A Year

In roughly two weeks time, I'll never (touch wood) have to live at opposite sides of the country from McBride again. Never have to wake up and wonder what he was up to, if it was raining where he was, if the sky was the same colour.

~*~

Because in a couple of weeks, I'll be able to just roll over and see him, frowning in his sleep.

~*~

A year has past. Where the flip did it go? OK so it's not been a whole year but near as damn. I've been reading back over past posts and looking back with a smile. That feeling in the pit of my tummy when I got on that train back in September. That feeling of total insecurity, longing, loneliness. There was a fair sized chunk of me that got left behind on that platform. And another fair sized chunk that was frightened about the year to come. Frightened of almost everything. Being alone, Him finding someone else, Him realising I wasn't all that I was cracked up to be. Terrified of just drifting through the year, never really knowing where or who I was. I was terrified of having to stand on my own two feet with no arm at my side to grab onto when it got slippery.

~*~

And now I'm here, typing about the fact that I won't have to do it again. A year has just flown by and I've grown in so many way (except physically). I'm a manager. I can drive (almost) I feel like I've grown up. I know now I can stand on my own two. and I can stick out my chest and say "Well bloody go me! Aren't I awesome?" (what's also good is the fact I remained modest throughout)

~*~

Then I think back to all the times I've had to say goodbye to him. Airports, Bus Stations, Train Platforms. Too many times, I was so caught up thinking about the next goodbye that I took for granted that magic moment when we said hello. So the last time he came home (about a month ago) I made sure that all I thought about was that moment.

~*~

Now it gets soppy.

~*~

It's when his hands touch either side of you face and he holds it like a glass flower.

Its when he smiles that little smile that only you seem to see.

It's when he strokes the hair off your face and says "Hey you"

It's when he kisses you and your legs go fizzy

It's when he looks at your tear streaked face and whispers "Don't cry beautiful"

It's when he holds your hand and you remember how much you missed it, but at the same time, it feels like it's been there the whole time.

~*~

Wow, I should write poetry.

The next post will be less gag inducing

~*~

Promise

England's Bid

A few people I'd like to have a word with.

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Mr Capello

You're mind games with the team have NOT worked. Leaving it until two hours before the game to tell which players are starting is NOT a good tac tic. The players will not respect you, they will not like you. Neither will the fans.

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Mr Rooney

It is not your god forsaken right to wear that shirt. It is an honour and a privilege. Don't prance around like a fairy and then cry when the fans boo you. You have not made a single impact in what we laughingly call and attempt at the world cup. Don't pretend you are god. You are not!

~*~

Mr Official

The ball was sodding in. there is no way in hell it was out. Technology is there for a reason. Use it!

~*~

Mr England Fan

You spent £1000 pound to get across the world. Hotels, merchandise, tickets for the game, kit, sunscreen, whatever. It was all bought in the hope that we would win. I'm sorry the team we all support is so poor.

~*~

For 4 years we have waited. For 4 years we have hoped for that second star. And once again, 11 overpaid, underachieving morons have let us down.

~*~

And yet, in 4 years time, we'll all be there again, Thinking about 'what could be'.

~*~

I'll be in Scotland by then, Wishing we'd qualified.

Stupid Moment

A short post but a post I feel I need to share.

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I've been interviewing possible staff members all day today. All applicants were sweet, charming girls and I feel a little bad that I can't hire them all.

~*~

That's not the point

~*~

The point is this.

~*~

The first question in the interview is 'tell me about yourself.' The usual answers always pop up, sociable, friendly, enjoys films etc. But one girl said "I'm a twin"

~*~

The words fall out. I can feel them falling from my tongue but I can't stop them. The second I say it, the little voice in my had goes 'tit'

~*~

'Oh a twin, that's cool, Siamese?'

~*~

See, tit!

Giving Blood (Or Not)

Two posts in one day. Lucky you.

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So, it's been four months since I last handed over (via my left arm vein) a big bag of O positive. So after work today, Steffi and I head over to the local community centre to partake in a lovely blood giving type party. Well, that was the plan.

