Being Civilised

A strange trait I have noticed in myself (and Charles admits to this too, so at least I’m not the only one!)...

Tonight we went to a small guitar concert. There we were in a little white room filled with rows of somewhat uncomfortable chairs, sipping orange juice, surrounded by an audience of elderly men with hair sprouting out of their ears and middle aged ladies wearing saggy cardigans and meaningful expressions, whilst we all listened to a girl play her guitar. And, whilst I do like guitar music, I have to say that the stuff we were listening to was a wee bit on the boring side. In reality I would have enjoyed myself far more if I had been lying on the sofa in my nightie, watching the final of The Apprentice, and scarfing down chocolate and cold milk.

Yet, instead of wishing myself elsewhere, I found myself feeling pleased that I was spending such a civilised Summer evening listening to a guitar concert in Richmond Park! I obviously have a strong ‘inner snob’!

* * * * *

Big things that happened today:

Charles got a new job (woo hoo!)
My work announced that they are having a re-jig and it's possible that I may be made redundant towards the end of the year (crap!)
Charles said, "WHEN we live together" instead of "IF we live together" (yay!)

How to Be Happy

At work we are having a series of events for National Smile Week. This morning I went along to listen to a motivational speaker called Pete Cohen, who was talking about happiness. Apart from the fact that I got a nice goody bag that was full of balloons and cute little presents (wahey!), it was a really good talk, very positive and uplifting.

When the talk was advertised around the site I did my usual thing of letting my fear get in the way… I didn’t know anyone else who was going to the talk, so I told myself that maybe I wasn’t supposed to be there and everyone else would stare at me, maybe people would look on me badly for not being hard at work at my desk, blah blah blah… god my mind can be pathetic sometimes... but I like motivational talks, so I told myself to shut up and went along anyway! And funnily enough that’s pretty much what the talk was about – shutting up the voice in your head, choosing to do things differently!

One of the themes in the talk was that you are the person you choose to be. For example, if you tell yourself, “Oh I’m a real worrier, I can’t help worrying about stuff, that’s just me,” that’s actually not true. You don’t come out of the womb clutching your forehead and thinking, “Gosh I’m worried,” – you choose to worry and so it becomes a habit. So hey, choose to be a happy person instead! Makes sense!

My worst battle has always been with shyness rather than with happiness, but it’s a similar choice I think. When I was in my teens my friend fixed me up on a date with her brother, who I had liked from afar when I saw him sitting cross-legged in a field once. (Well I lived in a rural area, it’s what we did back then!!) On the day of the date she said to me kindly, “Don’t worry, I’ve told him you’re shy.” For some reason I felt I had to live up to the description of being shy as best as I possibly could. So I didn’t say a single word the whole evening. Just sat there looking a bit sad. He never spoke to me again, I can’t imagine why!

Conversely, when I first met Charles I wanted him so badly that I booted my shyness up the bum, took a deep breath, and went over to speak to him, trying my hardest to appear Miss Chatty-and-Interesting. I’m not sure how well I succeeded at that, but I know I’d sure as hell have got nowhere at all if I’d have said to myself, "I can't talk to him, I'm shy," and stood in the corner all afternoon looking at the floor!

Another thing Pete Cohen mentioned is that a lot of people see happiness as something to be earned. They tell themselves that when such and such happens I will be happy – when I have this house or that car, when I have achieved my business aims I will be happy, when I retire I will be happy. But of course that’s daft. You don’t buy a car, or reach the age of 65, and then suddenly PING! you are a happy person forever more! What changes your life for the happier is not what you buy, or have, or achieve, it’s changing your own perspective on the world around you. For example, I love writing this blog. But it’s not finishing an entry, or achieving a years worth of entries, that gives me that feeling of happiness, it’s the actual writing of the blog that does that. It’s ‘enjoying the doing’ – and I can feel that right at this moment, I don’t have to wait for a time way down there in the future when I’ve ‘earned’ it.

