I mean, yes, it's fun and camp and everything, but why bother with the scoring? If every year each country is going to vote for it's neighbour, or the country who has some kind of power over them?

Because each year it highlights the fact that the UK is not much liked.

It always makes me feel sorry for the singer/group, because if it was me I'd take it as a personal attack rather than a political preference.

Anyway, it's gone 11pm and that's way past this girl's bedtime...even for a Saturday.

Tupperware Baby

Sounds like a Jacqueline Wilson book or something...

But no. I had a very vivid and disturbing dream last night/this morning.

And boy, am I glad I had to get up early.

There were many things going on in the dream, but the main gist of is was...I had a baby.

This wasn't a dream where 'Oh, look, Sophie has a baby'.

I was in hospital, having a baby. a lesbian schoolfriend was on one side of me, and my Mum was on the other. And I was only a few months pregnant, so completely unprepared for what was happening. And how was I going to explain this to Bren? That all the pain he went through to prevent such an occurrence, was fruitless (or fruitful, as the case may be).

Anyway, due to our unpreparedness, this poor child (who I believe we called Amy...) spent the first few hours being carried around in all her nakedness. Oh yeah, the hospital did that annoying thing that happens in dreams, and just kind of evaporated away and let me get on with my calamitous child-rearing.

For some reason at one point, Bren and I were sitting on a pavement near a busy main road, and I gave her to him to hold, and he lay her "a whole foot" away from him, just naked on the pavement! Ready for a bicycle to run over or something (which is what the Sophie of the dream was worrying about).

And then I was on a bus. Sitting next to Sean Connery (obv) but I was in a rocking chair (obv), with 'Amy' wrapped up in a couple of plastic bags, a weird giant nappy thing that Mum had given me for her and nestled in a Tupperware box. A really small one. The lid was closed for a while, until I realised (being a very good mother, of course) that she wouldn't be able to breathe.

Anyway the bus stopped and Sean Connery turned into my uncle, and went and met someone at Penn Station, in London (??), which was very yellow. He melted into the crowd, and I decided what to do next.

Oh, and I've forgotten the more bizarre bit - while on the bus, we drove past a high school, and at that high school, there was an outdoor swimming pool, which we could see quite clearly from the road. In that pool there were two teenage lads riding bicycles in the nude. I commented to Sean Connery (now clearly a very good friend of mine) that the water must be cold judging by their shrivelled bits, and they must be mental.

Hmm, yes. Of course it's them who are mental...

Oh, and considering my baby was so premature, she was very forward, because when I opened the Tupperware lid to see if she was ok(!), she told me she was hungry.

And just as I was thinking about popping to Boots to find some baby stuff, I woke up.

Grateful. And somewhat worried about my mental health.

Is it my fault you have no brain?

So, this girl, right, walks into a library.

Very careless of her, I say.

No, but really.

She is the second person to come up to me in as many minutes and ask if any computers are free.

These people do not have eyes. We have 10 computers. Count them - 10. It's not difficult to see if they are occupied or not.

However, she differs from the first person.

The first person makes a computer booking, after I have informed her that this time on a Friday evening tends to be quite busy.

I say the same to the second person, but she decides to take her chances, and hovers behind people, trying to see how much longer they have left.

Please note, I have also told her that she might be lucky and someone might leave early, or not show up for their booking, but that, for future reference, it's best to book up between 4pm and 6pm on a Friday.

She sits down at a very recently vacated terminal (i.e. the previous user's buttocks have left the material of the seat but a millisecond before), and tuts because it won't let her sign in.

I inform her it is booked.

This happens several times.

In between times, someone phones to book a computer. They get the one she turned down. The next one is *gasp* 20 minutes later.

When she comes to speak to me again, I inform her that if she has changed her mind and wishes to book now, that the one I originally offered her has now gone.

She tuts. Shakes her head. Says 'No thanks' (at least she is polite), turns on her heel and struts out. Shaking her head at me. And giving me a full-on evil death stare.

I mutely shouted after her that it wasn't MY fault she was a stupid twat. OK, so maybe some of those words were muttered, somewhat unprofessionally, but hopefully unheard as well.

