I’ve been giving quite a bit of thought to my blog for a while now and I’ve arrived at the conclusion that it’s come to a natural end. There was a time that I’d chat quite happily nearly every day - where as now I’m lucky if I manage twice a week. It’s actually quite hard work and time consuming writing a blog.

Whenever I log on, I see that people have taken the trouble to visit and continue to do so on a regular basis; which is very nice but leaves me feeling rather guilty that I’ve done nothing since your last visit. I’ve just gone though a couple of days of being very ill and I wondered if my feelings regarding wanting to stop were centred around that and how isolated I've felt; illness pulls you down in yourself after all. But I’ve mentioned stopping this to a couple of people just lately so I don’t think it’s that. I guess we all run out of things to say eventually (even me), and reading the last few months entries; all that has happened here for a while now is me moaning. I seemed to have gone a bit flat and lost my buzz. This was never meant to be a place for moaning – more somewhere that I remembered happy memories and to helped me see the funny side of what life throws my way.

So, thank you everyone for your support over the last year and for those of you brave enough :) for chatting to me via the comments box, it’s certainly made me laugh at times. I wish you all well and hope you have a great year.

Sue

Before you start reading this; note the time and ignore the mistakes. Trust me, it was a toss up whether I blogged or not - and tonight my luck with coins was out.

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I actually left work at five tonight; the first time in ages. Of course there was a reason for that, I’d promised to drive Tracy & Co to Dudley to visit her husband who has just undergone a back operation to remove two disks. We had an in-depth discussion on the way up as to whether he’d be a bit shorter now – the panel is still divided on that one. We also put the world to rights - a bloody good moan does you the power of good at times.

The traffic was horrendous, they must have dug up every fecking road from here to Dudley and no matter what shortcut we took we hit yet another delay. We got there eventually and after a small setback; when we tried to park in the staff car park instead of the main one, eventually found a parking space.

Now her husband had only arrived back from theatre an hour before and the nurse in charge – the one who had obviously had years of practice giving you a Look, decreed that he could only have two visitors around his bed at any one time. Which left me and Nat sat on chairs in front of her desk to start with. (A bit like being sent to the headmistress’s office). We were both very quiet and only spoke in a whisper.

Now to get into the ward you have to ring a door bell and wait for ‘Her in Charge’ to press a button to let you in. Getting out is easier – you are allowed to press the button yourself. Obviously, you have to be on the correct side of the door before you become trustworthy.

Now the system works just fine when Matron is sat at her desk – but what happens when she’s off tending to the sick? I’ll tell you. You get anxious looking relatives peering at you through the glass in the door, desperate to get in before visiting time ends to see their loved ones. Some of them even wave to try and get your attention.

Now to the dilemma, do you get up and let them in? I mean; rules is rules. For all we know we could be letting in a nutcase (some may even argue that she was already sat there). But there was a system in place and a woman with a Look in charge. And who were we to argue? I for one, am now very susceptible to a Look.

I nudged Nat and told him to go and let them in – the look on his face was a picture; you’d have thought I’d told him to chop his hand off. He wasn’t going, it wasn’t allowed; spoken in an urgent whisper. By this point, the visitors had taken to tapping the glass in the vain hope of getting our attention.

Well, when the going gets tough – you toss a coin to see who loses and gets to let them in. I know, I know – you can’t actually believe we did that. If it’s any consolation – neither could the visitors watching us through the glass in the door either.

After I lost the first toss, it became the best of three. And I lost again (no point in doing the lottery this week then) – and still no sign of that bloody nurse. So being the brave one I sneaked – and I do mean sneaked – down the corridor and pressed the button to let them him. Then sat down again very quickly after informing said visitors that if anyone asked who’d admitted them I was denying all knowledge. (Oh and btw, I don’t have a Black Country accent – compared to that lot I sound posh!)

They, by this point, were laughing too and promised not to dob me in, even if She tortured them. It’s funny really – even the most stuffiest looking of people will smile and laugh if you do - and it would have given them something to talk about when they had got past the 'how are you today - I'm fine; what about you?' with their relatives.

This happened twice whilst we sat there and Nat was nearly crying by the end of it – the little swine waited for me to press the button and then said in a very loud voice ‘I told her she wasn’t allowed to let them in, but she wouldn’t listen’ - which resulted in me spinning around with a very guilty look upon my face convince Matron would be there Looking at me. She wasn't - she never knew a thing. Never mind passed an hour or so.

I got home just turn 8.30 pm to find that Himself had thought of me and made me dinner – well sort of. I made a stew yesterday and part cooked it – which meant that before I left for the hospital I’d prepared their dinner and they could just sit down and eat. Now I’m a bloody fussy sod when it comes to food, so no way will I eat stew.

