Woohoo! Only two weeks to go until my trip to Gay Paree! Well… Gay Disneyland, to be precise. (Oh dear, that sounds just so wrong!)
One of my friends mentioned in an email that she thinks she is plain. Why do we women never see ourselves as we really are? I think she is enviably graceful and feminine, and I would willingly swap my bouncing belly, flat feet and three chins for her grace and slimness any day! Sometimes when she is dancing she is so beautiful!
I’m all painful – got period pain, headache pain and sore throat pain. Bleugh. I went into town with Ingrid at lunchtime… we just went into two shops and I came back absolutely flipping exhausted – pathetic or what!
We have our survey thingy booked for the new flat. 11.30 on 16th. Also, the lettings agency have received my personal reference (that was Simon, who made me sound fab) but not my bank reference. It’s all happening slowly.
My flat sale still isn’t happening yet, though, damn it – I want the money! My solicitor is off work with a sore throat so I can’t really hassle him either!
Charles’ computer died a death the other day and, as he needs a computer for job hunting (also can’t live without one because he is an IT person who can’t conceive of a day without electronic information in it!) I have lent him mine.
It’s strange not having a computer – I can’t watch TV or get on with my work. I’m having family history withdrawal symptoms, can’t update my records or search my records for information, oh my! What on earth should I do with my evenings now? I’ll have to – um – read a book. Or hoover. Talking of which, I was awake really early this morning so tidied up and did two loads of dishes before work. That felt quite good! One day, oh one fine day, I will actually be clear of all dirty dishes!
My thumb is getting gradually worse. Poo! But at least it’s not rheumatoid arthritis, as the tests came back negative. (I almost wanted them to be positive just to show my annoying GP, but no, it’s good that the result was negative!)
I want to put my thumb in a box and not use it for a few weeks as I keep accidentally hurting it, which might be why it isn’t recovering. There are so many things you can’t do without the help of your thumb – pulling up your knickers, trousers and socks being just one – try it, it’s almost impossible. I can’t go knickerless and trouserless just to save my thumb though!
I’ve been told that I may have a new boss soon, to replace Boss Number 2. Oh no! I have worked with this particular lady sometimes in the past, as some of her work overlaps the work of Boss Number 1.
She is a leopardskin-leggings-wearing, super rich, Greek lady and she is such a pain. She wants literally every single thing done now now now, and will stand over you to watch you do it, commenting all the while as if you are not capable of thinking for yourself. Because of her demanding nature I have taken to not answering my phone to her… but if you don’t answer your phone she immediately messages you to ask why you are not answering it… and if you don’t immediately reply to her message she comes running over (from another building!) to ask you why you didn’t reply! I have, on occasion, returned from a meeting or a coffee trip to hear Boss Number 1 explaining heatedly down her telephone that the reason I wasn’t answering my phone was because I wasn’t actually at my desk! And then, after a moment, saying incredulously, “Well, perhaps Jodie has gone to the toilet, Krystina!” She actually phones my boss to find out why I'm not at my desk!
Apparently this lady is going to move over to my area so she will be constantly on top of me. Bleh!
We have had the result of our site survey at work. No redundancies – yee har! In fact we are going to be given millions of pounds to improve our ugly, dilapidated buildings. Hey, we might even get air conditioning that works!
My flat sale is coming along, too. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel at last. The retrospective consent for the windows I had installed has been given, which I think was the only thing holding up the sale, so it should zoom ahead now. We have put a rental deposit down on a posh flat near the river and move into that on 16th January.
It has occurred to me that Patrick’s group at work are getting very religious. Both Patrick himself and his admin are both keen churchgoers, talking about religion and god and church whenever the opportunity presents itself, which, as a total non-believer, I find a bit uncomfortable. And the other morning I came across Vince, slumped across his desk, with his head in his hands. I was a little concerned.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
No answer.
“Are you alright, Vince”?
Still nothing.
“Vince?” I screeched, loudly, and prodded him on the shoulder.
He jumped and looked up at me.
“Sorry, I was praying,” he said.
Oops!Watch out World, I'm on a diet!
I shall spurn your luscious chocolate cakes in favour of limp green crap. I shall laugh in the face of blubber. I shall be thin!
Ha!
I am having problems finding a place to live with Charles. We looked at the most gorgeous place yesterday - posh as hell, with ornate gardens leading down to the river, and two, yes two, bedrooms - but, because it's on the 'wrong' side of the river, all I got were moans from Charlie-boy. Basically he wants to be perched on the very top of Richmond Hill, as Mick Jagger's neighbour, and nothing else will do! The trouble is we don't have the budget for anything up there, they seem to start at around £2000 per month for one bedroomed flats, and anything up to £4000 for 2 bedrooms.