The talk was reasonably interactive, with the audience being asked to say or do various things. I got a clue that I might have a tendency to be a wee bit over-analytical sometimes when Pete Cohen said, “Turn to the person next to you and tell them what makes you happy.” I turned to my neighbour and said I am happy when I am in the moment, not worrying about the future or thinking about the past but just being fully in the moment. Blah blah. Everyone else gave one word answers! (The bloke in front of me said, “Beer!” Hmm, deep!)

Anyway, I thought Pete Cohen was bloody good! I felt positive and uplifted and ready to make changes. I was really disappointed when it came to the end of the talk, wanted to have a mini Pete Cohen to carry around on my shoulder all day spouting his stuff! But never mind, I will just have to remember the nice, positive feeling that I have now. And to stop listening to the duck in my head (yes, apparently there is one, quacking away in there!).

1950s Heaven

Dropping Charles off at his flat the other day, he sat next to me in the car for ages, rabbiting on about nothing in particular. I wasn’t sure why he seemed so reluctant to get out, and was about to nudge him through the car door, when suddenly he announced that he thought maybe we should live together. Woo hoo, you could have knocked me down with a feather, I wasn’t expecting that one!

Charles is very cautious about these things – “If we carry on getting on this well,” he said, “maybe in a few months time we should think about possibly moving in together. Maybe at the end of the year we could possibly buy a place. It might work. We’ll have to see.”

I must admit, I would have liked a wee bit more enthusiasm – something along the lines of, “Hey, I love you and I can’t live without you, let’s move in together right now… and, by the way, here’s a huge shiny engagement ring!” would have been more my thing. I can’t see the point of wasting all this time – if we’re going to do it, I just want to get on and do it! But you can’t expect a cautious person to throw his worries to the wind, so I’ll just have to make do with the fact that we have a vague plan for half a year away and be glad that at least we’re moving in the right direction! It’s hard – Charles moves so much more slowly than I do – I was ready for this over a year ago and I’ve had to dredge up so much patience to wait until his mind catches up with mine! (I have to say, he is worth the wait though.)

Anyway, we haven’t discussed it properly yet – so far we’ve just flung a few semi-humorous comments at each other, along the lines of:

“If we live together we’re going to have to do such and such.”

“That’s what you think – if we dooo ever live together I’m bloody not doing that, we’re going to do it this way!”

“Hmph!”

“Yeah!”

From these meaningful, adult discussions I have gleaned a few possible hurdles that we’ll have to overcome if our dream of ‘living together bliss’ is to happen:

One is that I have worked my way up the property ladder from my first studio flat with a nice balcony to my current one bedroomed flat with a secluded garden, whereas Charles is renting and, therefore, for him, anything with a mortgage is a step up. So he doesn’t quite get that I don’t want to go backwards down the ladder to some smelly old flat without a garden when I’ve worked really hard over the years to get this far. Hey, this time round I want a mansion and a private swimming pool!

I also get the feeling that Charles thinks it’s OK to try to make your partner (ie me!) act in a way that befits your vision of an ideal relationship – to change their bad habits (not that I have any of those, mind you!), and to make them have a sense of responsibility. Whereas I’ve learned that you can’t force anyone to have a sense of anything – it’s either there or it’s not – and if you try to force your opinion onto your partner, however well-intentioned you are, you will actually force nothing but power-struggles and resentments onto the relationship, and kick love merrily out of the window. You have to love each other just as you are, bad habits and all, for better or for worse! Also, having survived a very controlling marriage in the past, I’m a bit over-sensitive on this one, and therefore likely to over-react if poor Charlie-boy so much as suggests I should have coffee instead of tea one evening!