I arrived home tonight to an announcement that my dinner was in the oven. And it was too - One Jacket Potato. Nothing else – just the potato. He didn’t know, he said, what I’d want with it. Now I know I’m on a diet but…

I microwaved some Quorn & pasta sauce in the end, tipped it over the top and added a side salad. Quite enjoyable when you're starving and haven’t eaten for nearly 8 hours :)

I’ve not dropped off the edge of the world; but I’m afraid my company may be in short supply for a while. OK, you don't have to look that pleased. Such a lot going on at work – we’re in the process of sorting out a mortgage and moving, we’re bidding for a new contract (I’ll worry about all the extra work that will bring if we get it) and the Financial Controller is off sick again. I told them that he’d come back to soon; but would they listen to me? Would they heck. So very busy last week, but nothing really funny to report.

My dad got up to his old tricks again, but the ‘training’ kicked in and I walked away, shutting the door – Oh OK, slammed the door – and didn’t go in to speak to him again all night. I was so angry too – it’s easier to get over the guilt of blanking someone if you can stay angry with them. Unfortunately, it still upset me and I spent a sleepless night in tears. Making sure I didn’t wake Himself up, as this time he was like a loaded gun, and far from happy. He’s very placid my husband – which is a good job as he balances me out – but even he has his limits. I’ve always told him not to get involved but this time he’d had enough of the way my dad speaks to me at times and told him as much. He felt that it was time that my father found out exactly what it was like when I did nothing for him, as he keeps throwing that one at me. Christ, if I did any more he'd never get out of his chair.

Never mind, water under the bridge now – although I reckon I should be up for a sainthood with the amount of patience I’ve got. I’ve been told I’m too nice, being polite and ignoring rudeness can lead me to becoming a door mat – and I’m starting to see very clearly their point of view. Things are changing – and for the better as far as I’m concerned. It helps that my friends keep telling me that, I know I spend too much time putting everyone else’s needs in front of mine and then feeling guilty if I say I can’t do something straight way.

And so to this weekend.

It’s been throwing it down here all week, we’re on flood alert again and Shropshire and parts of Worcestershire are already under water. So all plans for a weekend outing were off. Or they would have been if Himself hadn’t been so damned determined to make a point with my father, i.e. we were going to have some time together away from his demands and if he said just one thing on our return to upset me, he was going to be very sorry.

There weren’t any NT properties open around our way, but Himself suggested another trip to Witley Court. I really love that place; I know it’s an empty shell now but you have to use your imagination. In it’s heyday it must have been stunning – both inside and out.

Now one of my contacts on Flickr was kind enough to spend some time explaining all about ‘f’ stops, ISO, shutter speeds, etc and the one thing I’ve always wanted to capture is one of those misty water shots. Trouble is, so far I’ve not visited anywhere with a waterfall or even a fast flowing stream, so I’ve never had the chance to try the manual set up. But…Witley Court just happened to have one. Woo Hoo!

Saturday was dull, grey and spitting with raining – turning into showers occasionally. The ground was wet, muddy and slippy so we decided that we’d be better off wrapping up warm and wearing wellies. The first thing we noticed when we got there was the lack of visitors. In fact we spent the whole morning there by ourselves; the staff staying safely inside by the radiators. It wasn’t until we were going home that a couple of more cars pulled up. The whole of Witley Court to take photographs of and not a bloody tourist in sight…heaven! Of course the weather made sure there was no colour to be had anywhere, but what the heck, who cares.

Anyway we worked our way around the gardens and eventually turned up at the waterfall and stream. Himself sat himself down on a conveniently placed log and started to smoke a cigar. This should give an indication that by now he’s well aware that we could be in the same location for a fair amount of time. And I set about adjusting the setting and taking photos.

Half an hour later Himself has started to mutter about having a cold arse and ignoring my comments of I knew a way that it could get warmer – apparently that’s my kink and not his. He’s a firm believer in the old adage that it’s better to give than receive.

So just before we moved on I decided that I really wanted a better shot of the water without having to use the zoom; which can make the picture a bit blurred if you’re not careful when you’re using a slower shutter speed. Stay around here and I’ll teach you all I know :)

Now, remember I mentioned earlier how wet it’s been? A shame really I didn’t take that into account when I decided that the very best place to stand – in fact the only place as far as I was concerned, to get that ‘perfect’ shot was on a little island a good two foot from the bank.

I was wearing wellies remember, so although it was a bit muddy it wouldn’t matter – I’d just jump down, take the photo and climb back up the bank again. Sounds easy, doesn’t it? And it would have been if the little island hadn’t consisted mainly of mud, added to which I’m a good bit over weight – so that the force of me propelling myself off the bank onto the island meant that when I landed I sank a good foot into the ground and my wellies suck solid.

