Just a quick one before I go to work, o brothers. (yes, work, me! With my nerves and aspirations and everything..etc etc. .....)
Went on a train the other night to that O2 place. Got off at Waterloo. Told Husband I was having a fag before we got on that funny Jubilee line thing. Went out the station and opposite was a cage(!) with Smoking Area posted on it.
"I am not getting into a fracking cage to smoke!" I told Husband politely. What is this world coming to? Its a side entrance at Waterloo where lorries drop off things and that. Whyever would you have a designated smoking place there? And I'm tossed if I was entering a buggering cage?
There were a few meek smokers in there and I glared at them, trying to make them aware of their betrayal and stood directly outside it and lit up. I noticed a few others did beside me.
Husband looked worried. Let 'em call the Police, I told him. And who exactly were going to call the police? The porters? The men in the lorries? The man at the Costa stand? For fracks sake! A cage , my arse.
I mean I've gone along with this No Smoking shit quietly so far. Simply because I've had no choice. But there are times when you need to kick out at these bastards.
Will be back soon for part two. This will include not being able to smoke near that dreadful shitty dome thing and how high up I had to frackin' sit. Oh yeah, and about the pop group I went to see.
Friday, 23 October 2009
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
Eye of a Needle
Have such a stinking cold, my brothers. Fate is a very cruel mistress indeed.
Have been taking Aspro Clear like it was lemondade and now they've given me the shits. I was telling Son's teacher about my tummy antics just this morning. And do you know, Brothers, I suspect he has the same symptons as me. He kept clearing his throat and had an uncomfortable expression on his face:
"...through the eye of a needle ", I explained
"....yes, mrs Smith, now about Son's algebra...."
Me and education just do not mix. I don't mean just the fancy book-learning stuff either. There was an insufferable 9 months when I was a dinner lady - sorry, I mean SMSA - and do you know, my working space was full of kids! I couldn't talk to the other SMSA's about Big Brother or periods or anything. Some bloody kid was always interupting us blithering on about scraping knees and that. And whenever I suggested a bloody good cuff round the ear, they would look at me funny!
And now I'm back in the frying pan. Just when I thought it was safe to walk by a school. The Invigillators reach out and get me. Yes, I've applied for that at Daughter's school. I thought you only needed 'em for "O" levels in June and that was that! I mean , there's no sixth form!
No, they have them all over the bloody place! And then this lady kept talking about modules. I mean this isn't bloody Brunel university. Anyway, the poor cow needs hundreds of invigilators apparently.
I have hazy memories of my Maths teacher invigilating several exams and smoking a fag under the desk. Even in those very politically incorrect times of 1974, smoking was still not allowed. His fingers were as yellow as the sun. The only person I would swear blind died of smoking. The only one I would concede to anyway.
But no, these teachers can't do it anymore, they need someone like me. They prefer Mums apparently. Well, I haven't even said I'd do it yet - and I remember that when I became a dinner lady. They don't actually offer you a job, they just assume you're doing it. And this lady is sending me on a course without a bye or leave. Did anyone see those invigillators on Armstrong and Miller? Thats what I want to do.
Whoops! Son and Dad back. Gotta go xxx
Have been taking Aspro Clear like it was lemondade and now they've given me the shits. I was telling Son's teacher about my tummy antics just this morning. And do you know, Brothers, I suspect he has the same symptons as me. He kept clearing his throat and had an uncomfortable expression on his face:
"...through the eye of a needle ", I explained
"....yes, mrs Smith, now about Son's algebra...."
Me and education just do not mix. I don't mean just the fancy book-learning stuff either. There was an insufferable 9 months when I was a dinner lady - sorry, I mean SMSA - and do you know, my working space was full of kids! I couldn't talk to the other SMSA's about Big Brother or periods or anything. Some bloody kid was always interupting us blithering on about scraping knees and that. And whenever I suggested a bloody good cuff round the ear, they would look at me funny!
And now I'm back in the frying pan. Just when I thought it was safe to walk by a school. The Invigillators reach out and get me. Yes, I've applied for that at Daughter's school. I thought you only needed 'em for "O" levels in June and that was that! I mean , there's no sixth form!
No, they have them all over the bloody place! And then this lady kept talking about modules. I mean this isn't bloody Brunel university. Anyway, the poor cow needs hundreds of invigilators apparently.
I have hazy memories of my Maths teacher invigilating several exams and smoking a fag under the desk. Even in those very politically incorrect times of 1974, smoking was still not allowed. His fingers were as yellow as the sun. The only person I would swear blind died of smoking. The only one I would concede to anyway.
But no, these teachers can't do it anymore, they need someone like me. They prefer Mums apparently. Well, I haven't even said I'd do it yet - and I remember that when I became a dinner lady. They don't actually offer you a job, they just assume you're doing it. And this lady is sending me on a course without a bye or leave. Did anyone see those invigillators on Armstrong and Miller? Thats what I want to do.