~*~

We arrive, have the compulsory glass of water and sit down before each being taken being a blue screen and asked out date of birth, if we've taken asperin in the last 7 days and if we've ever had sex with someone who injects themselves with blueberry juice whilst driving a heavy goods vehecle. All everyday questions.

~*~

Then the mini needle comes out. They prick the end of your finger and drop the blood into a small test tube full of blue liduid. Only my finger won't bleed. My poor circulation has once again come up trumps. the poor nurse is squeezing my finger so tight that hers are turning blue. We finally get enough claret and she plops (strange word that) it into the tube. It's supposed to sink, mine does not. Fab!

~*~

So it's onto the next table to have a blood test. A slightly bigger needle comes out to play and another lovely nurse takes a bit more blood. Then puts in in a machine before shaking her head and sighing.

~*~

"OK, so your iron levels are not quite up at where they need to be. We need them to be at least 125."

"And mine is?"

"111"

"Oh, Bloody hell." (No pun intended)

" Yeah so you can't give today I'm afraid, you'll have to give it a year before you can donate again"

Bollocks!

~*~

So, instead of getting myself prepared to give blood, I take the 'Iron Levels Down?' leaflet and sit nxt to Steffi (who also had to have an iron test but passed.)

She is mental and has to have a local anaesthetic to be able to give blood. A needle to stop the needle hurting, yeah that's brainy! But she's soon given her bag and is sitting up ready to head over to the food table to have a glass of squash and a penguin.

~*~

Then she goes grey.

~*~

She's quickly ushered back onto the bed and her feet are placed on a big pillow. Bloodyhell (there it is again) talk about drama queen. She's shaking like shaky thing and is a grey as a grey thing. I think it's time to call Gary. It's about ten minutes before she back sitting up again, swinger her legs over the side of the bed like a small child. Apparently she's desperate for the loo. All that water beforehand has made it's way through. So slowly, hand in hand. The two of us, the one who couldn't and the one who did but then went crazy, hobble to the loos.

~*~

"Do you mind if I blog about this? I ask

"Just don't take my picture and put it on facebook. If you hear a thud from the cubicle, I've gone again, climb over and get me."

~*~

Loves My Steffi

Mondays

So it's Monday. Mondays are always so bloody hectic I almost wish they were at the end of the working week so I can relax afterwards.

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Take today for example.

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Get into work at half eight. (after sitting on a bus full of students who think they're rock stars when in fact all they can play on the guitar is the intro to 'Stairway to Heaven') and sign in. Put my bag in my locker (turn off phone to avoid rubbish iPhone battery running out) Pick up post and sigh at yet more CV's that i didn't ask for. Over to my shop.

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Sign into the till, check till float and grab paperwork. Take paperwork up to first floor and get Saturdays taking from the blue folder in the canteen. Work out how we did against target and take all paper work up to top floor.

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wait whilst another staff member uses the only computer. Then sign on and fill out Monday Morning Feedback. (a long process full of targets, percentages and equations. never the best thing so early on a Monday.

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During this time, I also check emails. Plead vie email, apologise via email, beg via email and so on. before printing off any thing 'important' and photocopying anything necessary.

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Then I head back down to the ground floor before taking a left into my stockroom (which is down yet another flight of stairs) I check for anything I may need (paperwork wise) during the day and then head to dispatch to make sure my pick up was indeed picked up.

~*~

Then it's back over to my till to count stamps and see what today's target is. Then look around the shop for anything that

a: links to any of the 'important' paperwork, things to be taken off etc

b: Is untidy and needs to be put right

c: needs to be replenished with stock.

~*~

After establishing point C, it's back down to the stockroom to get said stock. Then it's back up to the shop. And it's still only 9 o'clock.

~*~

It's going to be a long day!

I'M ON THE TRAIN

Attention please, this is a platform alteration. The 18:45 train to Portsmouth Harbour is now arriving on platform 5.
~*~

By the time I've heard this message, I was about ready to strangle myself with my own ear phones. This really wasn't my day. It had started at 5:45 this morning and I still had to get from Guildford, then from Portsmouth and Southsea station, then (and this is the worst bit) from the bus stop at the end of the road!