Now although both my feet weren’t going to move for love or money, the top half of my body had other ideas. Such as, let’s carry on moving forward towards the water. Take into account that I have my camera in my hand. When it comes to my safety or my camera’s safety – it comes first. Always. So I wobbled back and forth until gravity decided enough was enough and I ended up with one hand in the air holding the camera, and the other hand and both of my knees sinking into the mud.

I’d like to say that Himself rushed to my rescue, and I’m sure that if he hadn’t been laughing to the point of nearly wetting himself; he would have done. He probably wished he had, as he ended up having to get me upright again and unsuck – and then stand around whilst I wiped the mud off as best I could and look the photos I was determined to get.

An old photo of the Ballroom, where the fire started (if you look close enough you can ever see the rain on the glass).

And the Ballroom today, you can still see the arches and where the fire place was. The black bits in the wall are the remains of the charred woodwork.

Funny sort of day yesterday; I didn't get a lot done other than naval gazing. I've come to the conclusion that it doesn't pay to be nice or caring for that matter - people just end up taking you for granted. Youngest and I took the dogs for a walk on the common and found that the overflow between the two pools was blocked.

The dogs had a great time jumping in and out of the streams and I took a few photos of the water – I’m trying to work out shutter speeds and ‘f’ stops to get that smoky water effect. No, don’t bother asking me to explain either to you – I sort of understand the reasoning behind it but it’s pure luck if I get it right.

Although the ‘f’ could stand for ‘feck’ which is a word that gets uttered when you see the results on the computer when you upload, aren’t quite what you envisaged in your mind's eye.

The castle moat was muddy too, so I didn't get the clear reflection that I wanted there either; muddy, dark, dismal day. (Mutter, mutter, moan, moan).

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Saturday we visited Stowe Landscape Gardens in Buckinghamshire; one of those places that I’ve always wanted to go and have never got around to. Most of the National Trust properties are closed now until April, but Stowe isn't one of them. So I smiled nicely at Himself, who in turn pretended that 140 mile round trip was nothing, nothing I say, and happily drove me there. I do love him.

Wow, what fantastic place – it exceeded all of my expectations and it was still the middle of winter – we’re definitely going back in the summer when it will be alive with colour.

Small hiccup with my father at the beginning, when he found out we were out for the day, although I had told him on Friday night when we took him food shopping so it shouldn't have been a surprise. He wasn’t well, couldn’t get out of bed and had a terrible hacking cough. You’d think by now I’d be use to it, but he still convinces me every time.

I went and got some Buttercup Syrup and asked if he wanted me to stay at home – he didn’t, he’d cope by himself like he always did - said in a whisper as he was so ill he could hardly speak. That may have been because he heard Himself muttering in the other room about being allowed some time together and a life of our own.


He has a point, but I’m the one that ends up between a rock and a hard place and left trying to please everyone but myself. It must be lovely to just go out when you want to without having to make lunch for someone else, get tablets ready, put up with being made to feel very selfish and uncaring.

But we still went and still enjoyed our day out - I always enjoy the day out, it's the going home again that I hate. Anyway...

Stowe has three main areas; The Grecian Valley, Elysian Fields and The Hawkwell Fields. I took over 400 photos in all, but you're quite safe, I won't make you look at all of them. I'm still uploading and describing in Flickr, if you are interested best look there - of your own free will and all that! OK, I can't resist - I'll just show you a couple....

The Shell Bridge: designed by William Kent around 1737, it is the mid section of the Elysians Fields and acts as a dam between the 'River Styx' and the 'River Alder'.

Gothic Temple or the Temple of Liberty: Designed by James Gibbs. It was restored by the Landmark Trust and is now rented out as a holiday home. Now there's somewhere I would love to stay.


And lastly:

Lord Cobham's Monument. Lancelot 'Capability' Brown began its construction in 1747 and it was finished in 1749; the year of Lord Cobham's death.

The original statue was struck by lightening in in 1957 and disintegrated; only the head remained. In 2001 a new statue was errected, with the original head. This time Lord Cobham was dressed in Roman armour.

Here endth the history lesson. :)

We came home and as soon as I walked into see how my dad was he starting coughing. After that I got the cold shoulder for the best part of the evening for being such an awful daughter and leaving him.

No, he didn't want anything to eat - he was too ill and he'd told me that before I went out. But strangely enough come Sunday morning his cough had vanish altogether, not a trace of it left – bloody amazing stuff that Buttercup Syrup – three doses was all he had too and when I emptied his bin there was rather a lot of sweet papers and an empty cake box!

