Margaret's review of the year - July to December

The latter part of the year was a mixed bag:

July: I went on a caravan holiday to the Kent coast with my parents.

August: I attended a naked baptism on the south coast and ultimately lost my virginity to Wilf in a boarding house.

September: I embarked on a [literal] dangerous liaison with Mr A in Brussels; I disappeared without trace for weeks, he's still missing.

October: Convalesnce.

November: I tried to return to everyday life by buying more M&S cardigans.

December: Christmas and New Year. I'm currently sitting here with Mrs Bennett, an elderly neigbour. She thinks I'm checking my stocks and shares as I type.

Margaret's Christmas

My Christmas was a quiet one. Father decided to dress as an earthworm and spent some of the day crawling around the parquet flooring and the rest trying to make a plastercast mould of a trilobite. Mother burnt the Bernard Matthews turkey breast joint and decided to spend the rest of the day with her fancyman, so it was just me and Father left in the house. I cheered myself up by watching all of the John Nettles clips on YouTube. Life can be very strange at times, sometimes I hanker after a life with Mr A, who was rather exciting as well as being more than a little perverted.

Margaret's review of 2010: part one - January - June

Well, there's a blizzard raging outside my window, so what better way to fill the time then by sitting back and taking stock of the previous year? (well, there's removing the gunk from the sanitary waste flow, but that'll have to wait...)

January: I purchased a new cut price calendar, two cardigans and one truss (for Father) in the January sales. I also insured the cat against fire, theft and extreme catnip reactions.

February: This is the month in which I turned 40. My celebratory dinner was a success until I got drunk. This almost never happens to me as I 'know my limits'.

April: Father's constant disapparances from the house were explained when he collapsed with a heart attack at a local 'massage parlour'. He made a swift recovery, but was banished to the spare room for an indefinate period.


May: I started 'stepping out' with Giles Henry Arbuthnot aka 'Mr A'. There were several incidents of him stroking my knitwear in inappropriate locations.


June: Mr A ended our relationship to pursue a romance with an EU colleague. I attended Mother's bowls club weekend in Devon to cheer myself up.

M&S Classic Collection

Today Mother and I went shopping, unfortunately due to the proximity to the festive season, it was very crowded (why on earth Christmas coincides with the shops being crowded, I don't know!) Personally, I love M&S's 'Classic' collection, it fits and flatters without being overly matronly so I duly purchased a wool skirt and a pussy bow blouse to guard against the cold.

During the last few weeks Father has been very quiet. Since my disapparance some months ago he moved back into the spare room from the shed because in his words 'the ivy was taking over and I can't cope with it'. He has strange packages delivered to the door on a regular basis, I haven't a clue what they are and sufficed to say, I really don't wish to.

I've been missing you...

Sorry it's been so long, I've been trying to immerse myself back into everyday life, so I'm sitting here at my laptop typing away whilst listening to the wonderful Tony Blackburn's 'Pick of the Pops' on Radio 2. The charts this week are from 1975 and 1988, both of which are important years for me, the former is when Father first daringly decided to purchase a pair of shorts because of the excessive heat and the latter was when I took my O-levels, in which I did very well and was bought a huge cake by Mother because of my results which secured me a place on the A-level course, which sadly I threw away due to my obsession with following Brother Beyond around on tour (more about that later...)

During the past few weeks I have been incredibly introspective and as the psychologist suggested, I've made a list of things which make me happy. One of these is knee length socks, they're very warm, comforting and rather splendid. It wouldn't matter if I wore strange hosiery for the rest of my life because Wilf isn't coming back, last I heard he was walking out with a former Miss Renault (east London division).

Time to return to normal life

I have been on sick leave for too long now, I'm bored. The product range offered by cleaning company giants JML can no longer hold my interest. Therefore I've made the decision to return to work next week.

Back home

I'm back at home, it feels odd. I'm hugely sleepy and I don't know if I'm imagining it, but the whole house seems to be sinking. Wilf is coming round later. I hope I don't fall asleep before he gets here because I keep dreaming about a cloaked figure chasing me. Psychologist's appointment on Monday, dreading it.

Strange happenings in the state of Bruxelles

Well, last night was ok if you enjoy half-hearted lovemaking. Despite his passionate nature, Mr A could not get excited by an M&S 'all in one bodyshaper' however hard I tried. Well he did say 'spend the voucher on underwear' which I duly did, but it didn't meet his approval, more's the pity.

We enjoyed a late Sunday brunch on the Grand Place and I'm sitting here typing....I feel rather sleepy....

Have just awoken with a start, two black-clad gentlemen knocked at the door and duly escorted Mr A into the bedroom. They brought with them a length of cable (personally I thought it was co-axial broadband RG49)and some gaffer tape. Five minutes later I heard screaming......

I am signing off now and will press PUBLISH as soon as possible. PLEASE HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'M SO SORRY WILF......................

