Sunday, 29 March 2009

Had another breakfast again today. What's happening to me? I'll have bingo wings by the summer.

I briefly went into town with my brother because he was bored and angry after the grand prix (by the way, Jenson Button... brilliant stuff) and on the way back he put the roof down. His car is a big bright yellow BMW and I felt what little dignity I had left drain out of me at exactly the same speed as the roof mechanism did its thing. By the time it had slotted itself safely into its compartment I was left slumped in the passenger seat, looking like an uncomfortable potato and feeling like a prize cockle. I should really have had the foresight to bring my sunglasses to really complete the look.

In other news I'm planning on getting a haircut soon. As much as I like the length it's getting to, there really is an abundance of the stuff at the back and it's giving me grief. I know what I want to get done but my problem is that I can't explain it to a barber. I can't even explain it to myself. As long as they don't cut it short again, I guess that's the most important thing. I hate that. I have a chance to get it done on Tuesday, as we finish at 3 on Tuesdays. Unless there's a faculty meeting of course, in which case I will be trapped there for hours. They go on and on and on, and there's very little, if anything, discussed that has any relevance to my job. You know, that's what we have art dept meetings for, and media meetings... why on Earth there's a whole faculty meeting as well just puzzles me. Anyway, as I was saying, I'll be braving the barber shop sometime soon. Takin' that plunge. Which barber shop I don't yet know... but there will be a barber shop. Somewhere out there there is a barber shop for me. I have to believe that.

Saturday, 28 March 2009

A killer breakfast today. Me & Sonny (aka the Sonnmeister general) popped into town because I wanted to go trawling charity shops for mirrors, but it was too cold & miserable so we just ended up going into Bhs for breakfast. It wasn't a planned thing... and I don't know if it affects the usual Sunday morning arrangement we've got going on. Right now I think it does, as my breakfast was fucking huge. I think another one tomorrow might make my heart burst and I don't want that.

For some reason the girl behind the counter gave me larger portions of everything. I was instantly worried. Don't get me wrong though, I'm not complaining... but I could see that she was gonna struggle getting everything onto the plate. It was mildly embarrassing... I mean, was she aware that she'd been putting too much on and then had to keep it up to save face? This happens to me quite a lot in there actually, and I tend to get either a much better looking plate or much more food on it than whoever's with me does on theirs. I'd like to think it's my irresistible charm and my silky smooth tones that does it, but it's more likely that they see my scrawny little wimp arms and take pity on me. I had at least 30% more than Sonny today. There's really no explanation for all this.

Come on, Jenson!
I'm Not Dead. Nope. Matter of fact I'm still here, still producing the most hideous aural dogshit you've ever heard. I'm all about the angst, baby. I'm troubled. Men do me wrong. And, yes, I have got short hair. Deal with it. What's wrong with you... you never seen a feisty woman before? I'm bulshy. I've got balls. I make my own decisions. I am, quite simply, a twat.

Wednesday, 25 March 2009

Went to buy the mirror & was disappointed to find out that it's not for sale. What a let down. Why have it in your window display if it's not for sale? Isn't that the whole point of a shop display... you know, the idea that people will look in and see objects that they want to buy? Infuriating. And it was perfect too - exactly what I wanted - and I spent the whole day gradually becoming more and more excited. They might as well have punched me in the stomach while they were at it.

I told the two women in the shop that they'd ruined my week. I was hoping that they'd take pity on me and agree to sell it, but they just didn't give a fuck. Bloody bastards. I might go back in on Saturday with a wad of cash and see if things can be done. I've never seen a mirror like it. Either that or I'll dust off my trusty old striped t-shirt & swag bag and smash my way in.

Tuesday, 24 March 2009

Caught a glimpse of what looked like the most fantastic mirror in a charity shop on my walk from college to Leigh station. Wish I'd had some money on me at the time 'cause I know just from seeing it hanging in there from 30 metres away that it's perfect. From what I could make out it appeared to have a terribly naff gold frame and an interesting shape. I have to get to the shop before it closes tomorrow... because I need that mirror. I wonder if I can haggle. Is that the done thing is charity shops? I suppose it's morally questionable. Having said that, my sttempts at haggling in the past have resulted in me paying more if anything. I just hope that, 1, it's still there, and, 2, it turns out to be everything that I hope it is... because it's given me a very specific idea. It's funny how these mundane little decisions you make in life can lead to interesting things. Things that you'd otherwise not come across. I think this could be a development!