It makes me so angry, one of these days he’ll cry wolf once too often and be really ill but no one will take any notice of him. Certainly I’ve started to harden up when he starts and if anything I now make a point of going out at least once over the weekend.

I’ve just been to the dentist and *wail* I need a replacement filling, which has started to break down. I did think of breaking down a little myself when he told me.

I have a real fear of dentists since a particularly bad experience as a child when I was told the injection to freeze my tooth would hurt me more than the little filling I needed. I was a very trusting child and believed him. Needless to say, he lied. He even carried on when I was crying, telling me that it was nearly finished and to stop making a fuss. I sometimes wonder now if he was trying to make sure that I looked after my teeth better to ensure I didn’t have to have any more fillings ever or maybe he was just an evil bastard who hated kids.

Anyway after that I point blank refused to go to a dentist again, didn’t matter what my parents did or said. It wasn’t until I started work and got an abscess that it changed and that was only because after being in agony for two days the General Manager’s P.A. made an appointment and took me herself. The poor woman even had to come and sit with me in the dentist; that was all of 24 years ago. I’ve visited regularly-ish since then.

I dread to think what I’ll do when my dentist retires, which will happen eventually – I was one of his first patients after he qualified. Poor bugger, baptism by fire. Anyway, whilst he repairs the filling he has told me that he’ll repair my front tooth too.

Now I chipped the bottom of that very slightly as a child – messing around with my friend. You see back then we used to have glass bottles for fizzy pop and we didn’t bother when it came to sharing and drinking out of the same one. OK, hands up who can remember the Corona Fizzical?

As I was drinking she went to tip up the bottle but misjudged and it ended up clonking me in the mouth. It ended up taking a chip out of the bottle and a chip out of my tooth – and all we could do was laugh. I didn’t at that point think that I’d have to, at some stage, get it repaired - life was so simple back then.

It’s never really bothered me, and very few people notice unless I point it out. As I’ve got older I’ve become more self conscious of it and what with the wedding coming up my dentist thought it would be a good idea as he was going to have to freeze my mouth to work on the filling anyway. Not only freeze the tooth, but put that freeze paste on the gum too – so I can’t feel the needle. Yes – what a wimp!. Just before anyone asks, no it won't shut me up - it takes a lot more than a frozen gob to achieve that.

My dentist has been trying for years now to get me to agree to having it repaired and this time I’ve given in – so I’ve an appointment for the 15th Feb after which I can dazzle everyone with my perfect smile.

Well that’s the phone engineers waved goodbye to; we’re now running solo. Trying to get everyone into groups this morning for some training was like herding cats. In the end I shouted, which regardless to popular opinion doesn’t happen very often….at work :) The hurt expressions and the 'You only had to ask', didn't wash either.

At the moment we are still cutting people off, transferring to mobiles instead of extensions and apologising to everyone who rings up. I’m sure that given time the creases will iron themselves out, either that or everyone will stop trying to call us on the telephone.

We had to cancel our Christmas party today (yes, we always have our party in January); staff around here are dropping like flies from this Novovirus that's doing the rounds. Everyone in the one department is off and other departments are following suit - that's what working with groups of kids does for you.

I also got a call from youngest earlier, asking where the hot water bottle was as he had stomach ache and diarrhoea; he wasn't weeellllll. Isn't it funny, doesn't matter how old you are when you're ill you want your mum. Guess that never really changes, even when you're mum isn't around any more.

It was also pointed out to me today that the printer I killed yesterday was still under warranty - if you remember I only killed the last one a few months ago. PC World have been very good and just replaced it - it was a little too easy actually, usually companies don't want to know once they have your money. Um...wonder what else will go wrong to even up the balance?

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My Christmas present from Craig:

A USB fish tank with fish that I can’t kill. Well actually I can, but it’s a sort of Tamagotchi, so at the press of a button they resurrect themselves. I brought it into work as I couldn’t get the cable to reach at home and I thought I’d at least use it here.

Ha!

The bloody things demand that I feed them, play with them and give them medicine if I’ve not met their previous demands in time and have made them ill. They also demand that I turn their light on and off. It’s worse than having an ill child.

It kept me entertained for all of 10 minutes then I pulled the plug out of the back. The noise of the motor alone operating their movement grated in the first couple of minutes.

I think it’s meant to be Marlon and Dory from Finding Nemo – and like them, very shortly, they both will be going over the edge.

++++

I’ve not heard from Pooks today, I’m not sure if it’s actually safe to contact her or whether handing that dissertation in yesterday afternoon was the last straw.

Well there’s a day I don’t want to go through again. What happened? I hear you say. Well I don’t actually hear you say anything as you never bother emailing me but the voices in my head keep me company, so what the hell.

OK, OK, yes, Sommer, Liz and Kristy, you do email me :) So....

