festive favourites

Now some people love turkey with all the trimmings, myself I cannot resist all the dried fruit that is on offer at this time of year. Just last week at work Marcus, Senior Solicitor, brought in a Christmas cake for our festive Jacobs Join. No works do this year due to cutbacks, and tightwads in my opinion. Before you could say Christmas cracker I had wolfed down my first piece and was tucking into the second. Then there was the garland of figs my daughter brought home from the market, gone in an afternoon. Oh and the box of deluxe mixed nuts and dried fruit I picked up on a three for two in the supermarket, all three boxes have been demolished. Yes this time of year is dangerous for dates and dried fruit in our home, it arrives but never leaves. I'm like a kid in a sweet shop, but its playing havoc with my bowels.

The place where time stands still

My sincerest apologises for not posting sooner. My pre-festive To-do list is longer than our new volunteer's hair extensions, which incidentally got caught in the paper shredder last week. I was busy on reception when I heard a blood curdling scream coming from the photocopier room, I hurried over to find her just a false eyelash away from losing her real hair. Thankfully Marcus, senior solicitor, pulled the plug before she was scalped. Anyway I am whizzing around at the moment without a moment's respite and it seems I am not the only one. The usually slow girl on checkout number ten in my local supermarket has picked up speed, so much so she has taken to hurling easily bruised fruit through the scanner. I reported her to management which I wouldn't usually do as she is usually such a pleasant person but I those plums were a touch on the expensive side and I am on a tight budget. So anyway she must have got her knuckles rapped as when I went in yesterday she put my shopping through at a snail's pace and scowled at me as I scrabbled around looking for the right change. In fact the whole of town seems to have picked up pace with people purposefully stomping around down clutch plastic bags stuffed with glitzy wrapping paper, baubles and bows. Everyone except the staff at my local building society. I don't go in often but when I do the service is unbelievably slow. So slow time actually stands still, in fact today I could have sworn the clock starting ticking backwards and we returned to the 70's. It ate up a full forty minutes of my lunch break which could have been spent marching around town with a furrowed brow looking for stocking fillers and cheap secret santa gifts.

Meditation

Skidded into the office this morning on a trail of wet leaves. Thankfully our new volunteer, Stacey, had already got the kettle on so I took a quiet five minutes in the coffee room to get my head together. If I can I do like to meditate in a morning, I know some in the office are slightly perturbed by the sight of me sat cross legged in stocking feet but I couldn't give a rat's eye ball - they're not the ones dealing with the onslaught of reception. So there I sat, breathing deeply whilst Stacey wittered away in the background about last night's telly. I stopped only when she mentioned the presence of one of my favourite soap stars in her bikini. I am a man after all.

Gym

At the moment my life is moving faster than a conveyor belt in a discount supermarket, no sooner have I gone to bed than it is time to get up. At least that is what it feels like, what with work, language classes and my thrice weekly workouts at the gym. That's right folks I'm feeling the burn once again, so long as I don't attend on the days when my ex is there things are alright. Last week I did have the misfortune of catching sight of her as I set off for a brisk walk on the treadmill. I did consider slamming on the emergency stop button and calling it a night but instead I decided to show her my new found fitness and ramped up the speed to a light jog. I thought she would lose interest and make her way to the thigh toner, which incidently she could well do to use, however she decided to stay rooted beside the machine and continually bad mouth me in front of my fellow sports lovers. I started to feel really cross as she belly laughed at my running style, so I did my best to get away, running faster and faster and faster...until I was going at top whack and there was no way of slowing down. I panicked, lost my footing and whizzed off, landing in a crumpled heap at her feet. I should have tied her shoelaces together there and then but I lay there like a fat man only can until a nice lady who teaches the over 50's aerobics helped me to my feet and saw my acid tongued ex away. Revenge will be mine another day.