Monday, 23 March 2009

Made the mistake of bumping into Steve on my way into work this morning. I caught the train to Leigh station and planned on walking the rest of the journey to the college. Anything to avoid a bus. It's quite a straightforward walk that should take about 35 minutes - you go straight up from the seafront onto London Road, and then stay on that road for 20-odd minutes 'til you reach the college - but I decided to take Steve's more scenic route instead. When he said that it was "through the countryside" I just assumed that he meant we'd cut across a couple of fields before joining London Road. I couldn't have been more wrong... the walk took over an hour and seemed to circumnavigate the whole of Essex before popping out just yards away from the college. I was knackered... completely knackered. There was some kind of fluid cascading from my nose and everything. We'd gone through an unfeasibly high number of fields, seen dog-walkers, clambered over the remains of Hadleigh castle and trekked through at least three woods. And even though it resulted in me turning up nearly half an hour late, sweating profusely, and secreting some kind of fluid from my nose, it was a fantastic walk.

Once I got there, work itself was manic. It's exam week for the AS students and they are all trying to get set for their exam but there's no paint ready for them... so I'm rushing - still sweating/panting/secreting - and trying to make everything run smoothly. I was all over the place though; from the moment I arrived I was being approached from all angles by students and staff asking for this and that, when all I wanted to do was sit down for 5 minutes. To make matters worse, I've got this guy doing work experience with me all week, so I'm having to show him how to do things and all that shite. It's a bit of a pain in the arse really. You know, he's a nice enough kid... but I really would have been better off if I could have sorted everything out by myself. Before I left I replenished everything for tomorrow. It's good to be organised... right now my only worry is that we're dangerously low on red acrylic (amongst others) and we've got four more important days to get through. I thought I'd fax an order to our supplier to speed up the process, but didn't pay the extra for the fast delivery, so it definitely won't get here until next week. What an idiot... I was too embarrassed to go back to the finance department and get them to re-process everything... especially as they were doing me a favour in the first place by rushing it through for me. It's like that thing where you say your goodbyes and leave a room successfully before realising you've left something in there & have to go back in. I couldn't do it. Anyway, I'll ration the paint and hide it somewhere. Oh the joys of the technician life.

Sunday, 22 March 2009

There was one other thing that I wanted to immortalise in blog-form...

Bear in mind that me & Sonny are sad and drifting towards middle age, and we have taken to meeting on a Sunday morning in Asda of all places to eat breakfast. I'd recommend it... they have a killer deal going on with the value breakfast & whoever's in charge of cooking those hash browns is an artist. Anyway, one of the items in the value breakfast is either a tinned or a fresh tomato. I don't really do tomatoes, so I asked whether I could swap my tomato for something else. The first time I tried this - a couple of weeks ago - the woman said 'no' and that was that. I think they might've taken pity on me and given me a slice of toast but I'm not sure... and last week I asked again and was allowed to go for a second (incredible) hash brown. Today I tried the old tomato-swap routine again, but this time I was intent on getting some mushrooms. I couldn't believe it though - she said 'no'. I could swap the tomato for another slice of bacon, a sausage, an egg, a hash brown, or more beans, but not for mushrooms. Of course, I went for another hash brown, I'm not an idiot.

I guess my point is that surely mushrooms should be below items like bacon, sausages & the like in terms of importance. Surely they're a lot cheaper for them to produce and everything. I mean, I'm not angry about this or anything... and I'm not going to be losing sleep... it's just that I'm puzzled as to why these mushrooms are so elusive. Why are they forbidden? If anything, it just makes me want them more.
The accelerator cable just snapped in my car. Luckily I wasn't driving at the time, because I almost certainly would have shit myself and ended up either killing someone or being killed, or a mixture of the two. It's a bit of a pain in the arse... means I'll have to train it to work the next couple of days... but I suppose I should be glad that it's at least one (potentially huge) problem avoided. After all, there would have been a fatality.

