WHAT A DAY

I have been struggling to get out of bed the last few days, when the alarm goes off the room is still murky with a slight nip in the air, whilst my bed is toasty warm with Americo in it.

Yesterday my alarm buzzed into action and I pressed snooze, once, twice… after that I must have lost consciousness. When I resurfaced, I woke with a feeling of contentment, safe and happy and - WHAT - five minutes before I had to leave the house!

I leapt out of bed, raced to the bathroom, frantically brushing my teeth whilst scouring the cupboard for something to wear. Obviously not something in need of an iron.

Americo meanwhile briefly raised his head to see what all the fuss was about, before pulling the duvet more securely under his chin and mumbling “mm, late too”. Clearly not!

I (just) managed to get my self dressed, dashing out the house in record time, with a vague resemblance to Cruella DeVille - minus the fur.

LATE! But not late enough not to grab a mocha chilla (my new addiction) from the coffee shop.

By now I was seriously late; rushing to the office whilst attempting to juggle my mocha chilla, umbrella and handbag – when my phone rang. It was an employment friend of mine who I wanted to ask a favour of, so I couldn’t exactly rush things.

Eventually I made it into the office only to see that everyone was in the boardroom. Bollocks! Forgot all about the 9 o’clock meeting. Who in their right mind books a meeting for 9am?? Clearly ridiculous morning people! Or the Australian…..

After all the excitement of the morning my day settled into an impression of normality. I say impression as things are not really normal – for instance, I don’t usually have my resume floating about the ether in the hopes of snagging some fabulous job … elsewhere. Anyhow, we do what we need to do, hmm?

By the time 5.30pm rolled by the day had disintegrated, weather wise, with pouring rain and huge puddles. St Pauls, the tube station, was flooded with people, everyone being a little more cautious as umbrellas dripped, creating a slick mess on the floor.

To say I was thankful to be going home would be an understatement. I was thrilled to be almost home; moments from the door I was already creating a list of priorities - out of the rain, out of sopping trousers, into nice hot bath ……….. cigarette.

Propping my umbrella up against the wall I scratched about in my bag for the keys. Hmm? More scrabbling – nothing.

In desperation I emptied the bag onto the front step then sat down next to the upended contents, rolled a cigarette and thought “sod it; I’ve left my keys in the house!”

ONE WHOLE YEAR

Can you believe that today is our 1 year anniversary? No doubt this has been the catalyst of my recent sappiness towards Americo!

Unfortunately the focus of my love and good wishes is not with me today having had to head off for a business training course for two days. However he did call (BRIGHT AND EARLY) to say happy anniversary. Luckily for him we have two wedding anniversaries, 1 for the registry office wedding and 1 for the big white wedding we had, which is due next weekend. In reality this is the one we will ‘properly’ celebrate.

Actually, I mustn’t forget to remind Americo of what a lucky chap he is.. I married him twice!

Anyway, my recent mood of love and good will to all mankind has been blown to smithereens today. I was feeling all loved up after my early morning call but then………………… People happened. I had a slight altercation with my boss regarding his father.

Admittedly I am an Executive Assistant, with a difference. I have the glorified title of Business Manager but in reality I am more of a resistant assistant. I don’t really ‘do’ personal things and usually if these are requested they are more in the asking of a favour than instruction. Just the way I like it, I work for a pay cheque - my life is not my job and my job is most certainly not my life. Anyway, my boss and I have a certain understanding, I don’t do tea, coffee, dry cleaning or any of the other trivial things people cannot be bothered to do for themselves – I was hired for a job. I do, on occasion however assist with booking holidays, more as a sympathy gig than anything else, as he is technologically challenged.

Now, as I have done a fair amount of travelling I am quite adept at arranging flights, looking for the best deals and, in times of desperation, have a travel agent I am on friendly terms with. My boss will only use these particular skills when the details prove too complex i.e. flights for 10, hotels in foreign countries internal and connecting carriers etc.

His father however seems to believe that I am here, purely, to attend to his personal travel requirements. Calling up and expecting me to drop everything (my actual PAYING job) to cater to his needs….

A few months ago, I freely admit, I did a fairly major F.up. I was rushed, paperwork had to be collected and dropped off on timescales and who should call. You guessed it. My mind was in a million places and I accidentally booked his flight out of one London airport, returning into another. None of us realised the mistake .. until he went to catch the returning flight. To say I was popular would be an understatement, I apologised – profusely. In truth I seldom make errors of this kind, unfortunately though, they do happen.

Now logic would dictate that due to his lack of faith he would find an alternative person? So far this has not proved to be the case, if anything these calls to arrange hotels, flights blah, blah, blah have been more frequent. Often with me spending HOURS searching hotels, sending him quotes booking everything, only to then have him decide not to go ahead. I probably wouldn’t mind but I just don’t deal very well with certain things, one of them was a snide comment suggesting that “had I worked for him I would have been fired”. All very good and well, how about following up that statement by harassing someone else??