Pincers

Awoke this morning to the sight of a long legged fiend bearing down on me. No readers it wasn't my latest date just a rather large spider who saw fit to dangle itself above my head. I yelped and jumped up, scaring the cat and waking my daughter. She burst in the room to find me cowering by the wardrobe. She, like me, suffers with arachnophobia. So we both set about finding the cat to set it upon the beast, which at this point had blindly made its way onto my pillow and was languishing there. It was huge, so big you could see it's brown spiky hair and what looked like pincers on it's head. That's right it was tooled up with pincers, this monster meant business. No web making or crazy skittering on this guy's mind. He was larger than a toddler's hand and ready to bite. At least that's what I thought to myself as we captured Evil Edna, our cat, and set her to work. With the spider in her sights Edna crept over the duvet, getting ready to pounce. Myself and my daughter watched from just outside the doorway and thank goodness we did. Just as Edna was about to seize her prey the spider charged forth. Edna yowled and ran from the room, a cat with the spooks. I shook my head and closed the door, my daughter's boyfriend will have to deal with our intruder this evening.

Yoga

I know it's only Tuesday but it's proving to be a stressful week already. As soon as I stepped into work yesterday I sensed a feeling of rising tension in the office. The reception area was packed, three of my team were off sick and a rather inebriated man fell asleep behind a pile of magazines only to wake up once he had defecated in his pants. He didn't know about it but we certainly did. The stench was overpowering, so much so I had to evacuate the office as I fumigated the place with a double whammy of Febreze and Mr Sheen. Luckily Mr Pooh-pants objected to my liberal application of scented aerosols and staggered out to the nearest discount off licence. Thankfully I had already booked this afternoon off as leave and trotted along to yoga. Now a class with my usual teacher is like sinking down into a bed of cotton wool as her honeyed tones wash over and relax every muscle in your body. Perfect, just what I needed, except it wasn't. When I arrived my usual teacher was off sick and there was a squabble in the store room over the last yoga mat. Then the lady covering the class stormed in, in a blaze of tie dye and patchouli bellowing at us to lie on our mats. Over the next sixty minutes she took us through a series of movements with the delivery of a drill instructor. To say I was shattered at the end would be an understatement. With nerves jaggling I headed home for a soothing cup of camomile tea only to find the cat had left a present on my pillow. Surely the week cannot get any worse.

Oceans apart

The amount of advice I have been giving to colleagues at work lately has been phenomenal. I feel I've always been a good listener and rather discreet, except when I let it slip that my Team Leader was pregnant to a packed coffee room - despite the only evidence being a discarded pregnancy test box amongst the paper recycling. Thankfully she was pregnant and shared the news with everybody some weeks later, much to my relief. In fact so many people have been sharing their woes with me lately I've decided to pen a series of self help manuals inspired by the music of Billy Ocean. The first is one for those searching for love, like me, and is called 'Get Out of My Dreams (and into my car)'. It'll be a best seller, you'll see.

American Tan

Got back from France Tuesday last week and on Wednesday was summoned to the hospital for a venous closure, that is the sorting out of a whacking great varicose vein that has gradually morphed into an ugly blue work of art on my lower right leg. I had hoped they would do it before my holiday, so I could get my legs out without scaring off any eligible French ladies. No such luck anyway as it bucketed it down for the rest of our holiday. After having had the op I'm a tad glad it wasn't carried out beforehand as I have spent a week in a set of rather fetching support stockings, day and night. They are particularly itchy and bothersome in the evening, I can't wait until tomorrow when I only have to wear them during the day. My daughter finds it hilarious, me wearing what look like a pair of American Tan tights but I quite like the colour, they make me look rather bronzed.

Belly flop

Woke this morning to the sound of squirrels tap dancing on the caravan. Checked my watch and it was 6.30 French time, still the middle of the night back home in the UK. I suppose the furry nut lovers had something to celebrate as it was a glorious morning, the first sight of sunshine in the three days we have been here. I didn't realise the French did overcast and downpours in such dramatic style, perhaps they have taken lessons from us up in Lancashire. Just yesterday a black cloud swept and wept over us in a matter of minutes, thankfully we found a beachfront cafe and whiled away the afternoon playing dominoes and drinking expensive espressos. Anyway after a carb loaded breakfast we trooped down to the pool, me in the skimpiest of swimming trunks, plastic clogs and my favourite Queen t-shirt (limited edition 'It's a Kind of Magic', if you must know). At 10am the queue was already forming and when the gate opened everyone dived for a sun lounger. Thankfully we bagged three but my daughter's boyfriend was sent out to change as he had insisted on wearing his board shorts. The lifeguard nearly ordered me on my way as well, as when I took my t-shirt off (and hid it under my towel, didn't want anyone nicking it) my large tummy was hanging down over my speedos giving me the appearance of being naked. It was clear that the lifeguard and his cohorts were stifling their laughter at my rather unflattering swimwear but hey they enforce it and who am I to argue? In fact I didn't utter a word, I simply belly flopped into the deep end, splashing the lot of them. C'est la vie!