~*~

Area Meeting.

All Managers To Attend.

GW Functions and Meeting Rooms

Swindon.

9:45 for a 10:00 start

Lunch Included.

~*~

I'll be honest, the journey up was ok. Apart from the fact I sat in bubble gum on th station at Winchester (change one of two on the way). I arrived in good time and got myself a hot chocolate. Other managers turned up and this is where the day started to go in a downwards direction. We had to sit around a large tabe with everone in a big leather apprentice style chair. Well, all except whoever got the chait in the corner. a chair with an 'office world' quality, no arms and a lot lower than the others. I didn't know this before we entered the room and chose to go to the bathroom. Only joining the room to find that I was the one in the baby seat. Looking like the small child at the end of the christmas table, with a plastic plate and non sharp cutlery.

~*~

Free water, thats nice, free biscuits, thats even better. So I sit in my corner, taking notes and nibbling on custard creams. Before the first hour is up, I've drunk two bottles of water. And now I need the loo. And I can't get out. Serious crossings of legs and holding stomach in the hope I don't 'leak'.

~*~

Toilet time, lunch time. nom nom nom. All very normal and sofisticated. Nice little sandwiches, nice plate of fruit, nice glasses of juice, niceness.

~*~

The remainder of the meetinggoes just a smoothly and by five, I'm back out and waiting for a train to take me to Reading, then Guildford, then home. Train one is ok. I sit with the Southampton store manager and the time travels quickly. Once in Reading, we say our goodbyes and I pelt over to platform 2.

~*~

This train is not so nice. On the inside, it looks more like a bus. Never mind I'll just sit here infront of this guy on his DS, he won't bother me, he seems....Whats that smell? Bacon? yes, said guy behind me is suddenly munching on a bacon sandwich and...chewing with his mouth wide open. Masticating like a frigging cow. Nice noise! time for headphones. So I stop heaing chompchompchomp and start hearing Mumford and sons...And the guy starts kicking the back of my chair. For Christ's Sake! You're an adult. keep your sodding feet still. Put them on the floor and...

~*~

Oh great. He's on the phone. Loudly and in Polish, or French, or Japanese. I don't care what language it was, it was loud and...bloody well loud. Shut up, shut up SHUT UP. The kicking by now is almost like a heart beat. The voice is naisle and annoying and the train carraige still smells of dead smoked pig. Yummy!

~*~

Guildford. Thank god. I step onto the platform and look around. only 5 minutes until my train. let's just hope there's no platform alterations.

ITV

You Are Shit!

~*~

Now, I'm not a massive football fan. I don't watch Pompey play, I don't follow the premier league. But when England play, I get a little bit more involved.

~*~

I wasn't at work yesterday so after shopping and lunch with The Steffi and The Gary, we went round to a friends house for a BBQ and football game. I must admit, we all got a little bit drunk on some weird wine/amaretto/fruit juice mix.

~*~

Then the football was on. England were chasing the ball around as the USA kept control and then, four minutes in...ITV played adverts!

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What the?

~*~

After about 30 seconds, the action came back and the group of us watched as Gerrard celebrated a goal.

Well done ITV HD. You stopped the game to advertise yourself and made many people miss Englands first goal. Congratulation!

~*~

I know I shouldn't be bothered but when your in a room with a few (slightly drunk) People who are all passionate about it, you kind of get swept up into it all. And when ITV do that, you suddenly become the biggest England supporter in the world and want to through your red and white face paint pots at the TV.

~*~

So Green let in a goal. So the ref gave out millions of yellow cards, so the American with the upside-down head won every header, none of that pissed me off more than ITV.

~*~

ITV you are rubbish. 4 years we wait and in 4 minutes, you ruin it. Ta.

~*~

End of rant

BAH!

Hello, I need some help.

Of course madam.

*Pause*

Well?

Well, What's the problem?