So today, amazingly he had booked his own flight into London, but then decided that he wanted to catch the earlier connection out. Ordinarily not a problem, sadly though when you purchase cheap tickets and then reschedule they are seldom as cost efficient as initially anticipated. I call, get the quote and call back advising of the, now exorbitant, price. All this via My Lord & Master. (I think we should start referring to him as something, else like MR.B, I am not really a lord & master kinda girl!!).

I then hear his father (MR.B snr?), mumbling some derogatory statement along the lines of “this isn’t going to be like that other flight she cocked up”. All civility flew out the window. I believe my words were..

“Indeed, if that is how your father feels please advise him to arrange his own flights.” To be honest that wasn’t all I said.. I am not known to be retiring with my opinions. In fact reading this sentence back it actually sounds quite friendly. To clear up. It was not, to get the right intonation add a heavy dose of sarcasm.

“oh, no, no – that isn’t what he meant at all.. it was just a joke.” Was my boss's reply

I think you shall find we will now all be laughing as tomorrow I intend to have a little discussion regarding this….

WHAT IS THE HEIGHT OF LAZINESS??

By hippieprincess74

This morning, as I was rushing about the house attempting to get myself out the door on time, I had a major dilemma, do I wear flip flops or trainers into the office. With a glance outside my verdict is quickly determined. Grey skies = trainers!

Having chosen my trainers whilst downstairs, I realise that I am not very well prepared for the realities of my decision - No Socks. I give the staircase a resentful glare, LATE, no time to be running up two flights of stairs to grab a pair of socks. (I know, there is always time but.. lazy!) I take a moment to regroup, is there any washing in the tumble dryer? Nope, because yours truly has been the embodiment of housewifely virtue and everything is neatly packed away a la Stepford Wives.

GRRRR – seriously, no good deed goes unpunished!

At this stage I am contemplating the thought of risking wet toes in flip flops versus rushing upstairs for that pair of socks. In desperation I give the room another cursory flicker, AH HA, do mine eyes deceive me? Lo and behold what is that upon the dining room table? Could it be.. yes I believe it is.. TWO socks! Eureka!

Upon closer inspection this is not really such a great find, one sock is Americo’s (size 10 men’s) and the other is mine (size 5 ladies). Without hesitation I yank my mismatched socks onto my feet, pull on my trainers and..

Decide to start rearranging my handbag. Yes it’s true, my mind is a special place early on a Monday morning!

However, did I stop at rearranging my handbag? NO, then I decided to organise lunch for my favourite of husbands. Okay, organise is a slight exaggeration, more like grab the items, soup, chocolate cake (both special treats from Storme!) two banana’s and an apple. Put them all in a bag, write a note saying something suitably sappy, look at the time and RUN for the door.

TEA.. Anyone?

Today I am having a slight rant, lets face it – it’s been a while! Our topic of the day is TEA… I realise this sounds like a fairly innocuous subject and ergo unable to cause much offence … there my friends you are wrong. The problem is - I do not DO tea. I do not drink it, I do not appreciate it and I detest having to make it. To say I am not a tea person is to trivialise my repugnance.

Unfortunately, on occasion, I have to lower my standards and put the kettle on. I must admit that there are times when I don’t mind (that much). For instance, if I am feeling particularly enchanted with my husband I may offer, or when we have guests for dinner. Then there are the other times… The office times…

I suppose I should back up a little and explain how this revulsion came about.

It all started one bright African morning when I was a little girl of about 5. Our family tradition was that the housekeeper would bring in the tea tray at 6 and the family would all pile into my parents bed for their ‘cuppa’ before we had to get ready for the day. I remember that for some reason I was alone with Mom and Dad - I think Tanya and Julian were at boarding school. Anyway, Mom poured the tea and, in my youthful excitement of the morning, I took a huge gulp. Oh the HORROR! Yuck, yuck, YUCK. The milk was sour and the tea was disgusting. The rest, as they say, is history - I have never drunk tea again and over time it has become at mild phobia.

Back to the office; my aversion to tea is so ubiquitous the mere mention of having this as part of my job description has seen me racing for the door. On occasion however I have been known to be charitable at work. When I meet clients, I manage to dredge up some empathy and produce a cup of tea. I do not however make tea for just anyone, either you are a paying Member of the Wealth Club or you are just another pleb who can get their own damn tea!

Last year due to a rift in the company partnership the business was downsized. It was decided that in order to ‘stream line’ the cash flow redundancies would be made, with one of the casualties being our receptionist. With our new ‘slim line’ staffing arrangements the idea is for everyone to all pull together in ensuring when a Member is due there is someone available for a meet and greet. Unfortunately some pull together more than others and, for the most part, mine is a fairly regular face in reception.

This morning I had barely sat down when the door bell rang, thankfully one of my colleagues jumped to attention and I made to prepare myself for the day ahead. About two seconds later one of the advisors (hmmmm) came and said to me;

“So.. what happens when there is someone in reception, do YOU just go and make tea?” (seriously??)