No Short

I am in France folks! That's right, Dr Moonlove takes on the continent. It's my first trip abroad and it has been a rather enlightening week. My daughter booked a couple of cheap flights and a campsite stay on a whim after a little lottery win. She has brought along me and her ne'er to do well boyfriend, who has already been hauled up in a giant French supermarche for trying to pilfer a baguette. The fool. How he thought he could disguise a two foot long loaf of bread in his hoodie is anyone's guess but he tried and clearly thought les femmes francaises would simply think he was pleased to see them. Well one rather wiry but tough looking security guard clearly wasn't impressed and evicted him pronto, leaving me and my daughter to saunter the aisles on the hunt for two pairs of budgie smugglers. The French lifeguards have deemed our knee length surf style shorts unsuitable for the campsite pool, so we must wear the skimpiest of speedos. No speedos, no entry. Or 'No Short' as the sign says on the door to the pool. I'll let you know how I get on!

Kum-what?

Like many who work in clerical roles I am an obsessive list maker, but unlike most I have a tendency to collate my lists and file them. You just never know if a busybody in HR will start evaluating your job description. It hasn't happened yet and my Team Leader maintains that it takes a team of people to undertake job evaluation not someone with a vendetta but you can never be too careful. Hence I keep lists dating back to 1998. You just never know. So there I was on Friday, sat out in the park going through some lists I made in 2002. It was blazing hot and I was feeling a little woozy, almost ready to pack up and go home for a quiet five when I came across a very strange list which I sense has been planted. It read Friday 13th May 2002, must buy...feather pillow, Kumquat, ice pick, book about wire mother, thermal socks, become open, happy and attentive - relax!, Nickelback album on CD if poss. What I thought most strange wasn't the presence of the band best known for a sofa shop advert, it was the Kumquat. A well known local supermarket have only just opened their exotic fruit section, so where was the writer of the list hoping to buy such a rare citrus fruit a good ten years ago? Answers on a postcard please!

Discount Friday

I love a bargain. Last week I saw a box of sugar free muesli a full fifty pence cheaper than it's sugar laden equivalent. I snapped up three boxes quicker than you could say Tate and Lyle, got them home and promptly added my own sugar. Cheaper and sweeter. I was pleased to see a colleague had followed suit by purchasing a box of discounted chocolates for my Team Leader. I don't think she meant to leave the price on but nobody cared, least of all my boss who promptly scoffed the top layer and took the rest home 'for her family'. It's not like she needs the extra calories, she came back from maternity leave last month twice the size she was before she left and that's after having twins!

Back to work

Getting stuck back into work after a week away is never easy, especially when one leaves their desk meticulously tidy and returns to discover desktop chaos. I could hardly see my keyboard for files, post its and random red pens - which had run out. To deter any future annoyances I sent a round robin email to outline how I would prefer people to leave my desk when I am absent, it was entitled 'Do not make a mess, when conducting your business on my desk'. It seemed to elicit a few sniggers from the women in accounts but at least I know they read it. Any further untidy hot-desking should hopefully be deterred!

Back home

Got back to Preston late last Monday. The timing was perfect, a cloud burst overhead as we took a slow trudge up the hill and away from the train station. Never has northern weather felt so good, although refreshing those squally coastal winds on the Isle of Wight play havoc with what little hair I have left. At least you know were you are with days of rain and grey skies. Down there it's bright and sunny one minute, brisk and wet the next. I can't cope with such sudden changes in weather and my Bag For Life can only accommodate one set of spare clothes. It's tricky to dress for every meteorological eventuality, no wonder my brother spends his days in the same shorts, t-shirt, welly boots and sou'wester combo. My daughter, upbeat as ever, insisted we walk to the bus stop rather than pay extra for a taxi. I think she too was glad to be back, even when she was splashed by an erratic driver going through a huge puddle on the ring road. To celebrate we decided to have a chippy tea with extra gravy and a buttered barmcake, there's no place like home.