The peddle had been sticking over the last few days, so that, when I took my foot off the accelerator in order to brake or change gear, it was still slightly engaged and revving. I could drive along at 30 and take my foot off the accelerator without the car slowing down. I had to keep hooking my foot underneath the peddle to pull it back up. It wasn't ideal.

Saturday, 21 March 2009

The little paperback tells me not to go in for a post-mortem, so I won't. Instead I'll write about the trousers I bought today. They're hardcore - my most outlandish pair of trousers yet. But will they turn out to be a success? Hmm, I don't know. I'm not sure exactly how one would go about measuring the success of a pair of trousers. I think they look cool. I guess that's good enough.

I also bought some sunglasses, in the aviator style. I look like a dick wearing them... but then I look like a terminal dick in any pair of sunglasses. It's more that I need them for driving, rather than a fashion thing... as those flappy visor things in my car are physically incapable of blocking light and I was growing a bit weary of having to drive with more of my concentration going into getting my squint right than keeping the car on the road.

Thursday, 19 March 2009

Although I let nerves and a crippling lack of confidence get the better of me again today, it's still going to hit me like a tonne of bricks when I get the confirmation tomorrow.

Annoyed, disappointed, frustrated...

All of the above and more.

Saturday, 14 March 2009

Was hiding out in the store room and talking to Barry about some of his ideas yesterday... and one of them is so good, so clever, and just so utterly genius that I had to sit down and write a really vague sentence or two about it. I mean... it really is great.

Nothing much happened this week. Although I did have a nice little jolly on Wednesday when I got out of my training session to cover another member of staff on a trip. The irony being that she was unable to go on the trip because she had to attend the training session. Oh yeah, and last night I looked around at all the people in a nightclub and thought that they were horrible. Horrible, horrible people. I had to get out. Horrible maggots. Horrible. Come to think of it, I had one of the worst moments of my life in there. Horrible. Some bloke kept on talking to me and shaking my hand and telling me to get on the dancefloor...he was going on about how he was going to nail some birds and just being an all-round knuckleheaded twat. Why he was telling me all this crap I don't know. I find it had to deal with this kind of macho bullshit. Horrible experience.

Saturday, 7 March 2009

The time that the folks at blogger will have stamped at the end of this will probably be completely different, but I assure you that right now it's 16:06 on Saturday evening and there's some shit tennis on the telly. It's better than the god-awful horse racing on the other channel, but not by much. Anyway, right now I'm trying to waste an hour or two before I can head off to my little studio space to a) have a good sort out, and b) get cracking on something new. Well, I say 'new' but it's actually an idea I had about 9 months ago but never got around to trying out. Maybe because it was crap. I can confirm that it evolved from one of the crappest ideas ever. I actually wasted three weeks of my life producing 24 of them. Very embarrassing. I'm not bothered about the wasting of life though - I've wasted plenty more of that since then - but I just cringe at the thought of the work... and the moment when I suddenly woke up and realised that it was utter, utter wank & that everything was in danger of falling apart. So, the studio; I haven't used it much of late, and today's the day that I grab the wheel again. Not that I'm heading for the a ditch or anything... oh no, no, no... it's 'cause I'm smack-bloody-bang right in the middle of it and I need to get out. The work with Charlie is certainly happening, but it's causing a few problems. Boring stuff really... things that are out of our control what with work and all that. The stuff that we do get done always leaves me with more ideas about how to refine and improve - but then the time's gone, and you have to wait weeks before you can pick up where you left off. And in that time you've picked it over & apart so much in your head that you're sick of it, and you dismiss it as crap. It would be great to have the freedom of an excess of time again... although I must confess that I'm kinda happy to have a job at a time like this... and certainly one that I don't dislike.

16:32 now. It really took me that long to write all that. I want to write even more but I keep on having to stop and go back, removing words, replacing them, adding comma's, then reading through it again and feeling that I have to take them away because it's nothing like what I hear in my head. It's just mess. I need to stop all this editing - it's just too much. I end up removing everything I want to write and only leaving the hollow piss-poor attempts at jokes. God, it's getting depressing in here! (ha, exclamation marks always - ALWAYS!!! - lift the mood.)

