Touching Base with Tony McNamara

It’s Saturday and I have just returned from a rather unpleasant social drink with Tony McNamara. I can only liken it to having your socks darned with wire wool whilst you are still wearing the socks and the socks are being stitched by that evil seamstress Mrs Nesbitt (who is increasingly getting on my nerves).

As you have probably gathered by my bubbling resentment Mrs N was sat in the background throughout our drink, sipping her sweet sherry and eaves dropping on every word I said to Tony. When Tony excused himself to pick up a packet of pork scratchings, she let it be known she is privy to all my activities and movements.

I have decided from this day forth I shall divulge nothing more to Tony until he shakes that bitter limpet from his arm.

Stationary Abuse

Took an early lunch yesterday and one hour time off in lieu (all those five minutes I arrive early into work add up!). I had double checked with the team that they had given me the stationary order for the week, rang it through and duly left. Spent the afternoon leisurely strolling around the shops, thinking about my playlist for Sunday evening’s show (which incidentally I am now calling Layby Lullabies).

Imagine how I felt the this morning when I found a handwritten note from my team leader requesting a five pack of post its and ten black biros. I checked the stationary cupboard to discover that someone had been rifling through and it could only be likened to a war zone. It was like something had detonated and sent notebooks, paperclips, elastic bands and correction fluid flying. Marcus, senior solicitor, told me to stop being so over dramatic. That was until he had an irate client, a leaky biro and was asking me for a replacement pen.

I sent an email out to the team, explaining that it was tantamount to stationary abuse!

Post Valentines Day Blues

Yesterday evening I boarded the train home with trepidation, would there be any messages on my answermachine? Surely someone else, somewhere in Lancashire must be feeling lonely on a Friday.

My train home was delayed, they blamed leaves on the line but to my way of thinking the station manager didn’t want to dampen the spirit of the lovers (who incidentally were out in droves, making their way to Lytham for romantic meals and such-like) by mentioning some poor chap thought it a fitting night to end it all. Either that or there was leaves on the line.

I had read my copy of the LEP cover to cover three times over when my train finally arrived (I saw fit to complain just twice) - didn’t have the energy to protest further. The train was packed. The smell of perfume and aftershave clung to the air like a thick fog, couples laughing, kissing, caressing - it drove me insane. Just thinking about the wilderness I have left only to find myself alone in a barren land without love made my heart ache and anxiety grow like a black flower unable to blossom.

The slug-like pace of the train added to my frustration. I thought of the team, despite their hardened exteriors every one of them has a partner to go home to (some are in same sex relationships but that is neither here nor there, I may be driven to ’turn’ to men if I don’t meet a woman soon!).

I wound myself up so much on the journey home I stormed into the newsagents and tore my ad from the window. I highlighted each and every word with my luminous yellow highlighting pen and placed the ad back in the window in a prominent position (above the ad for caring lady funeral director). Paid the newsagent's son an extra £1 for his trouble and left.

Even the newsagent had taken mrs newsagent out for a meal. Good job really as he can be rather heavy handed when it comes to people fiddling with his shop displays.

Monday Monday

So sorry didn’t have time to update you on the show, felt shattered after doing the graveyard shift and then missed the last train back home. Ended up sleeping in Ray’s car (his wife is very wary about strangers sleeping in their home ever since Ray brought back two ne’er do wells from the hospital and they stole her Faberge egg).

The radio show went well, unfortunately had to drop the hat theme as the Paul Young CD was scratched and the Status Quo CD box was empty (so much for the hospital radio CD library!). Like a pro I winged it with a tribute to Michael Bolton and managed to slip Mr Mister’s ’Broken Wings’ and some Foreigner in there.

Announced the Fedora Hat raffle and sold one ticket (that’s not including the one I bought and the one dad bought - he would ideally like his hat back - he’s had it twenty years!)

Also discovered Pierre is really called Paul and hails from Gravesend, well thats what Ray claimed in the early hours, three sheets to the wind after a large bottle of brandy. Don’t ask! Think Ray’s spirited behaviour could have contributed to me sleeping in the car.
Received one belated valentine card today but figure this could be a trick card from the team as they were all smirking behind their hummous and spinach falafels and mung bean bakes (no wonder there is always a foul odour coming from the ladies toilet in this building).

