Shambles

Spent most of this morning hidden away in the basement filing room nursing a hangover. I simply could not take the wrath of irate clients or the teams' barbed comments. Sweated most of it out by lunchtime when it was nearly time for home. I should have been heading straight to Portland Hospital Radio but decided to lie low for a bit after yesterday evening's encounter.

I had stopped by the studio after a light tea of sardine toasties to see how Ray was doing. He is now officially sofa surfing after his wife changed the locks to their home. I also wanted to get his opinion on the whole Dianne situation. Pierre was on air when I arrived and I noticed he had my Johnny Hates Jazz CD in the studio. I went in to claim it back when in walked Ray and started asking how Saturday had gone. I laughed and gave him an edited version when suddenly Pierre was back on air and I had divulged my angel workshop encounter with the whole of Portland Hospital, every poorly person, their consultant and everyone in between now knows I picked the pieces out of a ham quiche and took it to a vegetarian lunch. They know I had my aura cleansed by a chap in hemp breeches who needed a good wash himself. And most alarmingly they know, that I know that Dianne and Mathieu - the lead facilitator in the merry dance - are together. But I still asked her out (after a rather heady hour long chakra dance to the sound of Mathieu's tin pan percussion) and she declined. But not before she extracted another £20 from me, somehow.
So my chakras maybe realigned but I am humiliated, penniless and could face a serious caution from the law after catching Pierre's eyebrow ring with a ruler. Ray suggested a pint of Cocksmith's Bottom to ease my nerves, how could I say no?

Strange Day

Dianne texted me late Friday evening, it read 'Be prepared to be uplifted, inspired and filled with joy at tomorrow's Angel Workshop. Bring comfy clothes, £5 for costs and a lunch to share. Love and Light, Dianne.'
I wasn't feeling particularly joyous as I stumbled into the stale smelling community centre Saturday morning, I had woken late and trodden in a large pile of dog mess on my way in. I was cloaked in the smell of pooh and no stick could get it out of my tractor tread shoes. Thankfully I had remembered to defrost a quiche to bring.

I was beckoned in by a wiry man who was introducing himself to the small group of participants. He introduced himself as Matthew, spelt Mathieu, an Angel Therapy Practitioner from Brighton. After removing my foul smelling shoes I inched by way into the group but was slightly put off by the abundance of underarm hair gaping out of Mathieu's flimsy vest. Before introductions he said that we needed to get the 'energy flowing' in the room and invited us to 'connect with our inner spirit to guide us through the day' by facing the person next to us and imitating a lion's roar in their face.

As I was without a partner Mathieu chose to demonstrate on me and emited a silent but deadly Lion Breath in my face. He smelt oddly of chickpeas and I am sure I saw Dianne smirking behind the draped sleeve of her white cotton dress.

Dianne

Received an email from Dianne to my email account at work. I am a firm believer that business and pleasure don't mix and never give out my work's email address but Dianne asked so sweetly and highlighted the benefits of email contact throughout the week. She travels with her work and often cannot be contacted by telephone. The email somewhat cryptically stated that this Saturday there will be 'ethereal cord cutting' enabling me to 'remove any excess baggage that are preventing me from flying and attaining my true goals'.
I forsee sparks flying on Saturday. She also requested an extra fiver to cover materials and costs.

Jealousy

Spoke to Ray about the workshop, he told me to be careful. I think he is just a little sensitive after his recent encounter.

My ex called demanding that I re-instate the children's maintenance payments. I stated that as both children are working they no longer require the maintenance. She said Louise was going back to college and would be living at home and so therefore I should be funding some of her studies. I said I would speak to Louise directly. She said Louise didn't want to talk to me. I said I would catch up with Louise at work and she rung off.

I was pleased that I stood up to her demands.

Asked the newsagent to remove the card in his window. I can safely say its been a waste of £10.68 and I need the money for the workshop on Saturday.

Angel Workshop

I have a date! I spoke to Dianne last night, she sounds lovely and she was exceedingly complimentary. She said I had the softest hands she had ever felt. She sensed I had a lot of love to give and said she relished my company (her words not mine!) She said that she sensed a very special bond between us and that we may have been close in a past life. She said I must harness my inner strength and being to empower myself.

She apologised for not being contactable over the past week or so, she had been attending a series of workshops on Regression Therapy and Past Life Analysis.

She has invited me to an Angel Workshop on Saturday. She is running it at a local community centre, it costs just £25. She said I must bring a vegetarian lunch to share and be prepared for a wonderful day of self love and worth.