For fucks sake!

How very dare these people come and go as they please - what do they think this is, a Public bloody Library!?

It's All About Me Baby!

I am loathe to quote McFly in the title of a post, but I am wide awake and coffee-fuelled, and nothing is stopping these fingers from typing whatever the fuck they want, so McFly it is.

Hiyer!

How are you? Oh, me? I'm great thanks! Glad you asked, because I haven't written for a while, so it's given me a shoe-in to tell you, indeed, 'all about me, Baby'.

So I went away for the weekend.

It was fab. In hindsight, it could have gone horribly wrong, since we three girls have not seen each other for four years, and even when did meet, it was a brief few days we knew each other for, half the world away in Australia.

But the Internet is a wondrous thing, and we have managed to keep in touch and up-to-date over these four years (is it really that long ago?!), and all was well when we met up.

Amy met me off the Tube at Hammersmith, and we walked along by the river, where we stopped for a 'cheeky' glass of wine, enjoying the sunshine and the view.

The view being rowers.

After she had listened to a not-so well watered down version of events in my life in the last four years we ambled along towards her flat in Chiswick, still amazed at how hot it was and enjoying the relaxed atmosphere that the sun brings with it.

I hasten to add, every so often, when I felt as though I had talked far too much, I interjected and tried to turn the subject onto Amy and her life since Oz. I also have to say, she was very gracious in letting me continue to ramble on and pooh-poohing any attempts to talk about herself. How well this girl knows me after a minimal time spent together!

She lives above a smashing Italian restaurant, so we made a pitstop at her flat to drop off bags, and then went downstairs and sat outside for a lovely (late) lunch, more wine, and free bubbly! Kate joined us and much much catching up entailed.

One of the first things Kate said was an occurrence I had seemingly blocked from my memory.

A little background first...(cue wibbly-dream-sequence to show that we are going back through the realms of memory and rose-tintedness)

We all met on a dull tour from Adelaide to Alice Springs. Dull for a couple of reasons. There is not a lot of note between Adelaide and Alice Springs, once you've got past the wineries in the Barossa Valley. OK, Coober Pedy was quite funky, but there's only so much you can say about underground houses. And our tour guide. Well, what can I say about him? He clearly didn't want to be doing this. He had no idea what he was doing. And he was just a bit creepy, really.

So, we kind of bonded over how rubbish that particular tour was. And when we got to Alice we signed up for a tour including Uluru and the Olgas, and bonded over how arrogant that tour guide was.

We parted ways for a while then, and they drove on up to Darwin, while I took the train. Immediately on arriving in Darwin I pretty much went to Kakadu, another national park, leaving most of my stuff in a lock-up room at a hostel.

When I returned, my laptop bag, bursting with stuff, was gone. Fucking backpacking thieves!

Happily, Amy, Kate and another girl they'd been travelling with whose name has escaped me (again - I had to ask Amy what this girl's name was on Saturday, I remember her face though...) were in the same hostel, I think...or I bumped into them somewhere, anyway! They saw me 'at my lowest ebb' as Amy said on Saturday. All bitter and twisted and poor-me-ish.

And finally, I met up with Kate in Cairns. This is where Kate's main memory of me comes in. The memory I had conveniently forgotten until her cackling hysteria brought it all flooding back this weekend.

A bird shat on my head. Twice.

Yeah, it doesn't sound that funny, does it? But bloody hell, Kate very nearly pissed herself when she was talking about it on Saturday, and I believe, if memory serves, she had the same reaction when it happened.

What strikes me as funny, is that when she talked about it, it's as if the same bird shat on me twice, not two different birds. And I find that hilarious. That this bird was so enraged at my presence that it would save up two poos worth of poo just to dump on me. And he (for it could only be a he, surely?) had a good aim.

Anyway, thus started a weekend of much much laughing (from the belly, proper hysterical laughing, on my part at least), much catching up, much reminiscing and much eating. As if we were reliving our backpacking lives and cramming in as much food as we could, because we didn't know where our next meal was coming from.