Slime

Have you ever finished a cup of tea and found something unsavoury lurking at the bottom of your cup? I'm not talking about the tea bag, although that has happened to me many times when I've brewed up at work and then been interrupted by an urgent photocopy task. No something a tad more sinister than that. Something like a bug or spider. It knocks you sick doesn't it? Like finding a rogue hair in a cheese spread sandwich or a random fingernail in the grated cheese atop your sarnie shop baked potato. Well last week at my brother's I had a similar quease inducing experience when he revealed the mugs we were drinking from had accidently been cleaned by the scourer usually used to clean the green slime from the inside of his fish's tank. He seemed rather amused by this revelation, telling me not to worry and that I was made of strong stuff. Thank goodness we were leaving the following day.

Morning

After a fitful night's sleep I stumbled down to breakfast with my spritely daughter. Feeling rather groggy I opted for a full English with extra bacon and sausages, with a large mug of milky coffee. My daughter had a small slice of wholemeal toast and some fruit with a glass of juice. I suggested she pocket a few rolls to make sandwiches for later, offering my two spare sausages and a rasher of bacon as a possible filling. She looked disgruntled, so I proposed she make some butties with marmalade instead. You can't go wrong with a sweet filling for lunch once in a while. At which point she glared at me and said I should stop acting like a pauper. After breakfast I felt more woozy than before and went to lie back down in the bedroom. Thankfully the gales outside had died down and I fell into a deep sleep, only to be woken by the maid frantically banging at the door with the edge of the hoover. As she edged away to wake the next poor soul with her over-zealous cleaning my daughter sprang in announcing that we were going out for a walk round the bay with my brother and his dog. I feigned illness but she would not relent. So I donned a thick waterproof and within the hour was trudging around in the drizzle and gloom, taking in the stench of fresh dog pooh whilst being regaled with tales of misdemeanor by my brother. What can I say? What a super start to the holiday.

Bad night

Thankfully my daughter had booked accommodation on the Isle of Wight. It was a tiny bed and breakfast which teetered on a cliff edge, she had paid extra for a twin room with sea view. Money badly spent in my eyes as we were practically hanging over the waves crashing against the rocks below us.
"They should be paying us to stay in here," I said. She told me to stop being daft and settle in. At least we didn't have to stay at my brother's stinking house with his dirty cups. The man had clearly had a hygiene bypass since I last saw him. True he has always been on the odd side but never dirty. My daughter brought me tea from a typhoid free kettle and we made plans for the evening.
It was a wild night and we were tired, so we just stepped, or should that be swept, next door for a pub meal before we turned in for the night.
That night I slept fitfully, I dreamed of absently placing my bulging suitcase by the window causing the whole building to tip over and come tumbling down the cliff edge, like a horrific cartoon without a stretchy armed hero to save us. I woke in a sweat to the sound of a storm pounding the windows. I could hear creaking and rattling all about me. It was too much I pulled the covers over my head and prayed for morning.