Whoops! Son and Dad back. Gotta go xxx
Friday, 16 October 2009
Bloody cheek!
Would you adam and eve it? Of all the nerve! I mean Really????
Babysitting at mate's house. Dark already! Go outside for a fag don't I . Felt something fall spookily over my shoulder. Screamed - assuming it was a zombie - it was only a bloody spiders web! Walked right through the bloody thing!
Beside me was a spider hastily scrambling up on what was left of its web. It gave me a filthy look. Look where you're going, you stupid cow!, it glared. I told it: Excuse me mate, we'd all love to put down webs where we'd like, haven't you heard of consideration and Council tax? And how much rent are you paying here? I keep forgetting.
Spider tutted and went on making a new web. The cheek of these scrounging buggers! I mean I know they're Gods creatures and that, but really! Anyway I took a shot of the cheeky sod, threatened to expose it and sell it to the Sunday Sport. It went pale at that one, I tell you!
Interfering with my fag like that! Bloody cheek!
Monday, 12 October 2009
Oh Woe!!
They making me go to work AGAIN! Does no-one understand how they're holding me back! Does no-one understand my pain!
Son's birthday tomorrow - he will be 11! Thats my baby boy. He's getting an X-box - the spoilt little git! Do you know what I got at 11? A construction set! Never forgiven my old Gran for that one! Never knew what happened to it. Never touched the bloody thing. And I tell you what else I used to get, year after bloody year. A bloody post office! They still have 'em today I think. A box with pretend stamps and sweet jars and that. What a load of old shit! Never forgiven parents for that one either!
And he's not having a cake - oh no! He's having a box of Krispy Kremes. My mum used to make me one of her fruit cakes with a candle on top! And it tasted vile! Burnt and everything!
(30 minutes later)
Funnily enough that was my mum on the phone! Talk of the Devil! Didn't mention the crap birthdays I used to have though. Funny that.
And now, I have to go to work! Bollocks! Am going to try that foxy thing that Dotterell suggested later .
Parting is such sweet sorrow, Treasures
Son's birthday tomorrow - he will be 11! Thats my baby boy. He's getting an X-box - the spoilt little git! Do you know what I got at 11? A construction set! Never forgiven my old Gran for that one! Never knew what happened to it. Never touched the bloody thing. And I tell you what else I used to get, year after bloody year. A bloody post office! They still have 'em today I think. A box with pretend stamps and sweet jars and that. What a load of old shit! Never forgiven parents for that one either!
And he's not having a cake - oh no! He's having a box of Krispy Kremes. My mum used to make me one of her fruit cakes with a candle on top! And it tasted vile! Burnt and everything!
(30 minutes later)
Funnily enough that was my mum on the phone! Talk of the Devil! Didn't mention the crap birthdays I used to have though. Funny that.
And now, I have to go to work! Bollocks! Am going to try that foxy thing that Dotterell suggested later .
Parting is such sweet sorrow, Treasures
Monday, 28 September 2009
Crueller Still........
Oh my brothers, they have forced me out on to the streets once more. To a place called Work. Me, with my nerves, having to go there. With my nervous disposition and everything. I have a condition, you see. Husband got it diagnosed for me: its called work-shie - I think its Latin. More commonly, the last word is pronounced Shy.
I begged Husband to go and get some sort of herbal cure while I lay down. And also begged him to phone in sick for me. He returned from the Pharmacist empty-handed. He told me the nice young man advised a verbal cure. I looked at him weakly with non-comprehension. Husband recited the ancient mantra passed over to him from many generations: Get off your big arse and get to work like everybody else, you lazy cow. The insensitivity of it, o brothers, thats what I find hard to live with.
In the stockroom at the sports shop, unloading stuff with some 17 year old boy. Worried about a girl he's seeing. Thinks they might "do it". Scared about his nether regions. Frightened he's too small. I told him every boy thinks that because they saw their Dad's one when they were little. They grow up thinking their's is smaller than their Dad's and inadequate. I mean everyone know's that shit.
He begged me to look at it and give my opinion. He felt he could trust me, he said. So we locked the door and he presented himself to me. He was bloody enormous! The silly bugger. He was huge! These bloody blokes. Put it away I told him. That would satisfy any bloody girl!
Then he had the cheek to scrounge a lighter off me! Haven't I transformed his life enough? Bloody hell! Still, all in a day's work. Back to the stockroom tomorrow - new England shirts arriving. What a load of old shit!
I begged Husband to go and get some sort of herbal cure while I lay down. And also begged him to phone in sick for me. He returned from the Pharmacist empty-handed. He told me the nice young man advised a verbal cure. I looked at him weakly with non-comprehension. Husband recited the ancient mantra passed over to him from many generations: Get off your big arse and get to work like everybody else, you lazy cow. The insensitivity of it, o brothers, thats what I find hard to live with.