Happy Valentine’s Day

Have just finished selecting this evening’s playlist, leaving half an hour for dedications from the Renal ward (need to play my cards right tonight with Ray) and some time for light banter. Not that I am feeling particularly light, my lack of love weighs heavy especially at the weekend when I should be sharing time with that special someone and instead I am left ruminating with only a large receptacle of watery hot chocolate and a packet of Morrisons ginger nuts. Feeling particularly maudlin I dunked and ate the whole packet, only stopping when a scolding chunk of ginger nut landed in my lap. Leaving a heart shaped burn on my thigh. Typical!
So I have taken the radical measure and will be ignoring Valentine's this evening and to dedicate tonight’s show to the theme of Hats. Will be playing Paul Young ’Where ever I lay my Hat’, Status Quo ’All Around my Hat’ and Men without Hats ’Safety Dance’. I will be wearing a hat throughout broadcasting and just off to dad’s house now to pick up a fedora hat that I shall be auctioning for charity, to raise money for the hospital’s neo natal unit (heard Pierre managed to raise £32 on his Sunday night show

Friday 13th

Peculiar as it may seem my alarm didn’t go off this morning, in fact both alarms failed to sound. Both sets of batteries were flat! And my very odd day didn’t stop there.

I was ten minutes late into work and someone from the team had made me a blackcurrant and ginseng tea (slightly tepid, though it has to be said I do prefer to drink herb teas as a cordial). I explained the reasons behind my late arrival and my team leader smiled and said ’don’t worry’. Very bizarre, I could even detect a gentle smile. Just.
As I had left in a hurry this morning forgot to take a wrap of sandwiches from the freezer (I make a batch of tuna paste sandwiches up on a Sunday for the week and freeze them, I was using tinned tuna in brine until three months ago when I discovered discounted tuna paste didn't spoil as easily), however I wasn't to go hungry as senior solicitor, Marcus, had a lunch-time appointment and left remains of his brie and cranberry foccacia in the tea room. A tasty and filling result.
Mid afternoon we received an extra batch of post it notes and red pens with the stationary order, as a thankyou for our loyal custom (they must have overlooked the overdue bills, unpaid by finance yet again!). A welcome surprise considering our meagre stationary budget.

I returned home half hoping that my luck would continue in the guise of love. In hope I checked the answermachine only to discover a begging message from Ray asking me to cover tomorrow's late night Valentine's radio slot. The ball is in my court I thought, I was going to ’let him sweat’ but called straight back. You can’t pass up opportunities like that eh?

excuse the delay

Spent the evening at Portland Hospital Radio gently persuading Ray into letting me back on the air. When I arrived he wouldn't even engage me in face to face conversation, choosing to tutor Pierre in interview editing instead. Finally coerced him into the office with a sweet tea and packet of Snickers flapjacks (one day out of date, bit sticky, but tasted okay). Even with a mouthful of sugary goo it was still ’Say No Go’ as Hall and Oates would say. I dutifully pocketed the remaining flapjack, dramatically left the office and began catagorising the CDs in the hope he would see the error of his silly ways.

It beggar's belief, it really does. That twit from France has already muscled his way onto the air waves, even though fact he didn’t complete the twelve week induction programme Ray insists on. I pointed out to Pierre that the hospital radio antennae doesn’t broadcast as far as gay Paris but he ignored me. Then Ray asked me to leave when I detailed my horrific experiences with French cuisine.

Went home and drowned my sorrows in a Vesta Chow Mein and the remaining flapjack.

No answer machine messages and little hope for the train service.

Mid week blues

I cannot begin to tell you how low I feel.

The trains have been late for the past three mornings, a client threatened to ’have’ me and meeting up with Marion was an utter disaster.

Met her in the Elf and Strangers, a quaint little pub serving real ale by St Annes station. I was fifteen minutes early, so as not to miss her.

Thirty minutes and a pint of Cocksmith’s Bottom later (keeping in mind I had only budgeted for two drinks) she finally rolled up. Roll being the operative word as she obviously was a fan of creamy puddings and had her fingers firmly in the biscuit tin, if you know what I mean. More alarming was her taste in clothes. She was wearing a tight purple sweater over a floral tea dress with garish coloured tights and sludge brown boots.

We lightly bantered for about twenty minutes when suddenly she made an excuse to go to the toilet. Fourty five minutes later and she still hadn’t returned. I checked the ladie's loos and it became apparent she had done a slow shuffle out. I had just bought her a sweet sherry too and they refused to refund me at the bar. The cheek!

£5.77 out of pocket I ambled home only to be accosted by the irate chap from earlier in the day. Thankfully he was three sheets to the wind and weaving like a bobbin on a loom.

Tomorrow beckons...

I have a date!

It’s February - the month of love and I have a date!

I telephoned Marion, the very kind sounding lady who left a message for me last week and I have spoken to her TWICE since I last blogged! She is a widower and had initially contacted me looking for a seance. Apparently she saw my ad in the newsagents window and assumed I was a psychic. I jokingly said she had made the right decision to call me and her future looked brighter than ever! Anyway I must have charmed the socks off her as we have arranged to meet tomorrow night.

I went for a drink with Tony McNamara this evening. I really wanted to tell him my news but Mrs N was in earshot. I could be wrong but I am sure she is cross-stitching my every word into the craft project she brings along every time we meet. She made a vague reference to my ex-wife taking up line dancing. Thankfully Tony returned from the toilet and the venomous aside was cut short.