Twas an excellent weekend, and I can't wait for the next one. Although, I'm not so sure Bromsgrove will make as good a venue as London.

Anyway, I managed the travelling side of it all very well, too. Thought I was going to miss my train on Sunday, but all was well, and not only did I make the first train, but all connections thereafter.

OK, so I had to endure the Child From Hell (tm) and his ineffectual parents on one side of me, and Sleeping Jabba the Northern girl on the other, for the latter part of the journey, but it was OK. I got through it.

And was met my Bren at Worcester, looking as though he hadn't known what to do without me, bless him. Unshaven, ragged and creased. With a look of confusion and a massive smile of recognition and relieve as I stepped off the train.

Work on Monday, and a ridiculous briefing which brought up something that has since snowballed into a 'Them' and 'Us' scenario.

Cake.

Someone had the gall to ask that the division of cake be mentioned in a staff briefing. Because, apparently, some members of staff are having more than their fair share of cake brought in for whatever reason.

Now, us minions are up in arms, and all paranoid that the finger is being pointed at us. A couple of us in particular, because we are full-time and therefore have more opportunity to eat this contentious cake. The staff member who raised the issue is part-time, and quite frankly, never fucking here, even by part-time standards. So I got a very ranty e-mail last night from a fellow full-timer saying that what we should do is leave all cake to go stale and mouldy and then force-feed said colleague with it until she is sick.

We library folk can be so cruel.

There were other issues discussed on the briefing that pissed me off, about communication and suchlike. Again, same colleague and her counterpart jobshare person. Who are both NEVER FUCKING HERE. So communication is a problem, because even when they are here they are not particularly useful.

The general consensus is that they are beginning to realise the pointlessness of their role here, and are asserting their authority as a way of clutching onto their job.

Anyway, it's stirred up some ill-feeling amongst a lot of people, and I suspect if they continue to bring up ridiculous issues such as cake, there will be a revolt!

But I had a random day off yesterday which has helped my mindset muchly. I slept off a snotty cold, which seems to be less snotty and more coughy now. And got all caught up on e-mails and Facebook stuff. And drank coffee and ate cake. And, erm, popped into work.

Yeah, I don't know why either. I was intending to be all studious and get on with college work, as was my intention this morning, but when I got there I had a bit of a gossip with the girls who were working, wrote some cards (old school, I know) and did a little bit of online stuff.

This morning, I was wide awake really early, and singing 'I Don't Feel Like Dancing' to a bewildered Bren, so popped to Costa and got to work about 7.30am.

And here I am...Chris Moyles blaring away, and my college books still nestled sleepily in my college bag.

And I hear someone else entering the building...hoorah! More distractions!

That'll show her.

Droitwich Leisure Centre

Did I miss the advert for 'Slow Swimming Party That Doesn't Like To Move Out Of The Way' Day today?

It seems I was the only one.

And therefore I was the one getting kicked, shoved, and forced to stop during my 'relaxing' swim.

What a great way to start the day.

Deep Breath.

Must be positive.

What is with this greyness?

Or is it just my frame of mind?

OK. try again.

Positive. Mental. Attitude.

The only word that means anything to me there is 'Mental'.

I'm trying with the positive though.

Honestly, I am.

Tight as a Duck's Arse

Who coined that phrase? And how did they come to the conclusion that a Duck's Arse is tight?

Not touching that one. So to speak.

Anyway, today at work was the day of the 'People who wanted to wriggle out of fines they'd accrued'.

I hate tight people.

I do dislike people generally, a lot of the time, but one type of person I can't stand is one who doesn't fork out when they should. Hey, I kind of exploded a friendship because of it. OK, not 'because of', but it part of it.

And the fact that she read my blog and I didn't realise it...

Anyway, this is not about her.

It's about a woman who instead of facing the fact that she owed us £5.50 for being two weeks overdue with a DVD, blamed her child.

So, I'm on the Enquiry Desk, still buzzing from the Costa Coffee I'd inhaled earlier, and generally feeling quite cheerful and determined not to let customertwats get to me.

A colleague on the Counter sends this boy over to me to discuss a DVD that didn't work.