For a start off the server hates me and it’s taken me a whole morning of fiddling to find out why – I’d narrowed it down to the printer spooling (clever aren’t I?) or at least one of them. We just happen to have 3 printers connected to the server. The CPU was running at 100% and kept kicking the server until if threw a wobbly, fell over and had a tantrum on the floor.

You should try checking something when the computer is bloody determined to freeze after just two minutes of start up. I in turn ended up getting kicked by staff moaning that the network wasn’t working until I threw a wobbly, thought feck this for a game of soldiers and called someone out – which let’s be honest, I should have done 3 hours earlier if I’d had had any sense. Which anyone who reads the blog will know, isn't the case. I think it was around about then that my headache started.

Anyway, the nice man from the computer company came out and apparently it was my printer that playing up and sending messages to the server at a rate of 20 error messages a minute. Not that it was doing it for any particular reason – the messages actually told us sod all. I think it was just being annoying…well it is my printer after all; what do you expect?

We’ve also been having a new telephone system put in, hopefully it will be all up and running by tomorrow and the engineers can return home to Sheffield. They are actually a really nice couple of lads and they’ve worked very hard, they’ve a great sense of humour and have tried to cause the minimum amount of disruption. The down side to that being they wanted to stay past 5pm tonight and (this will surprise you), I was the only manager there to lock up. I don’t actually draw the short straw you know; but that’s only because there isn’t ever anyone to draw it with.

I got home just after six this evening with a pounding headache, which eventually eased off after I was sick. I then ran a bath, took some more tablets (yes I know you shouldn’t take tablets on an empty stomach but by that point I didn’t care) and then switched the light off and lay soaking in the darken bathroom. I feel much better now, just a slight niggle left.

I think half the problem was I didn’t get to eat my lunch till late, and then only half of it – I don’t recommend cold tomato soup - it’s not very nice after it’s congealed. I didn’t finish it after I’d warmed it up the first time as my presence was required in a meeting that no one had told me about and no, I couldn’t get out of it – it was very important. I think in the end I uttered all of two sentences whilst there and still ended up with a load of work to do.

Our internet connection was intermittent all day and I missed my daily email chat; I sort of read groups of emails during the day but didn’t actually get a chance to reply back again until late this afternoon. I worked hard all day for a change :)

Pooks has hopefully got the information she required off her boss and has handed in her dissertation – thank the Gods. She's hell when she’s got one on her and her students have been winding up one of her new teachers. The fools, talk about stand back and light the touch paper. I reckon it’s wasn’t just the new teacher that ended up in tears. I bet they won’t try that one again in the near future.

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Right, finally, something Scally found and shared. This has had both Himself & I in stitches. No, it’s not rude (yes, most unlike the Scary One, but just occasionally she surprises us). Our cat lies in wait for Himself when he tries to go to bed and is hell come 5.30 a.m. the following morning demanding attention.....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FMXCuW9LDps&feature=related

Although, she's not yet used a baseball bat - she finds a live rat works just as well.

Okay, I'm having nightmares that this is the feedback I'm going to get;


I am returning this otherwise good typing paper to you because someone has printed gibberish all over it and put your name at the top. ~English professor, Ohio University

buuuuuttttt,

I don't care - one more section and I'm done. So what that it's a pile of poop - it's 8000 words of poop and that's all that counts.

Pooks isn’t here today, no, don’t be daft, of course she’s not writing her dissertation. She’s outside playing in MY snow.

It’s just typical – the weather forecast promised me snow, and did I get any? Did I heck. HER across the water has been bloody greedy and nabbed the lot. And she very kindly informed me this morning that it’s snowing again.

It’s not fair, it's not as if she even tries to take photographs, or goes sledging or enjoys building snowducks, or...or...or, has snow ball fights with the kids across the way. She just doesn’t want me to have any, how mean is that?

What have I got? Cold, wet, rain, that’s what.

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My manager was telling me about her Christmas today, she comes from up north and her parents still live there. She talked them into coming down for Christmas and Boxing Day, but come Christmas Eve they’d changed their minds.

Now she had arranged for her middle son to pick them up, and her eldest son – who had been to a wedding – was meeting him there for a lift home. The poor lad had spent the whole morning trying to get them to change their minds, and not had any luck – his grandmother had decided that she wasn’t well and had put herself to bed. Unfortunately she has the on set of Alzheimers and suffers with panic attacks.

Obviously this called for a subtle plan.

Arrival of middle son with car, who gets grandmother out of bed and into the front room – then shuts the door and tells them all out what’s going on in the army. Meanwhile Eldest son begins operation 'Get Grandma'.

Step 1: Whilst no one is looking – load all suitcases and presents in the boot of the car.