The final thing (and a biggie) is our very different views on money. Charles is a thoroughly modern man in that he thinks debt is a normal part of everyday life and, whilst he moans about having to make the interest payments on his credit cards each month, he’s the first to admit that if he managed to clear his credit cards he would quite happily run up some more debts on them. That’s what credit cards are for! He thinks just a month ahead, rather than months or years into the future, and doesn’t get the concept of saving money for when the bills come in, or of making your money work for you. Whereas I’m more granny-like in my views on finance – the thought of being in debt, even by a penny, scares me silly and I will do anything to avoid it. I will pick up pennies in the street even if they have dog poo on them. And I deeply resent the idea of handing many thousands of pounds of my hard-earned income over my lifetime to the banks when I could have bought myself a car, or a dream holiday, or even a house with that money – I think it’s daft that people choose to give an enormous wodge of their wages to the bank for the privilege of receiving nothing but threatening letters in return, and dying of a heart attack from reading their monthly bank statements. And, hey, if you’re not in debt the banks actually give you some of their money, and why would anyone not want that?! Basically mine and Charlie-boy’s views on money are poles apart – but the positive side to this is that, if we can get through this one, then I think we will get through absolutely anything together!

All in all, I actually think we’ve got what it takes to have a good, solid relationship. Charles, like most men, has a tendency to think he knows better than you do when you try to explain something, so he doesn’t always take on board exactly what you are trying to tell him. However, when he does listen he’s very good at it and listens properly, takes everything on board and thinks about it seriously. At these times he’s very nearly as good as a woman! He’s also the kind of person who you know will be there for you when you need him – he’s not one of those blokes who exits the room at top speed if he thinks you might have an emotion in front of him, but just takes all tears and unintelligible mumbles in his stride, opens up his arms and lets you snot all down his chest! What a man!

And, as for me, I refuse to let petty things get in the way of a relationship. I think that what matters is that you love and support each other no matter what. So I’m not going to make a big deal if Charles wants to pick his nose and flick bogies around in the shower. And if he decides he wants to change career and become a maggot farmer, or take up animal stuffing for a hobby, I’ll support him nonetheless!

I also think our preferences will work well together. I quite like doing the housewifely thing – cooking and cleaning, looking after the house. I was born in the wrong era – I would have enjoyed being a 1950s housewife, pottering round the house each day flicking a feather duster about, and greeting my hubby’s return from work with a welcoming smile and a tray of freshly baked fairy cakes. Charles, meanwhile, has more cerebral things to get on with. He often works through the night, going to bed at 5 or 6am, and housework is a frustrating chore that gets in the way of his work. So that would suit us both! (And the one thing I hate with a vengeance – doing the dishes – Charles is happy to do! Yee har!)

Anyway, proper discussions will commence shortly I am sure – we’ll do a few more “Hmph”s and “Yeah”s and see where we end up!

In 1950s heaven I hope!

Job Stress

Charles has been having so many problems with work, and particularly his bosses, over the past year or so. In recent weeks he has barely gone into work at all – he just couldn’t face it, and wanted to concentrate all his time on searching for a new job. He was even having chest pains, which worried me a little!

Anyway, things came to a head this week and he has been allowed to give zero days notice and just leave.

I think he’s really brave doing that, leaving without a job to go to. Lots of other (wussier) people wouldn’t. And I’m sure it’s the best thing too – he doesn’t have to go into work or argue with his boss again – after all, it’s stressful enough job hunting without that going on too!

I’m a bit worried about how he’ll do for money between now and his next wage packet though (which obviously is at least a month away and likely longer). I wish I could afford to just give him some dosh but obviously it would be a bit dim to get us both into debt, one of us needs to stay solid. But I’ll have to keep his food cupboards stocked up, make sure he doesn’t starve, at least! And of course, if it comes to it, he can move into my flat so that he doesn’t have to worry about rent.

Ooh, scary for him! Here’s hoping he gets a good job that he can be happy in, and quickly!

New Book

Although it might not seem like it at times, I do actually have a brain (I just hide it well!) and I love to immerse myself in deeply academic history books, or to watch television documentaries on subjects as diverse as the chromosomal make-up of chimpanzees or the effects of rain on pyroclastic flow. But I also have to admit to a strong liking for a lot of the brainless crap that’s around – Heat magazine, celebrity gossip, who’s had a boob job, who’s shagged who. Charles, who is politically and mathematically minded, reads The Independent daily, and is Cambridge educated, needless to say doesn’t approve of the latter!

