Highly Strung

I turned to the Boyf in bed this morning and uttered the romantic words:

‘it’s nice spending time with your family, they make you look a lot less crazy’…

Bless them, like any family they are not without their foibles. The Boyf’s OCD tendencies now seem like charming idiosyncracies after watching his brother check the car doors are locked for the umpteenth time. I’ve also had fun with teasing the Boyf since his overly weight conscious Mum said he looked a bit chubby (which he doesnt!)…

They are still here, storming up and down the fire escape and shouting. This is interruppted by a grating squeaking sound and a hammering which is ripping my very last nerve to shreds. Thank fuck its my last day in this hole of an office – see you suckahs!

A rather enlightening drink with a soon to be ex colleague has made me even more convinced resigning was the right thing to do. And so the only thing I have left to achieve this week is to ensure the boyf’s teenage niece has the family 46 inch flat screen booked for the X factor final…yes I am 34 – why do you ask??

Not only did I slip and slide and twist my back in the process on the icy pavement like an OAP on the way to the bus this morning, but also the bus took three times as long to get to the station and the ‘barista’ in Eat made me a lukewarm coffee.

I am very much over the branch of Eat local to my current office. I’d taken to requesting an extra hot latte in order to have a coffee which still had a tinge of warmth in it by the time I reached the office, however a couple of days ago the fool behind the till heard me and repeated ‘extra hot’ but charged me 30p extra on my coffee. When I asked why, he said he was confused and had charged me for an extra shot on my extra hot latte….then he faffed about with the till trying to rectify his mistake – I told him to forget it (but I haven’t forgotten it). So I’ve given up making that request, but really, according to BBC weather its minus one degree celsius out there – do i really need to request that my coffee be hot???

Today is mostly all about the stench of tar and banging and drilling noises from above. Oh and of course the dulcet tones of men speaking builderspeak all around me…I hate this place!

Seems Xfm is playing my theme toon just now. Personally i think I have been driven out of it by the painters who are for the second afternoon running clustered outside the window opposite me shouting at each other…

My bosses are currently having themselves a celebratory lunch in honour of having won a major project. I was involved in the winning of it as well, but as I’m rapidly becoming persona non grata round these parts I’ve been very much left behind … isn’t it great when you feel like a member of the team? um yeah – I’ll let you know how that feels once I’ve experienced it.

Found the whole thing on Youtube: Click here

Have not quite caught up with how to insert the clip into blog post…

A stupid tiz over the fact that my laptop doesn’t really work anymore lead to a full blown panic last night. As usual the laptop was not the main issue but merely a catlyst for exposing the real problem.

The problem is that even though I only have 3 days left in my job I hate it so much that I dread arriving in the morning. My boss hasn’t even officially confirmed Friday is my last day but at this stage my mind is made up. If he said dont bother coming in for the rest of the week I would be overjoyed…even though it would mean losing out on £300.

I just feel like this place is sucking the joy out of me, it’s toxic. Friday at 5.35 I step onto a train headed north for the weekend, and I don’t think i’ll be fully relaxed until that moment. My plans for the weekend (to be spent with family) are as follows; white wine, sleep ins and the X Factor final on their 46in(!) TV. I’m assuming they will be watching (they have a 15 year old daughter).

P.s I have PMT

As overheard from the window by my desk as the painters do builderspeak at eachother:

‘He was only one of them fucking cross dressers wan’ ‘e? He sez to me – I’m not gay, I just like dressing in womens clothes.. I said listen mate, I don’t wanna know, you know?’

…to myself.

Whenever I have a bad hangover (which is not too often), I dream of swimming in cold water, clear lakes and freshwater pools, its something to do with my dehydrated state I think.

I’ve always loved swimming pools and this beautiful book features retro pictures of fabulous pools in the USA and elsewhere. It’s the kind of book you can peruse and feel like you can actually smell the chlorine and feel the silky cool water, I feel thirsty just looking at the cover.