Step 2: Grandma & Grandfather are told all about the new car that middle son has brought, and encouraged to go and sit in it – just to see what it’s like. Which they do, and like all good grandparents, tell him how nice it is.

Step 3: Eldest son switches everything off in the house, sets the alarm and locks the door.

Step 4: Eldest son gets into car and tells his brother that it would be really nice if he drove the grandparents around the block, just to show them what the car drives like. Grandfather has cottoned on to what is happening at this point and over rules grandmother when she isn’t sure she wants a drive around the block. What? Can’t upset the lad, now can she.

Step 5: Drive to motorway and don’t stop until you reach home – Grandmother is fine once the car is moving and doesn’t seem to mind that she has been kidnapped.

Step 6: Get grandparents into the house and pass on all responsibility to mother.

Actually, she told me that the eldest walk in to the house, straight passed them without speaking and poured himself a very large scotch. Which he then drank all in one go.

Families, who'd have them?

I would blog - honest I would but the slave driver in the corner over there won't let me. She seems to think that the dissertation needs to be done today - I don't see why - there are dayyyssss yet before it's due.

Oh come on, it's boring. Writing is much more fun and I've had so many ideas for the new boys. They're theatre folk and he's called Tom and. . . and she's shouting at me now so I have to go do some work. Pity. I was just getting to the good bit.

She's going to be modest about it but go and ask her about the photo and the award - I said go ask. Go. Scoot.

Now what makes you think that someone around here with a funny accent – no, not me! Is desperate (maybe I should have put an ‘extremely’ in front of that, what do you think – too much?) OK... is extremely desperate to find something else to do other than sit her arse down and actually write her bloody dissertations?

Is it the fact that she has blogged for two days running when you haven’t heard a peep from her for the past four months?

Or is it the time and effort she has taken to look through her books for those ‘Oh so fitting quotes’?

The whining about resolutions and procrastination?

The telling us all about how many of the 8000 words she has actually written (probably waffle and she'll changed them later)

No?

The ironing then? Well, we all hate that and from the woman who will even wear odd socks, I’m not really in a position to rub that one in, now am I?

I’ll tell you what did it for me, shall I? Not only has she started a new series but she actually stayed up till turned 4am the other morning to carry on writing it.

The lengths she has gone to not to start the dissertation has put even the likes of me to shame. And you know she had the audacity to actually moan about her students not completing their work and handing it in on time unless she chased them with a big stick?

So if anyone out there has a bit stick, there is someone over the Irish sea that could do with a wallop.

Form an orderly queue if you please.

++++

I was actually in a really good mood when I arrived at work this morning – but they soon put paid to that. I did ask that everyone hand their timesheets in on the 24th December, but only the brick wall was listening to me.

Consequently not everyone got paid fully today and someone hasn’t been paid at all. And do I care? No, I fecking don’t.

To top it all the radiator in the ladies burst so we’ve been without heating all day - and I didn’t take a coat with me. Pure laziness I’m afraid, I walk out of the house, get into the car, drive to my parking space at work - which just happens to be the second closest to the building - so there isn’t really a need for a coat.

Unless the heating fails of course.

I had got a pair of fingerless gloves in the car – I use them when out and about with the camera - so I did a pretty good Scrooge impression for a while. Unfortunately my fleece and thick welly socks were in Himself’s car, 20 odd miles away, so no bloody good to man or beast.

I couldn’t go home; I wanted to be paid after all and I'm always up against the clock to get it finished in time for the BPS – so Dilys and I took it in turns to wear her coat. We did look a sorry lot today; I reckon the warmest place in the building was the fish tank – at least they have their own heater.

Never mind, it’s mended now – so come tomorrow everyone will be moaning that they are too hot.

Question for you?

It's January 2nd. Yes, I know you know that but I'm making a point here. I repeat it's January 2nd, how are the old resolutions going? Oh, as good as that? Yip, know the feeling.

I'm trying to work out if this is procrastination or not.

I should be writing. I am writing.
However, I probably shouldn't be writing this. I should be writing the dissertation for my Masters.

I am with this unknown author -

If it weren't for the last minute, I wouldn't get anything done. ~Author Unknown

and this one

I do my work at the same time each day - the last minute. ~Author Unknown

and have in the past fooled myself into thinking that this is the way I do my best work. I have been known to insist, insist I tell you, that it is essential that I do the ironing that has been sitting around the utility room for weeks (truthfully? probably months) instead of completing some academic or other project that needs completing. Normally, unless it's a wedding or interview or other such shenanigans, I will cheerfully wear the top pulled out of the tumble dryer but when deadlines loom - no, it has to be ironed carefully, if not starched, to within an inch of its life.