She didn't say it was an official date but I am sensing a real bond between us.

No answer

Back to work and no answer on Dianne's line. Ray confirmed that I was not involved in any romantic clinches, although myself and Dianne were chatting most of the evening.

I asked what she looked like and Ray likened her to Iris Eyes (a psychic lady from Bridlington used to sit in a glitzy shack on Blackpool seafront and read palms/minds/lusty novels during quiet periods. Anyone I know who has had their cards 'done' by her confirms she is spookily accurate. Sadly she had a run in with the council last year when she was discovered flouting the smoking ban behind a highly flammable silver curtain. A crafty Regal Filter cost her a thousand pound fine and she decided to shut up shop and operate from home). Apparently Dianne did read my palm and I think that's where the similarity with Iris ends. However I am intrigued!

Ray had a disasterous evening, taking a lovely lady back to his alfresco lodgings (car) only to discover 'she' was a 'he' and charging for the priviledge.

Sick Leave

I am rarely off sick. In fact my sick leave calender states that in the past thirteen years of continuous employment I have allotted just five days leave due to illness. Two days when my wisdom teeth were extracted and my gums were subsequently infected...aside from the pain there was a foul odour eminating from my mouth so it would have been too offensive to work. My (now ex) wife alledged that my breath always had a nasty taint. Two dentists trips later it was revealed the flesh of my lower left gum was rotting, literally.

One day sick when I contracted a nasty virus following a peace march through the centre of Wigan. It rained all day and I had forgotton adequate water proof wear.

I can't quite remember why I have taken the other two days but it stands to reason I was more than likely bed bound...

Oh and today I took as sick, my first sick day due to total inebriation the night before. Ray took me out for a drink post show, I was on a high as my theme for the evening - 'Boots, Shoes and Walking Aids' - invited two requests (two more than Pierre's show on Sunday), Ray took me for half a Cocksmith's Bottom then preceded to pour his heart out to me. Turns out the wiley so and so, Tony McNamara, is not only having his wicked way with the evil seamstress Mrs Nesbitt but is also romancing Ray's wife. Ray has been sleeping in his car (and drinking heavily judging the state of his attire and the acrid odour following him).

One half led to three and before I knew it we were sharing a cab to Lacey's, an over 30's singles night in Chorley. I can't remember much of the night except I woke this morning on my sofa, fully clothed with a half eaten pizza and the telephone receiver at my side. I also have a telephone number scribbled on the back of a Lambert and Butler packet, next to the name Dianne. I will call her when I have a little clarity on the evening's events, who knows - we could have kissed!

Goose

Sorry for my delay in posting, have had little to say in the past few days.

Returned dad's fedora hat, ignored a message from Tony McNamara and arrived into Preston early every day this week (giving my trains campaign little weight). Popped into the studio on Sunday and felt a little lift downstairs when Pierre broadcast fourty five seconds of 'dead air'. Flagged it up to Ray on the telephone that evening who said he was aware there were a few hitches with the sound desk but refused to take the technically inept twit off the air waves. Ray suggested we meet for a drink this evening, I duly pointed out that I am covering a show this evening and he said he would pay for a a couple of drinks post show.

I am sensing some disquiet in his marriage as he alluded to sleeping in his car. We'll see.

The office has been like the school of silly walks. One drunk client was goose stepping around reception before Marcus, senior solicitor, asked him to leave. Later in the morning a chap stumbled in, I could have sworn he was drunk and duly asked him to leave, which caused some ructions as he revealed in a rather flamboyant manner that he was stone cold sober and simply wearing ill fitting shoes. He preceded to read the paper upside down and then fell asleep. Not that I had any further dealings, come midday it was time for me to frank the post and leave him in the capable hands of the team. At the end of the day its all fun and games.

Training Day (Part two)

For some reason the team cajoled me into attending workers' training on Stress Awareness and Supporting Strategies. I pointed out that I had some necessary filing and an urgent stationary order to place but it was to no avail. I found the Crinkle Crunch biscuits and expensive herb teas worth the change in routine and I was keen to point out three recent stressful situations to the trainer.

I nearly choked on my expensive biscuit when a colleague rudely interrupted and began telling me how my interruptions caused her a tremendous amount of stress. The team were agreeing and taking it in turns to personally assassinate me when I abley pointed out that we were running close to lunchtime and the end of my working day and duly left. What an odd bunch they are.

I missed my train but somehow it didn't matter as I had managed to pocket a few crinkle crunch and a chocolate croissant from the training room.