One of my favourite TV programmes at the moment is Katie and Peter, The Next Chapter. It’s total, brainless mush but I really enjoy watching it. And Charles, bless him, in spite of his deep disapproval of celebrity culture, reality TV, silicon implants (you name it, Katie and Peter has it!) went out and bought me a present of Katie Price’s (a.k.a. Jordan’s) autobiography because he knew I’d like to read it.

I thought that was brilliant of him!

Chipboard Papdi

A couple of days ago I nipped into Tesco on my way home from work for a copy of Heat magazine. The magazine section is located right next to the doors and the tills, so this should have been a quick in-and-out exercise, over in less than a minute. However, I was a bit hungry (stupid time to enter a supermarket, just before tea – guaranteed hunger shopping of crappy ‘food’ items!) and my rumbling stomach pulled me inexorably down into the deepest, darkest, depths of the aisles in search of crud – er, food.

Wandering down one of the aisles I came across an Asian foods section. They had some weird stuff in there. And I don’t mean weird in terms of the food so much as weird in terms of the packaging. There were huge tin barrels of cooking oil, tubs of rice the size of a small child, enormous sacks of flour… blimey, buy in bulk or what!

Anyway, a five-year supply of vegetable oil couldn’t tempt me, but I did end up coming out of Tesco with a whole bagful of strange foodstuffs to try. There was a box of sticky baklava, the remains of which I shared out at work once I had pigged a few pieces myself, there was a packet of spiced nuts which topped my energy up before going to the gym on Wednesday… and yesterday I opened a box of – hmm – well, the box said it was something called Soan Papdi, and the pictures on the box looked like little cakes with pistachio nuts arranged prettily on top – but I swear I’ve bought a box of chipboard pieces! It looks like chipboard, it tastes like chipboard, albeit a somewhat sugary variety, and there’s even things in it that look like squashed insects. (I just hope these are the pistachios!)

I’ve bought the chipboard papdi into work today, but I’m just wondering whether anyone will ever speak to me again if I hand it round…?

Huff, Puff, Grunt

Gym day today. Me and Charles joined our local gym just before we went on holiday and, now that we are back, every Wednesday night is gym night. Today was our first ‘proper’ session. (We can’t really count the one before we went to Spain, as that was my first gym session in years, and Charles’ first in a while, so it was a somewhat half-hearted effort, curtailed by the fact that I needed to get home to watch Katie and Peter on ITV2!).

Anyway, today I decided I was going to really give it some welly! Charles sat there on the bike and did his stuff, barely appearing out of breath as he calmly got on with his normal routine, but I threw myself into it, gripping the bike handles tightly so that I could whizz the pedals round at a million revs per second without falling off my seat, huff-puffing and sweating, upping the level and speed every 5 minutes; then onto the rowing machine, which I had never used before and which Charles showed me how to use, whoosh whoosh whoosh; then thudding the running machine into submission for a good half hour, stomp stomp stomp; and also some press-ups and some stomach and back exercises in the middle of all that. Phroo! Sweaty! (I used Charles’ towel to mop my red, shiny face at one point… ewk, that was a mistake... it was horribly soggy with man-sweat!)

Remembering back a few years to when I was truly fit, how I got that way was a combination of two things: 1) always being late for college lectures and having to pedal my bike like billio to get there on time, finally flinging myself through the door in a sweating, gasping heap to collapse on the nearest empty chair (I bet everyone loved sitting next to me in lectures!) – and, 2) being so competitive that I could never allow another cyclist to overtake me, even lycra-clad athletic types on their shiny racing bikes. My short, girly legs would pump the pedals of my little mountain bike so fast that they almost went invisible, refusing to be beaten, having to overtake each person back, no matter how out of breath I got, no matter how much my legs hurt! Anyway, the net result of all that pushing myself to my limits on a several-times-daily basis was rock hard muscles and a superfit body. I want to be like that again! Not sure I can achieve it without setting up camp in the gym, mind you, but once a week is something and so I’m bloody well going to push myself while I’m there!