So I am attempting to adopt the mind set of this author

Nothing is so fatiguing as the eternal hanging on of an uncompleted task. ~William James

and I know he's right. The joy of having completing a task and knowing that it is done is enormous and freeing and wonderful and a delight and so unmitigatingly BORING

Why is it that things you have to do, eat into so much time of the things that you want to do? Answers on a postcard please.

I want to be writing the new boys in my head, I want to be chilling on the sofa watching Brothers and Sisters on DVD and drinking coffee, I want to be doing . . . . anything other than what I should be doing.

Isn't being a grown up boring sometimes?

Sorry but this one made me laugh - cover your eyes if you are of sensitive disposition

Procrastination is like masturbation. At first it feels good, but in the end you're only screwing yourself. ~Author Unknown

Right - back to explaining to someone who already knows, that I know, that questioning in the classroom is important for higher order thinking.

And the Rainbow Slider thinks she has it bad because she's in work!!

I see my partner in crime has decided to start the ‘New Year’ casting a few assumptions. I would just like to make it clear – crystal clear – that I do not, and never have had a ‘Brummie’ accent. I may at a push and if the wind is in the right direction admit to a very small Black Country accent, but that’s only when I’m talking very fast in the vain hope of getting a word in edgeways.

And she was right, she didn’t sound like I’d imagined her to be in my head – for a start she stops talking for a couple of seconds in there and lets me say something :P

I’d rung Scally earlier in the evening to wish her a Happy New Year and remind her that come what may and no matter how hard she tries, she can’t get rid of me. It doesn't hurt to reinforce this with the group of them every now and again, I think of it as my good deed for the day.

Actually I missed a golden opportunity there, she answered the phone with a ‘And what’d you want?’; very friendly sort of person is our Scally. What I should have said is ‘I’ll have another couple of stories, a glass of your cava and the rest of your chocolates. You see, there is a warning there – don’t drink, it slows down your reactions.

Afterwards, a friend that had come around to see the New Year in with us asked if that was the *cough* 'lady' that we’d visited in Spain; had I known her at school? (See even other people assume just by listening to the conversation, that we’ve known each other for an age). First and foremost I obviously put him right – Scally is older than me and then I said we’d met over the internet.

He was horrified, obviously the internet is a very dangerous place fully of kinky perverts – he didn’t know how close he was to the truth either :) I told him that I’d not met her in a chat room if that was what he’d been thinking – I’d joined a writing group (didn’t mention what sort of writing group - fluffed over that bit) and I’d met people that I now considered very good friends; in fact more like the siblings I’ve never had. I don’t think he could get his head around the fact that I think the world of a group of people that I’ve never spoken to on the phone, let alone met – other than Scally that is.

Texting Pooks later on, it all of a sudden seemed a really good idea to just ring her – that’s what three glasses of wine and a Bacardi do to me I’m afraid. The strangest thing in all of this is the fact that although I’d never actually spoken to her, like meeting Scally, it just seemed very natural and like we’d known each other for years. No awkwardness or silences – more the fact that we had to get as many words into the conversation as possible. I know that when I spent time with Scally I talked the poor woman nearly to death and Pooks was the same.

With regards to the Edinburgh festival, if we do manage to get together and pull that one off I have to agree with her, we won’t stop talking all the time we’re together. I think she’s being a little on the optimistic side if she thinks I’ll shut up when the curtain rises – I’ll no doubt have a hundred and one questions that I’ll need to ask at that point.

Well, wishing you all a very Happy & Healthy 2007 and if the Leprechaun gets her finger out and sends her first draft to the Scary One, we could be updating soon.

++++

Oh, one more thing…Ms Wag had mouse mats made for us as part of our Christmas pressies. She used one of my photo’s for mine, I was really pleased with it. Pooks? Well, we all know that she doesn’t ‘do’ photographs – she got one of a girl with an attitude, throwing a tantrum.

So that obviously makes me ‘the Good One’ then :).

You may remember me - I'm the one with the accent apparently. Hah! She says I have an accent - she's Brummie. Oh, she claims she isn't but she is - with bells on.

People are amazed to find that people who write on these things as a tag team haven't necessarily met. I know I was amazed to find that out about folk I presumed would have met, as they seem to know each other so well. But this is the Wonderful World of the Web and it ain't so. The Rainbow Slider and I have never actually met - contradicting those who think that we were separated at birth. That would indeed be one for the record books - if not the medical text books - as I'm waaayyyy older than her. Look, it's three years folks and that gives me seniority around here - okay? Good. Now, where was I? Oh yes the knowing a person thing.

Well, as I said we have never actually met in the flesh - she's seen a picture of me and I've seen lots of her - I don't do photos. She only has one of me thanks to someone else.