I think 'Oh, easy...free DVD rental as recompense'.

Oh no no.

The DVD that they couldn't get to work is two weeks late.

I start to explain that I will take off £2.75 from the fines accrued, in lieu of the DVD not working, but that there will still be £2.75 fines left to pay.

He looks confused, so I ask if he has a parent with him. Yes.

He has to run outside to get them, which suggests they've done the old 'send the child in with the DVD to avoid paying fines' trick.

A few minutes later this woman with an indistinct (to me) European accent strides up to the desk with her poor son tagging behind.

She tells me that the DVD didn't work.

I tell her it's two weeks late, and explain what I had said to the son. Thinking, 'how nice am I, waiving half of your fine for you?'

Oh no no.

But this is just not good enough. The DVD didn't work.

Ahem. Nice Sophie. Nice Sophie. No baring your teeth now.

"OK yes, that is a problem. However, what I'm having trouble understanding is why the DVD is two weeks overdue, when it didn't work?"

They have had the DVD for 3 weeks in total.

She tells me it was the children who took it out and she knew nothing about it.

This is the bit when I get properly on my high horse. Which I'm already sort of halfway on, but I put my feet in the stirrups and everything now.

"I understand [nods sympathetically], but as a parent and guarantor of your child's library ticket and anything they should take out on it, the responsibility is yours"...

...Plus...

The DVD is a PG Certificate. And was on the father's library ticket. We do not let children take out any DVDs that are not Universal.

The son blows his Mum's cover and says 'No, Dad knew about it'.

You go! Tell that bitch. How dare she evade responsibility, and blame her children! Even if she didn't know about it, the fucking Dad did, so there!

Anyway, she should have been a lawyer. And I could not be arsed to argue the toss over £5.50.

She kept saying things about how we (the library) had not lost revenue due to the DVD not being returned, since it doesn't work. I tried to explain that a) it's possible to fix these things (yeah, don't ask me how...we send it to the magic DVD fixing man) and b) that's not the point. You have to take responsibility for things. And the 'parental evasion of responsibility' pisses me off.

But not as much as people not coughing up.

I watched the boy and his Mum leave, and there in the entrance was the shirker Dad, a small girl and a pushchair, probably with another sprog.

Stop. Fucking. Breeding.

You. Tight. Fucks.

Anyway, this was the worst of the day, but not the only.

The first was a lady who came rushing over with four DVDs saying that they were due back yesterday (Friday) but her husband had arrived at the library at 5 minutes past closing time, and could we waive the fines, since she'd rushed down first thing this morning?

Is it because we are only open 10.5 hours on a Friday? Until 8pm? I know it's tough, but really. Is it too much to ask? Would Blockbusters let you off?

If it were up to me she would have paid the £11.00. But, luckily for her, it's not. My supervisor suggested reducing the fine, and I think it was down to something ridiculous, so the customer agreed. And was very pleased, really. As she bloody should be.

The next one had kind of a point, I suppose. There was £16.80 outstanding on her library ticket. Which she hadn't used for 2 years.

The fine was from 2 years ago. And I showed her how the fines had been accrued. She'd renewed online, but far too late. She was trying to tell me that she renewed the books after being prompted via e-mail. I smugly (but very nicely, you understand) informed her that we do not have automated renewal reminders on our system (which is the same across the county), so this would not have happened. She conceded, and was calming down slightly.

I apologised for the fact that when she had returned the books nobody had informed her of the fines. I empathised with her that this was not something you wanted to hear two years on.

However, my interior monologue was saying "I bet you dumped the books on the counter and ran ran ran, fully aware that your owed us money". And we don't get in touch unless the books are still on the ticket, so since her ticket was clear, we wouldn't have sent a letter - it was just a case of waiting for her to come back in.

Hey, I don't make the rules.

Anyway, my supervisor was on lunch, and I didn't want to bother her with yet another fine waiving question, so I offered to waive £8.80 if she was willing to pay £8.00. Which she wouldn't have to pay all at once, and she would be able to take the books out that she wanted today.

She was fine with this. And had calmed down completely.