In the stockroom at the sports shop, unloading stuff with some 17 year old boy. Worried about a girl he's seeing. Thinks they might "do it". Scared about his nether regions. Frightened he's too small. I told him every boy thinks that because they saw their Dad's one when they were little. They grow up thinking their's is smaller than their Dad's and inadequate. I mean everyone know's that shit.
He begged me to look at it and give my opinion. He felt he could trust me, he said. So we locked the door and he presented himself to me. He was bloody enormous! The silly bugger. He was huge! These bloody blokes. Put it away I told him. That would satisfy any bloody girl!
Then he had the cheek to scrounge a lighter off me! Haven't I transformed his life enough? Bloody hell! Still, all in a day's work. Back to the stockroom tomorrow - new England shirts arriving. What a load of old shit!
Tuesday, 15 September 2009
Being Silly
Well, at last, O my brothers, I'm on my oddy-knocky. But not for long, so I'm getting this in quickly.
Call up some woman who I was good friends with at one point: Bring yourselves and the kids for lunch, I say cheerfully, its been ages since we've got together. Come and see the new house. Well, she falters, Georgina's got horse rangers and George has got some shit or other (this is paraphrasing), perhaps its better if I just pop round in the week.
Call up sister in law - come to lunch and bring the kids and see the house. Well, SHE falters, we've got weight boarding and rugby and..... Me and Paul can pop round for a couple of hours on Friday night.
Invite a mate for Son to go with him to Thorpe Park on his birthday next month. Well, the mother falters, he was sick last time and he hates this ride and that ride.... can he come and not go on any rides????
I won't even repeat my reply to that one.
What is it with these bastards? Why do they have to get silly about bloody everything? Bollocks to it - am having a bloody lunch on my own! Because I don't piss about like people round here! Does anyone wanna come for lunch on Sunday? Please? If you do, let me know if you're vegetarian or not and you can have a courgette or something.
Call up some woman who I was good friends with at one point: Bring yourselves and the kids for lunch, I say cheerfully, its been ages since we've got together. Come and see the new house. Well, she falters, Georgina's got horse rangers and George has got some shit or other (this is paraphrasing), perhaps its better if I just pop round in the week.
Call up sister in law - come to lunch and bring the kids and see the house. Well, SHE falters, we've got weight boarding and rugby and..... Me and Paul can pop round for a couple of hours on Friday night.
Invite a mate for Son to go with him to Thorpe Park on his birthday next month. Well, the mother falters, he was sick last time and he hates this ride and that ride.... can he come and not go on any rides????
I won't even repeat my reply to that one.
What is it with these bastards? Why do they have to get silly about bloody everything? Bollocks to it - am having a bloody lunch on my own! Because I don't piss about like people round here! Does anyone wanna come for lunch on Sunday? Please? If you do, let me know if you're vegetarian or not and you can have a courgette or something.
Tuesday, 8 September 2009
Coming out of the Cold
Oh my Brothers, a nice young man from Virgin called round yesterday to "see me right" - ooer!
A black man, tall and slim. Spoke, and had the same bawdy laugh, like Bob Grant in On The Buses. I half-expected him to have a fag behind his ear. He left me with a square box with Broadband written on it.
Husband went up the wall. Did I not tell him to install it? he demanded somewhat rhetorically. I shrugged. Give it to the Kids to set up, I suggested. Isn't that what we normally do? He went a funny colour. I went outside for a fag.
I have no sympathy. He knows I know nothing about this kind of shit. Even to leave me in the same room as someone technical is a disaster. Don't know what his bloody problem is. We've got thricefold the crap programmes on TV now, haven't we? We've got a landline, haven't we? We've got internet, haven't we? Why should he get het up over a bloody square box?
This bloody technology shit. Two hours in and it causes aggrevation. I wind up my clock and sit down to write a letter like in olden times.
A black man, tall and slim. Spoke, and had the same bawdy laugh, like Bob Grant in On The Buses. I half-expected him to have a fag behind his ear. He left me with a square box with Broadband written on it.
Husband went up the wall. Did I not tell him to install it? he demanded somewhat rhetorically. I shrugged. Give it to the Kids to set up, I suggested. Isn't that what we normally do? He went a funny colour. I went outside for a fag.
I have no sympathy. He knows I know nothing about this kind of shit. Even to leave me in the same room as someone technical is a disaster. Don't know what his bloody problem is. We've got thricefold the crap programmes on TV now, haven't we? We've got a landline, haven't we? We've got internet, haven't we? Why should he get het up over a bloody square box?
This bloody technology shit. Two hours in and it causes aggrevation. I wind up my clock and sit down to write a letter like in olden times.
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