Convinced that I just hadn't been looking in the right places, Charles sent me a load of internet links for flats in Richmond, and I spent some time looking through those this morning. However, although initially they all sounded promising, none of them were as good as they made out. When I looked closely at the photographs, or read through the details, I realised that they were all pretty much studio flats masquerading as one bedroomed places, or basements with 2 foot kitchen 'areas'. We both got excited about one particular 1 bedroomed flat that we could actually afford, which was half way up the hill - only to find, when I phoned up the estate agent, that it was a single bedroom which could, in fact, barely fit a single bed in it! Hopes dashed on every single internet link!
In addition to the posh flat I mentioned, I have also seen two others by myself. On reflection, I think I made the wrong decision in trying to save Charlie-boy some time by viewing them without him though. The two flats were just about affordable and I must admit I had high hopes. However, one was an ex-student flat (and, boy, couldn't you tell - it had a rusting tin bath in the garden, and curtains instead of doors!) and the other had a kitchen only big enough for one person to stand in at a time (if they breathed in), and a shower but no bath. Crap, basically. And they were only one bedroom - no room for a study for Charles. But as Charles hadn't seen either place he was under the impression that the posh flat we viewed was a bit cruddy and we could do much better! O to live in Charles' little world!
Anyway, I now have to try to convince him that we would be lucky to get the flat we saw, and that cheap Richmond Hill flats only exist in a parallel universe. And quickly enough that some other person doesn't snap the nice flat up before us!
And if I go to see any other flats I'm blooming well dragging him along with me!!
I was wearing my new, black, see-through, Ann Summers number with silky black stockings. Over the top I had on a hip-hugging pencil skirt and a lacy red top. All very clingy. And I wore my stiletto-heeled boots for good measure.
I hid everything bar the boots underneath my coat and drove up to the station to collect Charles.
When we arrived back at my flat I pulled him in through the front door. I slid my coat from my shoulders and let it fall to the floor, showing him what was on offer. He liked!
I moved into the kitchen and began to prepare our food - honey roast parsnips.
"Charles!" I called, "Would you come in here and take off my boots?"
He obliged and, bending down at my feet, took off my boots, one at a time, sliding his hands up my legs as he did so. I heard an appreciative "Mmm!" from below. He stood up and squeezed his arms around my waist. I could feel things stirring just where they ought to be stirring...
"Now take off my top!" I sighed, seductively.
There was a pause.
"Oh no, let's do that later." he said.
Eh?
"I'm trying to seduce you!" I prompted, just in case he hadn't spotted it.
"Yes, I know, but can't we do that after tea?"
* * *
I obviously have less va-va-voom than a parsnip!
My workplace is very good at giving us interesting things to do over lunchtimes. As well as the sporty things like yoga or gym, there are often interesting meetings and external speakers.
Today I went to a colour and style workshop. It was really interesting. I found out the colour clothes I should wear to suit my colouring (warm tones), and the styles I should wear to suit my body shape (full hour glass – which sounds so much nicer than fat lump!) and my style personality (romantic) which apparently means that I should dress like Nicole Kidman. If only!
I suddenly feel all excited as I never really knew what to buy before, my clothes purchases have always been a bit hit or miss!
I had an appointment with my very annoying GP this afternoon. He’s a strange man. He doesn’t seem to like touching people, which is odd for someone who has chosen to be a doctor, where you have to examine icky, ill people all day long.
In his last surgery he used to have the most enormous wooden desk as a barrier between him and his patients and, if he needed to examine you, he would lean across his desk as far as he could, straining to squint at you, but he wouldn’t walk around it to be any closer. Today was the first time I had seen him in his new surgery. No big wooden desk this time, but instead a very long desk with him sat at one end and a chair for the patient to sit on a full four feet away from him at the other end.
I went into the room and sat down on the faraway chair, and told him that the doctor at work wants me to have a blood test to rule out rheumatoid arthritis and an X-ray to rule out anything to do with the bone in my thumb. I held out my hand, expecting him to examine and squeeze it as the nice Occupational Health doctor had done. He just looked at it, sideways.
“I suppose you can have a blood test, although it’s unlikely to be rheumatoid arthritis,” he said, “but you don’t need an X-ray. I’ll write you out a form for a blood test.” And so he did.
Well pardon me, but how can he possibly know what’s wrong with me just from looking at my hand from four feet away? Does he have X-ray vision?! Silly man! Whilst he's probably right about the diagnosis, I hate his dismissive attitude. I will be glad when I’ve moved area and can change to another GP.