He should have known better especially since I do not make my dislike of mornings a secret. The first sign should have been it is 9 o’clock, followed swiftly by the realisation that there was no can of coke in sight. However he ignored all the signals and barged on…

With raised I brows I regarded him, eventually answering his request with as much civility as I could muster;

“Do I look like the tea lady?”

It was cold, it was brutal but is he likely to pose such a stupid question to me again?

WHISTLE WHILE YOU WALK

Today was my first day walking into work due to strike action on the tubes - I hope you are all suitably impressed with my dedication. It took me just under 2 hours, door to door, to amble my way into the office and has given me much entertainment…

Firstly, I went online to search out my best walking route from London Paddington to St Pauls (in the City of London). The best website I have found is http://www.walkit.com/ – it gives you all kinds of handy information such as, distance, time .. if you are a fast walker, moderate or tortoise and how many calories you have expunged from your system. By the way, I classify myself with the moderates.

Average walking time is 1 hour 20 minutes, 6930 steps, 6.3km or 3.9 miles and total calorie usage….. 332 – what a complete waste of time! Luckily I am not a calorie counting kinda girl, but even so I was somewhat demoralised by the minuscule amount versus time I could still be sleeping! However I will, grudgingly, admit that I did feel my fat reserves reluctantly loosening their grip upon my person.

With the strikes everyone who utilises the Underground has had to make alternative plans, mine was to use the overland then leg it the rest of the way. Others are using the bus routes – faster to walk if I am honest – and others still have pulled out their bicycles. And thus begins my story…..

Whilst navigating my way into the office I stopped at a traffic light – Enter our leading man. He was turning onto the road I hoped to cross, looking not as confident as one would hope. Usually at that time of the day the world passes me by with little impression, I am therefore unsure what caught my attention. Was it the wobbly bike looking the wrong side of controlled? Or the face above the handle bars flushed and anxious? More likely it was the hooting. Whatever, the impression of this middle aged man riding into work clinging onto the handle bars like grim death, simultaneously trying to read a map has made me chuckle all day!

I know it is cruel, and maybe you had to see it to fully appreciate my amusement. But SERIOUSLY – when you haven’t looked at a bicycle for the last 20 years what makes you think it would be a good idea to ride, into London, on tube strike day, when the roads are heaving?

As it turns out walking is not really all that good for me either. Usually I am safely tucked away from temptation on the underground. No so today, having wondered down all the best shopping streets in the city I now want to spend, Spend, SPEND!! Luckily everything was closed on my way in – I doubt I shall be so lucky on my way home.

Now I must sign off and saunter homeward.

WASHING ALERT!

After yesterdays debacle, I am wearing my glasses – can’t say they have made me any wittier but I can certainly see better!

I have now, mostly, settled back into the swing of things.. I have remembered how to type and log onto my computer without expiring the password, and most importantly that payday arrives on Friday.

When Americo & I arrived back on Sunday he diligently loaded up the washing machine and cleaned all our laundry, neatly heaping the dried mounds in anticipation of my folding expertise. I on the other hand took one look at the growing chaos and ignored it. Unfortunately acknowledgement will no longer be denied. Our house is fast becoming a classified zone, resembling Oxfam on drop off day. We have more clothes sitting on our sofas than we do in the cupboards. This is posing a slight problem as all clean ware is in the lounge and the once neat stacks of laundry, after being raided, are beginning to resemble an attempted burglary.

Oh well, on to other things. This morning I woke up to Americo’s alarming alarm going off at the usual 6am slot. Amazingly, he actually got up, well.. More like fell out of bed so big was his surprise. I must admit to a sleepy chuckle at my drowsy husband tumbling to the floor. For retribution Americo stood over my dreaming form, put his nose on my nose and stared. A more uncomfortable way to be woken I do not know. He would not relent until I opened my eyes which proved to be rather difficult as one eye remained resolutely shut. And so we were, Americo grinning like a monkey and me blearily blinking back – owl like.

Yesterday was the 2009 Budget Report, exciting stuff. Basically if you eat, work and pay taxes your chances of getting shafted have greatly improved. Here, here to Labour!

MORNING!

Yesterday I was grouchy, as I have mentioned before mornings are not my time of day but yesterday I had an extreme reaction to the alarm clock. Said alarm clock being Americo’s going off at 5:45am! 5.45 in the morning is not a time, it is a death sentence..

When my alarm went off at just after 7 I rolled over to see ‘himself’ slumbering sweetly next to me. This elevated my frustration levels, I don’t mind being woken up for a purpose i.e he gets out of bed and goes to work, but to be woken up just for jollies.

Anyhow I clambered out of bed and, looking down at his sleeping form, flicked on the lights and whipped off the duvet. Aaaah satisfaction! Americo meanwhile did not know what had hit him, looking up at me with questioning eyes I pulled the pillow and said ‘Out!’.

Americo and I have been together for close on 6 years, he knows my wonderful character quirks, he also knows that if he wishes to get up at any hour before me, too………..

JUMP out of bed as though the bats of hell were after his soul!