My brother

I am live-blogging from the train on my way back from a refreshing Easter break on the Isle of Wight. It was a super idea of my daughter's to cut loose from the day-to-day grind and catch up with my brother down south. I'm not sure whether she wanted to surprise him with our visit but she revealed on the ferry from Southampton that she hadn't called him but she was sure he wouldn't mind us dropping in as he'd suggested it on a social networking site some months earlier. Anyway when we arrived late Good Friday afternoon it was clear he wasn't expecting us as he answered the door in a threadbare dressing down and comedy slippers. True to his northern roots he was eating a pie as he answered the door and gave off a loud belch as he gave me a welcoming hug. I felt a little anxious and apologised for intruding, at which he roared with laughter and said we were welcome to stay. In fact it felt difficult to leave, or move for that matter, so sticky was his carpet. The place was filthy. My daughter busied herself in the kitchen as my brother and I plonked ourselves down to catch up. He said he'd just watched the Preston Passion that afternoon and had thought of me when he saw the Bus Station, said it brought back memories of me being beaten up by a gang of guys on our way home from a festival. I told him that I'd never been to a festival in my life, then he remembered it was his friend Mick and it wasn't in Preston after all but in Chorley, he fell about laughing at the memory and gave a trump of approval. Something is clearly amiss with my brother but then it always was, even as kids he had a somewhat outlandish way about him. I remember when he used to pull apart and reassemble my toys in a rather bizarre fashion. Thankfully my daughter returned with tea, in mugs stained as dark as treacle, and began talking about our journey down. I took one sip, placed it down and prayed that she had booked a hotel.

Chakra dancing

Well what an entertaining weekend it has been! Had a few light ales down at the Dog and Duck with professional windy and posh boy Piers on Friday, then joined him early Saturday morning at Bend and Snap, followed by a light sardine toastie lunch and then preparation for my big date. Yes date!

Last week when the weather was glorious and I took last minute leave from work I just happened to meet a woman on the park. It was syncronicity at work, like everything had aligned to bring someone wonderful into my path. I noticed her quietly meditating on a sunny bench. The park was packed and the only seat free was the one next to her, so I sat and ate my ham butties in silence as she 'ommed' her way through lunch-time. After a short while she began chatting to me about the health and spiritual benefits of a vegan diet. I told her I rarely ate meat, I only buy ham when it's discounted in the supermarket and always pick the bacon out of Quiche Lorraine. She laughed and introduced herself as 'Atosa'. It sounded so exotic, I asked her where it was from and she told me that it's a Persian name and one she chose when she began her spiritual journey to enlightenment. I asked what her real name is but she wouldn't reveal. After a few minutes chatting she said she had to go but I was welcome to come to a chakra dancing session on Saturday evening. She gave me a leaflet and I said I would definitely be there. Then she floated away in a swathe of golden light. It was a truly amazing experience.

So to Saturday's chakra dancing. It was to be held in a community centre at the other side of town. The flyer stated that one must 'dress for comfort' so I made my way over in a pair of loose fit hemp trousers, baggy jumper and my new white holiday trainers. My daughter thought I had got dressed in the dark but I felt comfortable and confident. Due to catching the hem of my trouser in a bus door as it closed I was a little late and the session was already underway. There was no need to worry though as most of the participants had their eyes closed and beatific smiles across there faces. Atosa was swirling about the room so I went to join her as we stimulated our Chi. The session lasted over an hour, by which time my hemp trousers were saturated with sweat and I was ready to drop. Thankfully the last part of the session involved sitting down meditating. When I came to, Atosa was breezing over to the exit. I caught up with her to thank her for inviting me, she asked if I'd like to make a donation. All I had on me was a tenner and she said that would be fine. She gave me a handful of flyers for other events and said I looked radiant. I think this could result in something very special.

The time is now

Last week I decided to make the most of the glorious weather and booked a few days of work. It was a last minute decision, which didn't go down too well with my Team Leader as it left her short staffed on reception but I didn't care. Lately I've been living by the 'present-moment awareness' philosophy and I've found living 'in the moment' to be very liberating. Hence I didn't fear the consequences of an impromptu leave request and duly submitted it. The following day, when I should have been opening up reception and signing everyone in for the advice session, I was nestled under my duvet, simply enjoying the sensation of a warm bed and no commitments. Try it, you may like it!

Easter break

My daughter has suggested that we make the most of a long weekend and go away for Easter. She thinks I am becoming too obsessed by minor detail and a visit to my brother's on the Isle of Wight might give me some perspective. I couldn't see what she was getting at so she rolled off a long list of recent events. She said she first became concerned when she caught me using white correction fluid to cover up small chips on the skirting board paintwork. She didn't say anything at the time but then became more alarmed when she found me working out the distance covered and time it took for a piece of recycling to go from the kitchen to the recycle box outside our block of flats. It takes on average 84 hours for a 20 metre journey. During busy periods it takes 24 hours longer. Then when my team leader suggested I was wasting time counting paper clips and post it notes my daughter decided to take action. The train tickets have been booked, four and a half hours to travel 246 miles to Southampton and we have a ferry to negotiate, which I have calculated will take another 95 minutes including waiting and boarding time. I think the break will do me good.