Went to buy some wood today from B&Q. Managed to get a lift from my dad as my car's too small for wood. We had to wait ages for the timbre cutter operator to show up because he was on his lunch. Dad seemed to be coping alright at first and, after five minutes or so, I said that it must be a good sandwich he's having. It was a nice little bit of chit-chat. Not really necessary but I thought I'd keep the jovial mood bubbling away. He started to become a little restless when the five minutes turned into ten, so I joked that he must be having two sandwiches... or, even worse, a roll. Dad didn't find this one amusing on any level, even though the delivery was good. Then another bloke turns up and he's huffing and puffing, so my dad starts huffing and puffing too. They're both huffing and puffing together and pressing the little button thing on the counter. As soon as one stopped the other would give it another go. This other guy looks like a bit of a wood man - I imagine he dealt with wood and hammers and things like that quite often... so, naturally, they develop this little bond. Whilst this is happening, two calls go out over the tannoy for the wood cutter guy and eventually he shows up. He looks a little pissed off - after all, his lunch has been rushed. I'm feeling awkward about the whole situation and just ask that the wood be cut into 8 pieces. I thought it was fairly obvious what I wanted and he clearly knew. I knew that he knew exactly what I meant by the way that he gestured the cuts with his hands. But then, as he was cutting, he started asking a load of questions - and quoting measurements. I didn't have a clue what was going on - I was caught totally off-guard by this quickfire quiz that I'd stumbled into. He was a bit of an arse with me. Maybe he thought I was the person with their fingers all over his little button. I felt like saying that I didn't know that I needed a degree in all things wood in order to buy it. Of course, I didn't... and my dad made me feel like a complete idiot by siding with the wood cutting arse and questioning whether "that's what you want" and "if it isn't, then say so" - even though he knew full well that it was what I wanted as we'd spent the last half an hour going on about it. It's funny, that. They recognise their own. The whole thing really annoyed me. Wood cutter guy knew what I wanted right from the start. But he saw his opportunity and he took it, and he did it in such a petty way too... but I knew... I knew exactly what was going on. It was textbook stuff... it was the very same way that I would go about mocking customers when I was at Sainsbury's. I recognised it right away... and there was nothing I could do about it. It was karma. And he had a fucking beard.

Thursday, 5 March 2009

I'm stuck in a moral dilemma... don't know whether to tell the truth about something or to lie through my horrible yellow teeth. I'll ask Barry.

Barry will know what to do.

P.S. All you lowdown and dirty hotties out there: They're not yellow. Or horrible. But Barry will know what to do.

Monday, 2 March 2009

Got my car back today. As you'd imagine, there's nothing on Earth I'd love more than to rant on about what a terrible inconvenience it all was, and how it made the last 10 days a LIVING HELL, but the truth is that it was quite a smooth & painless experience. My car had been booked into a garage after somebody hit me from behind. It's a situation that's proved a fantastic way of meeting middle-aged women.

It took me a couple of days to get used to the hire car. It was a VW Polo & I was shocked to find myself behind the wheel of a car with peddles that responded to pressure, brakes that slowed the car down & steering that seemed to want to get me safely around corners. I couldn't believe it; this is not the kind of thing I'm used to! I stalled it straight away and went into a panic, then I drove home - terrified - at 30mph. The next day when I had to go out and do my little weekly shop I decided to walk because I was shit-scared of the Polo.

Sunday, 1 March 2009

Cut myself shaving this morning. Well, maimed myself would probably describe it more accurately, being as it was more like a knife wound than anything else. Whenever this happens it always happens in the same place; an area where I once attempted to do a downward stroke in the fastest time imaginable. Needless to say, it went dreadfully wrong and ended up removing an area of skin about the size of three lentils. An endless stream of blood trickling down my chin. There's always what I'd deem an unnecessary amount of blood involved. Anyway, these days I've given up on the speedy downstrokes & I take extra care in general, but every once in a while it just happens all over again, somewhat inexplicably. I dunno... maybe it's the Bic.

The most embarrassing thing about the whole affair is that my beard-growing capability is laughable. I'm talking Fisher Price here. It's a Fisher Price beard.