I'm not saying we're best friends or anything, but I am proud of my manner in dealing with her, because she was clearly not happy when she approached the desk. But left marginally happier.

I did say marginally.

In other news.

No issues with porn today.

Although I was wearing my lovely naughty underwear that gives me a Semisonic style 'Secret Smile'...

And so the day continues...

Shortly after my little ramble to you, dear blogsters, I attempted to pay my BT Mobile bill.

You see, they bill me at this time of the month, and I tend to have no money in my account. So what was once Direct Debited, is now billed through the post.

Last month I waited a few days before paying it, so that I had sufficient funds.

Then the lovely BT people barred my phone claiming I hadn't paid the bill.

I phoned them to explain that actually, I had paid the bill. I'd paid through our joint account, to the BT account that was listed, providing my BT Mobile account number.

However, the time that I phoned them the guy I spoke to couldn't check because the system was down.

Fine, I was at work anyway and lunch was over, so I said I try later.

I tried later, and was told that the account was in my husband's name and therefore I couldn't do anything.

Fine. Although, perhaps you should make sure all of your colleagues follow this rule, because the guy I spoke to earlier was very forthcoming with account information.

I can't be mean to these people because I am them. When the wonderful Talis (Library computer system) is going slow or not going at all, I am the one getting the icy stares from t'other side of the counter. I am the one telling children they have to have their library card to book an internet session because any old arse could come in and recite someone else's name, address and date of birth so that they can steal their internet hours.

So I sent the info to Bren and he sorted it for me. Phone back up and running again.

So I got my bill through the post today.

I have money in my account to pay it! Hoorah, I cry, as I pick up the house phone, dial the 0800 number provided on the website (which seems to have no 'pay bill online' facility for my BT Mobile account) and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Finally, someone answers. And they're not automated. They are real. And just about speaking English.

They tell me they need to transfer me to someone else.

Well why the fuck was this telephone number provided on my BT Mobile account?!! And I followed all the instructions your automated lady gave me, so what the fuck did I do wrong?!

OK, fine.

So the call is immediately picked up by the Mobile Billing Department.

Their system is down.

Oh.

So, what you're telling me is, I've just been sitting here for 25 minutes, twiddling my thumbs, clutching my bill and debit card, desperate to pay my bill on the day it arrives just in case you Nazi BT arseholes decide I have taken *gasp* a day too long to pay it, and you're fucking system is down?!

OK. Call back later? Yeah, sure.

I've got fuck all better to do than sit around bowing to your fucking needs, have I?

I mean, at least at the library when our system is down we bend over fucking backwards so that customer does not have to have a wasted journey or phonecall.

So, really, library-workers, as real human beings in their spare time (yes, we are, amazing isn't it?) are actually fucked if they want anything in life. Because they spend their working day pleasing (attempting to...) the public, and their spare time getting shagged up the arse by everyone else.

Hoorah for my preferred career choice.

Cold-Fingers Blogging

So, I've not had much inclination to write lately. But I've just spent the afternoon catching up on e-mails. Not the 'yes, I'll meet you Tuesday' kind but more the long, existential, rambly kind that you really need to work yourself up for.

So now I'm all worked up with somewhere to blog.

Good innit?

Not that I have anything particularly lyrical or interesting to tell you.

But I'm sure I can witter on about something.

Like. My bottom.

Of course. The default subject.

Be grateful. I'm missing Midsomer Murders for this.

So we had chips last night. It's a regular Wednesday-post-Slimming-World-Feast. I have been having just chips recently, but I went mad and had battered cod and curry sauce, as well as chips last night. And a can of Coke. Full-fat and everything.

Astounding. I know.

But methinks the batter doth not like me these days.

Perhaps it is due to my cold rejection of it in favour of more healthy food items. Like, erm, yoghurt. And apples. And the saviour of Slimming World...pasta.

So I have had several emergency toilet trips today.

It's a good job I held back on the old trumping, because I suspect there may have been some foul-smelling accidental leakage had any parping gone on.

Anyway, I'm feeling better, thank you.

And the battered cod was well worth it.

And hey - think of the weight-loss!