Valentine's

Have you ever walked into a shop, spotted someone you'd rather not bump into and slipped straight back out again? Well it happened to me yesterday lunch-time. There I was pottering about the shops, enjoying the glorious Winter sunshine when I remembered Dad's birthday. Where ever he is in the world he never forgets mine or my daughter's birthday and quite rightly he gets the hump if we forget his. So I made my way to the nearest card shop, averting my eyes from the garish display of hearts and teddies in the window, when who should I nearly bump into but She-of-the Acid-Tongue. In other words my Ex. She was browsing the Valentine's display, quite clearly shopping for her special someone. I pity the poor fella who has to share intimate relations with that woman. We were together for twenty years and each Valentine's was worse than the one before. Every year she would become more demanding and each time I would fail to meet her expectation. It started with a simple card, then she wanted chocolates, then the following year she didn't want chocolates because she was slimming so she wanted flowers, then she wanted shoes, then sexy undies - although quite where she wore them I'll never know as she always sported thermals with me. Until finally she asked for diamonds, I bought her a diamonique bracelet second hand from the car boot and she went ballistic. Soon after we split up. As thoughts of a toxic nature trailed through my mind I took a detour back to work and happened across a lovely little gift shop. It was then I remembered Dad and his birthday, quickly forgetting about the Queen of Black Hearts and her wicked ways.

Snow Go

Why oh why is everyone lamenting about a lack of snow in Preston? No you can't make a snowman from cold, driving rain but I would rather it rain than be caught slipping towards a duel carriageway due to slush and black ice underfoot. When I sound off about the perils of snow people often ask me if I didn't go sledging as a child or make a snow angel. Well no I didn't. The closest I came to sledging was slipping out of the corner shop door one wintery Saturday. The entrance was on a tarmac incline and as I slid down I reached back for the door way to steady myself and got my fingers trapped in the closing hinge bit. Thankfully the kindly newsagent came to my rescue but the combination of cold, ice underfoot and badly bruised fingers has haunted me ever since. And for that reason I shall be staying inside all weekend, with a pot of mint tea and out of date flapjack. See you when the sun comes out!

Falling with style

I spread a little happiness as I trundled through town earlier today. It had been a busy morning at work and I was ruminating over a particularly catty comment my team leader had made in the photocopy room. I must have been so lost in my own thoughts I didn't see the uneven paving stone. Before you could say 'large queue of traffic at the lights' I was stumbling forward like a wayward shopping trolley. I must have gone a good two or three metres before I found my footing and got myself upright but the damage was already done. A queue of people at a nearby bus stop let out a mass snigger and two cars pomped their horns in delight. I even heard a young girl say to her friend 'Go and see if that old man is okay. He nearly fell.' How embarrassing!

Scrumming round the sales

I've been scrumming around the sales with my daughter this week. The shops aren't my usual stomping ground so it was rather enlightening to see fifty women rifling through two rails of glitzy and summery garments in one large fashion superstore. Even my daughter, a hardened consumer, gave up after ten minutes. As we sat down to refuel at a local cafe overlooking the high street I noticed how the number of bewildered looking men equalled the number of women with a faraway look in their eye, the same look my Ex used to get when she was planning something untoward. Not that all women shoppers are evil but they do look pensive. Like the woman who stamped on my foot and then glared at me for simply standing by the mirror, heaven forfend! No sale shopping isn't for me however I am delighted by the day-glo gym wear I managed to pick up. I'm sure I'll cut quite a dash at my gym induction this week.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year folks! My new years resolution is to come up with a contraption to catch all our rainwater and then sell it onto garden lovers in the south when this year's inevitable hose-pipe ban is announced. It's been a very wet Christmas hasn't it? I don't know which I prefer, resembling a drowned rat or looking like an elephant skidding across an ice rink. I guess rain has to be better for my coccyx than black ice underfoot.