Think Twice Before Calling IT

'This email has been blocked by the help desk due to profanity. Please only contact the IT help desk if you know the sender and wish to see the email'

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Well, beings as the email contains a card recall that needs to be done, a health and safety checklist to check and a new contact list, I'd quite like the email ta! Ok dial 116 to call the help desk. The time is now 10:45.

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 Hello can I take your name?
 I give my name.
And what is being the problem? (please be aware that this help desk is in fact in Poland and the chap is speaking in rather broken English).
Blocked mail, need to read, rather busy, no time.
Ok, I'll have a little look.

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This is the moment when I'm put on hold and have to listen to a poor version on Celine Dions 'think twice' for ten minutes. The chap then comes back and says he can't get on the PC because it's locked. No shit Sherlock! every concession in the store uses it, why in lords name would it be unlocked? So I have to hang up, go back up to the second floor, and log into the PC. He then chips in and opens up the emails. It's weird to watch your computer do things your not telling it.

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 After he looks at the email, he opens a fresh mail and types 'all I can do is give you a reference number and you take that to the company that filters your mail.' he gives me the reference and bids me good day. The time is now 11:20.

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Back downstairs and back over to the phone to ring another company. God that's a lot of stairs, getting hungry now, did that girl pay for that book? I get put in a queue. 'we as a company don't believe in talking to computers, so please hold the line whilst we find a qualified staff member to deal with your quiery'. Well Miss Computer, I might as well hadn't I? Thanks for the info. The time is now 11:35

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Good morning, what was the problem? What, apart from the fact I'm hungry and missed my tea break because you put me on hold? And the fact I've been singing Celine Dion since 11 o'clock? I'm sorry, I'm not sure I can help you, hang on a moment, I'll ask. Don't put me on hold, don't put me on hold don't... Yep, there's Vivaldi. Hold music. 11:50! Yes sorry I can't help you. But I have the reference number! I know but we can't unblock it from here. You're going to have to speak to (don't say it) IT help desk!

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Yep, the IT help desk, because I didn't try that did I? Far too stupid to read what the email originally said for me to do. 'ok, thanks anyway'. As I hang up, defeated and getting to the final verse of think twice in my head.

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116 again. I explain the situation, almost certain the guy on the other end can here my stomach crying out for tea and biscuits. And he says the one sentence I knew was coming but hated all the same. 'we can't help you any further. Sorry' I feel like crying, or as Dion would do, belt out a huge note and clench my fist. 'I'll just double check' NO MORE BLOODY HOLD MUS... Oh, there it is. The time is now 12:15.

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I never did get my email back. Stuck in a constant circle of apologies and love songs.

Happy/Muddled

As I pulled into Havant bus station this evening (yes the bus driving lessons are going swimmingly, thanks for asking) I looked out to find a man sat on one of the benches. I was wearing a sharp dark blue pin-striped suit (is that hyphened? I'm not sure) He has a briefcase by his side, a copy of the financial times, very shiny shoes...and a happy meal!

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He was ACTUALLY munching away on a small flat burger that he took from the brightly coloured box next to his briefcase. In my mind, he'd taken out the gherkin. In my mind, he was wondering what the toy was supposed to do. I hope he enjoyed it.

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Is that the point? I don't really know. I'm in a muddle a the moment. I'm very busy, very tired, very here-there-and-everywhere. And do you know what? I'm loving it. I'm loving my new job. I'm loving being in charge, I'm loving the way I'm spending my free time.

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That's the point, We've arrived at the point, cue the trumpets!!! hurrah!

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The crucible. This play is no less that absolutely fan-blinking-tastic, with a cherry on top. The cast are wonderful, Miss Director is legendary. and the play has made me push all my boundaries. Whether it be my confidence, my diction, my acting in general, Arthur Miller has written a play that has made me want to work so hard I ache. In one part of the play, I left the stage shaking from the adrenaline. It's awesome. I LOVE IT

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Now, that boy. Oh that boy. I miss him. But I'm so proud of him. Check out the York theatre royal Website. My Mr McBride is a cast member of the classic play 'The seagull'.At this very moment he's on stage on his opening night. God I wish I was there cheering in the audience.

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This has been a rather mish-mash post. Like I said, I'm happy muddled.

Snow Patrol

I find a map ad draw a straight line,

Over rivers, farms and state lines.

The distance from me to where you'd be,

It's only finger-lengths that I see.

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I touch the place

Where I'd find your face.

My fingers in creases,

Of distant dark places.

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I hand my coat up on the first bar.

There is no peace that I've found so far.

Their laughter penetrates my silence,

As drunken men find flaws in science.

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Their words mostly noises,

Ghosts with just voices.

Your words in my memory,

Feel like music to me.

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I'm miles from where you are,

I lay down on the cold ground and

I pray that something picks me up and

Sets me down in your warm arms.

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I miss him so much.

Nodads and flowers

Yes, I'm still here, somewhere between the Chichester Cross and Hilsea Lido. Showing my tatty bus pass in exchange for a 45 minute trip to work. Yes my new work. Same company, new store. More on that later.

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 Lifes been a bit... Well, words throw themselves at me. Unsettled, hard, crap, difficult, slightly painful. But I'm struggling through. Desperate to get to something sunnier.

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Grandad's death brought my family to a halt. Although it was expected met with a tinge on relief, we didn't handle it as well as we thought we would. There were few tears between us until the funeral, I think that added to the strain we placed on each other. We each felt like we had to be the strong one, but with little communication about it, we didn't realise that there was no need for a 'strong one'. We'd all suffered a great loss, we didn't need to stay strong, we just needed to stay together. Something we realised on the day of the funeral.

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The funeral was short, the way he wanted it. We had a great fuss over what he wanted and what he seemed to be getting. Certain people who weren't there for years suddenly piping up with ideas of bible readings and black ties. Two things he specifically asked to be left at home. But in the end we prevailed. My dad left his tie in the wardrobe and wore his 'nodad' (named so after 18 years of my dad pleading with his dad 'no dad, don't make me wear a waistcoat!') and My mum and I wore summer colours and flower patterns. 'bright and full of flowers, just like grandad's garden'

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And his last moment with us was shared with the Village People as the YMCA blared out of the speakers whilst the curtains closed (family joke) it was good to turn around and see the 40 people behind us doing the dance, all with hazy damp eyes, but all laughing.

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There's a hell of a lot more I could say, but another day.

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Another day