And until this morning we'd never spoken either - weird isn't it?

Oh,we talk every day either by email, text and occasionally on here. But the voice thing? Nope. And then her Himself got fed up with the texts that were flying and asked the simple question, 'Why don't you just ring her?' Seems obvious doesn't it? Yeah, well, Sue and I don't do obvious. Ask Scally.
-
So, she actually listened to her husband for once and I got a phone call at one o'clock this morning asking if I was the Rosemary Conley support group . Yes, we're still on the diet - or more accurately - we're going back on the diet. Put that chocolate down Sue and step away from the profiteroles.

Apparently I don't sound like I do in her head. I don't know what she was expecting - a female Rev Paisley perhaps? Paddy Kielty in tight trousers? - actually that isn't far off the mark, he's from just down the road.

I had to speak really slowly - we're not known for brevity or pausing between words, we Norn Irish like to talk and if you take a breath someone else will start talking in your stead. And there was a slight misunderstanding over some words - 'what? Say that again.' She can tell you until she's blue in the face that she's not Brummie - but she'd be telling you porky pies.

Anyhoo - We want to wish you all a very Happy New Year. We look back on 2007 as a year which took loved ones from us but brought us both a 'sister.' Hold on a minute and I'll pass the sick bucket over there . Sorry mushy moment - I only do it to make her gurn.

We hope that it brings you health to enjoy, joy in abundance, and friends with whom to share it.

We've been talking New Year's resolutions all day here - dear help Edinburgh - I'm taking her to the festival this year and going to introduce her to theatre - and here's a resolution for you lot.

Call in, pull up the sofa closer to the fire, read the stories the three of us leave around and . . and. . .enjoy. You thought I was going to guilt you into saying 'hello, thank you, enjoyed that,' didn't you? While that would be lovely we've decided that it's enough that you enjoy - well, you must do, you keep blooming coming back! And we love seeing you - it'd be nice to hear from you too but beggars can't be chosers. *sighs - loudly*

New Year's Day: Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual. ~Mark Twain.

Pooks xoxox

Just managed to find a few minutes to sit down to wish everyone a Very Merry Christmas - hope Santa is kind to you :) Hope you all enjoy the day, and you are lucky enough to spend it with the people you want to be with the most.

Sue

I’m bored, we don’t break up from work until Monday lunch time but no one here is putting much effort into doing anything today.

It has been suggested that I could concentrate on my feedback to Hic Draconis, which then made me think that I haven’t actually done feedback to Sulya yet either – at this rate I’ll end up with coal in my stocking come Christmas morning and not goodies. Yes, I do send feed back - fair enough only to three sites, but I do make the effort as I appreciate more than ever the amount of work that goes into writing fiction.

Speaking of goodies I appear to have only two pieces of Cobweb’s Christmas fudge left, and it’s not even Christmas until next Tuesday - I’ve been on a sugar high the last couple of days. I was thinking of saving the last two pieces for eldest, who loves fudge - but if he doesn’t visit tonight he could end up having to eat a peppermint cream instead.

I was watching the kids go to school this morning and it reminded me of when we used to take board games in on the last day – it was one big play day. Either that or you could make Christmas cards or decorations –adding obscene amounts of glitter. If you were lucky you could just make out the drawing underneath all the red, blue, silver, and gold. Going home was like a scene from Hansel and Gretel, a trail of glitter that lasted for days afterwards. A bit like the pine needles from the Christmas tree, which could still be found in the carpet the following March.

We used to have a Christmas party too – not like these days where they bring in fish and chips from the chippy – a real party. With sandwiches, jellies, ice cream, and iced cakes – crisps and sweets – and very weak orange squash. After everyone had eaten, Father Christmas arrived with a gift for all – usually a selection box. And then back to the classroom to collect all the paintings and finished exercises books plus your P.E. kit; usually containing just the one black slip-on plimsoll – no one ever located the other one. Thinking about it now, it makes you wonder if the teachers were a bit of the kinky side and look them home with them – plimsoll’s can pack one hell of a wallop after all.

What’s been happening then? Well the central heating stopped working earlier this week – no heating or hot water – but only for a day, thank the Gods. The house was freezing – I went to bed dressed in pyjamas, socks and an old cardigan. We didn’t have central heating when I was a child – the frost used to be on the inside of our windows. Most families had a coal fire downstairs with a back boiler that heated the hot water - if it got too hot, you'd hear a whistling sound, then you'd have to run some of the water off. Getting dry & dressed when you got out of the bath took only seconds to complete. It makes you wonder about sex back then too; everyone went to bed dressed for the north pole. Sexual foreplay must have been trying to fight your may through layer upon layer of clothing back then.

Right, I suppose I better show willing and start that feedback then…