I must say, I do like having Charles’ company at the gym. He’s very good at making us get out and do stuff (if running/gym was left up to me I think I’d quickly find excuses not to go, I’m such a lazy moo!) and I’m always glad we've made the effort once I’m into an exercise session. It’s nice, too, having him come up and offer me water, or just having a bit of a chat between machines. And because he’s more of a gym bod than me, it’s useful to be able to ask him how to use the equipment, or what exercise I should do for a particular muscle group. He definitely makes exercise sessions more fun! Everyone should take a Charles to the gym!

I Think I Need a Dishwasher

I hate washing dishes.

I can be something of a cleaning obsessive. I give my flat a major spring clean maybe once a month, manically hoovering, dusting, scrubbing, bleaching and cupboard-sorting until there is not a speck of dust to be seen, not a tin or bottle left facing the wrong way, not a piece of rubbish left unchucked…

And I like neatness to the point where every item and piece of furniture has to be arranged at precise right angles to each other, and precise distances from each other, and books have to be placed on their shelves in descending order of size, and I will notice if someone moves an ornament or a book even a millimetre out of place…

And, whilst my ‘to do’ pile is really more of a ‘still not done yet’ pile, and can occasionally grow into something rock climbers would be proud to scale, it is confined to one corner of the bedroom, behind the TV, where it can easily not be noticed…

So I think I would consider myself a pretty clean and tidy person.

So why is it then that I hate washing dishes to such an extent that they will sit in the kitchen for weeks, gathering pretty-coloured moulds and strange smells, piling higher and ever higher, and yet still I can’t face washing even one fork to eat my tea with? Occasionally I will even go out and buy paper plates and plastic cutlery just so I can avoid dirtying any dishes for a week or two, and have a nice clean kitchen. I even get a weird kind of thrill from throwing a dirty paper plate or plastic fork into the bin, as though I have somehow cheated the universe out of forcing its nasty, dirty dishes on me!

Alas today I can smell my dishes. From the hallway! I think I’d really better go and wash them!

Letter From the Queen

A couple of weeks ago my friend William held a birthday party for the Queen. We all dressed up in our best frocks and tiaras and waistcoats, and ate lots, and sang God Save the Queen (thanks to a judiciously printed songsheet, as I'm darned if I know the words!). The Queen wasn't present, obviously - I'm sure she had bigger and better places to spend her birthday than in William's kitchen - and I didn't think she had any clue whatsoever that us insignificant subjects even existed, let alone that we were birthdaying on her behalf.

Silly me! William thinks bigger than that! He wrote a letter to the Queen telling her about our party - and he's only gone and received a reply from Buckingham Palace! It's on royally headed paper and is signed by one of the Queen's Ladies in Waiting! Woo hoo!

That's What Girls Like

Charles is a darling.

I woke up at 5.30 this morning, head full of sniffles, and nostrils full of those evil, twanging pixies, so I was very tired all day. On top of that, work was quite stressful... I'm preparing for two weeks off so there's lots to do to make sure things run smoothly when I'm not here, plus Boss Number 1 kept throwing unexpected work my way. I wanted to throw it back at her and shriek, "Nooo! Do it your flipping self!" But unfortunately I have my pay packet to think about so had to content myself with the merest little whine of an "Oh dear!" as I took it from her.

In between all this I was trying to chase up on hotels for our holiday, and none of the hotels had replied to any of my emails from yesterday. It was very frustrating. In spite of being in work so early this morning I stayed two hours late tonight trying to find decent hotels that had rooms available, emailing them, and chasing up on unanswered emails. And trying to do all this in Spanish!

Charles rang me at 5.30 to see how we were getting on with arrangements, and I swear he could hear my head throbbing through the phone! Anyway, he has taken over finding the remaining hotels for us, bless him. He'll get such a big snog when I next see him!

(Yes, that's what girls like! (in joke!) )