No, kids. Runny bottoms are not good for you, eat a healthy diet. Don't think that laxatives are your friend. Only use them for those tough-to-shift stools.

Oh dear.

This blog is in the gutter isn't it? An unhealthy interest in my bottomly habits. It's a good job I have an understanding husband. I mean, really, just imagine living with this!

Anyway, that's the news on the bottom front.

Haha - front bottom. I'm such a child.

And.

Hmmm.

So it's my day off today. I tend to go mad in the house-cleaning department* on my day off.

But I was meeting a friend for coffee. So although I got up early-ish, I just loafed around for a while and then got ready to go. And when I got home I did some more loafing, picked at some food, hung the washing on the horse** and wrote some of those lovely rambly e-mails.

I cannot be arsed with the frantic cleaning today.

Like, on Saturday. I met a (different) friend, for lunch, and when I got home, ran round with the vacuum, and polished. Cleaned the bathroom.

And then, not satisfied with my endeavours, started to clean the bedroom windows.

Those babies are sparkling now.

But we are only single-glazed. With wooden frames.

You would not believe the crap I cleaned off those windows.

Half the frames came off with them too.

I really hope the landlady isn't reading this.

Having that much crap on the windows can surely not be healthy?

So when I woke up on Sunday and the condensation was threatening to undo all of my good work, I got the kitchen roll and dried it. Flashing the neighbours in the process.

I was going to do the downstairs windows and back door today.

But just the thought of the effort and paper-waste that goes into it has put me off.

Sod it - it's not like anyone looks, is it?!

Plus I have fingernails at the moment, and I don't want to damage them.

Oh, a couple of dead fogeys on Midsomer Murders. Sort that lot out, Nettles.

Oh, and I bought Heat magazine.

What did I do that for, you cry.

I don't know, I just wanted some trash to read while I was waiting for my friend to show up today.

And I was reading about how certain stars are too skinny, looking at their photos and thinking, yeah, they're thin, but they're not as bad as the article's making out. Use of the word 'gaunt' was completely inappropriate for Anna Kournikova's lovely, glowy not-gaunt-at-all face.

But I do love the article about Jordan and Pete trying to out-orange each other. Camp comedy gold!

Anyway, I'm glad my friend showed up, because it gave me a break from that rubbish, and we had a brilliant catch-up chat. She's all pregnant and happy, and it's contagious.

No kids. Pregnancy is not contagious. Do they not teach Sex Ed anymore?

I mean, the happiness is contagious. It was an excellently timed meet-up, because I was in a particularly shitty mood at work yesterday. So it was really nice to have a good old gossip with someone on my wavelength who's totally cheerful and fab.

I think I need a holiday.

Even just a little UK beach break. Except, there'll be chavs there, won't there?

How many 'theres'?!

I think I'm a bit tired of people.

Which is not good when you work in a library.

I think I'm a bit tired.

And a bit apathetic. About everything.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not all depressed or anything. The pills take care of that. But I am particularly bleugh about stuff at the moment.

Hence the lack of posts. It's the whole 'can't be bothered' attitude.

Maybe it's just finishing that bloody censorship essay has taken it out of me. My poor little brain can't cope with having to actually think about stuff.

Woo - I just killed a little flying thing. Go me!

And I seem to spend money like it's going out of fashion.

Which worries me.

Because I have no idea what I'm spending it on. I'm not some glamorous WAG with expensive tastes. I mean, I get my clothes from the Cancer Research Shop in the main part.

So I'm going to have to monitor that a bit more closely, to see what I'm getting for my spends.

Hmm.

Bit of a housekeeping one this, isn't it?

Sorry about that. Much wittering.

But I do feel better for it, so thanks for listening:)

*Not the 'house-cleaning department' in Morrisons. Just in terms of 'cleaning my house'. I'm not a total mental, ya know.

**Yeah, a real, actual horse. What Bren doesn't know is that when he's not home I chuck Vinnie in the lorry and trundle along back home, through our freshly laundered sheets and towels over him and get him to stand still and wait for them to dry. And get covered in horsehair. OK. I am a total mental. I concede.