I need to make a complaint.

Ok, what about?

*Longer pause*

Erm, I'd like to speak to a grown up?!

~*~

Ooh, that got me goat. The fact I've had builders in over the weekend who have left my shop units in the wrong places, the fact I've got a HUGE pile of paperwork to do, the fact that my PC keeps crashing, the fact that I didn't sleep last night, have all been pushed down the 'pissing me off' list and you have just hit the top spot.

~*~

Congratulations.

~*~

I'll call Someone to come help you.

O.K

*Make phone call, store manager comes, sorts out customer.*

~*~

Customer then picks up a card and brings it to the till.

Erm, Sorry madam, I'm not old enough to sell you that card. If you'd like to take your purchase to another till point. Thank You.

~*~

Yeah! Cow!

Britains Got...too many street dance acts!

Because of this, I've decided to invent my own BGT finals, one without a twirling dog and a band of Justin Beiber mini clones.

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And kicking off tonight LIVE final is, THE WRONG ROAD.

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We need the A619. So we turn left out of our house in Chesterfield and down towards a massive roundabout. Turn all the way round and head back down the road we were already on. The A619 is indeed the road our holiday house was located.

~*~

Next tonight, Performing live, it's STEFFI'S DISAPPEARING KEYS.

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We decided it was a fun Idea to walk from Bakewell to Buxton on and old abandoned railway. Great idea. So both cars drove to Bakewell, all passengers disembarked. Both cars then drove to Buxton. We dropped one car off there (To get into at the end of the walk) and drove the other back to Bakewell before setting off on the 8-actually it's 12- mile hike.

4 miles in, we're walking through a wee village when out of nowhere we hear "F**KINGHELL!!!"

We turn to find a distraught Steffi holding her hands up in the air and shouting. "What a tit, We're walking to get my car. Where are my car keys? In Trevs car."

Well, done, the dark horse of the competition. The grannies out there will love it.

~*~

Ok now this next act is something you shouldn't try at home. Please welcome, POOH BREADS

~*~

Yep, Pooh Breads. Like Pooh Sticks but with...well...bread really. Four of us played this game. You take a quarter of a slice f bread n hurl it into the river. first quarter to float to the weir is the winner. The current can be fierce and there's ducks and fish that could grab your quarter at anytime. Sheer adrenaline rush.

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Next up, an act that needs to introduction, It's AUDIO TOUR VOICE OVER

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Bolsova castle. £8 to get in so it had better be worth the money. We got given some walkie talkie looking things that gave us a virtual tour of the castle. A northern man told us  'personal history' "I can remember it now, all the hustle bustle, food going into the dining room, kitchen staff passing out from the heat, tourist plodding around 400 years on"

But it was the historical voice over that made it. The same voice that provides you with stations when on a train. The same voice that helps you home on your Sat Nav. Only this voice was...raunchy. "If you continue walking along the wall, you will see the stables...and I'm wearing nothing but Chanel Number 5." The Statues surrounding this fountain are made from marble...and have been very naughty."

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OK, now, it's been in the press a lot this week and may catch on as a dance trend. It's THE PENGUIN

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Steffi wore new flip flops to the shops and the soles were still quite slippy. Driving was a bit difficult due to her foot slipping off the clutch. So when we parked, she got out and started to shuffle around the car park with her arms held slightly away from her body. She shuffled in little circles, zig zags and spirals. She looked like a small penguin that had been left to it's own devices and had invented the game, 'both feet need to stay on the floor at all times.'

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And, the final act of the night, It's BRITAINS GOT TALENT.

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Britain does have talent. It does. But it also has a million street dance groups, Too many spoilt brats and way too many adverts.

Each act is 2 minutes long. 8 acts a night, that makes 16 minutes of performance. Add on a small intro and judges reactions, I make that 32 minutes of program. How the hell can you make it last and hour and a half? Seriously!!!

~*~

So, the lines are now OPEN. The winner will be announced in a half an hour program with a 4 minute concept after Harry Hill's TV burp. See you then.