The Mannequin Pis festival

Yesterday I caught the Eurostar out of St Pancras and although I didn't enjoy a glass of champagne whilst travelling through urban areas as Brixton, as I did when I caught the train on a previous occasion (summer 2005), rest assured it was lovely. Mr A was waiting with a cheeky cardboard sign [Lady Margaret]when we reached Brussels Midi and soon whisked me away by taxi to his apartment in the Parc district of the city.

Mr A's European Commission funded apartment was splendid - there were portraits of former European Union Presidents adorning the wall and a signed picture of Jose Manuel Baruso in the bathroom. Mr A threw together a wonderful pasta dish for us both and we shared a bottle of Chateau Mersolet which had been gifted to him for producing a splendid brief a while ago.

We kissed briefly and went to our separate rooms.

On Saturday morning I awoke to Mr A's rendition of 'Rule Britannia' whilst he scrambled eggs and burnt the toast. At 11am we wandered down to the Grand Place to see the thronged crowds. There was a German Ooompah band plus 30 men dressed as Belgian heroes such as Hercule Poirot, Henri Pirenne and the gentleman that invented the saxophone.

We drank vast quantities of Belgian beer whilst dancing on the cobbles, it was truly magnificent. At 2pm the local mayor adored the statue with a Belgian flag across his torso and placed a crown on his head. The revelry continued until Mr A drunkenly said "I want you to come back to the apartment with me Margaret, as I've something special to show you."

Therefore I'm sitting in the living room awaiting Mr A's reappearance from the bedroom. Who knows what he's up to?

Doin' the Chelsea walk - oy!

I still have Emma's warning tones of 'don't do it' ringing in my ears as I type.

Anyway, I digress. Today Wilf took me out for a lovely afternoon out to the Sloane Square/Chelsea area. Firstly we lunched in the top floor restaurant of Peter Jones, over shepherds pie, a glass of wine and a sumptous dessert he regaled me of stories about the history of his double decker bus. I'd like to say that I was both interested and engaged, but that would be a total lie.

At 13:45 we met our tour guide outside Sloane Square tube and were treated to just over two hours of fascination. We saw such delights as the outside of the Royal Hospital, Chelsea, The National Army Museum (where Napoleon's horse Copenhagen is allegedly buried) and saw three sections of the Berlin Wall outside. It was wonderful to be able to see such houses as Oscar Wilde's, Dante Gabriel Rosetti's and Jane Asher's. I couldn't commend the walk higher and would recommend it to anyone.

I am starting to feel guilty about my weekend plans now.

A ticket, a map and a weekend away

Today was fairly uneventful until a package arrived in the internal post consisting of a first class Eurostar ticket (St Pancras - Brussels Midi), a map of the city showing the exact location of the Mannequin Pis festival. There was also an M&S voucher with an attached post-it note imploring me to 'spend it on underwear'. There was a signed letter from Mr A formally inviting me to his apartment in Brussels next weekend.

I am caught in a love triangle, I guess if you added Mr A's ex then it would be a rhombus. How exciting! Can I get away with it? I know Wilf's driving his bus around The Isle of Man next weekend to raise money for the unemployed bus conductors' charity, so I won't have to make an excuse to him...

Must call Emma and ask her advice.

The symposium of strangeness

In my Department we're proud to boast a 'symposium of strangeness' group which meets on the second Tuesday of every month downstairs in the suite of meeting rooms. I have been a member for a while (my stated strangeness being an obsession with collecting, counting and grading small change) but other colleagues have felt it beneficial to bring their idiosyncracies to the fore.

One of the members, for propriety sakes let's call him John Cheesecake, likes to talk to himself whilst in the toilet and clasp his hands behind his back whilst standing at the urinal. I suppose this isn't strange in itself, but he also feels the need to unravel toilet roll and deposit it in the corner of the room. He felt as if this behaviour has held him back from forming meaningful relationships both with colleagues and in his personal life. The group was supportive to John's plight and have arranged for him to set up an internet support group in his spare time.

Another member, let's call him Sebastian Boggis, likes to play 'pocket billiards' through his trouser pockets whilst whilstling 'God Save The Queen'. He is also obessed with cheddar cheese and owns a holiday cottage in Somerset to be near his favourite dairy product.

Life is strange, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

One night only...The Civil Service Club

Last night Wilf decided to treat me to an overnighter in the Civil Service Club, so we both took the afternoon off of work, booked in at 2pm and took advantage of their recent decision to change the sheets and blankets for duvets. I must say that duck down has never felt more luxurious :)

We went for an early dinner in the restaurant and both remarked how the food had improved in the last year or so. Apparently they sacked their last Head Chef because of 'unspecified unsavoury reasons' which I'd rather not go into, but sufficed to say it included a large marrow, some soft cheese and a large stick of celery. The dessert trolley always makes me giggle - it resembles a huge mahogany coffin on wheels, but it doesn't detract from the goodies contained within.

At 7:30 we embarked on the 'Secrets of The Thames' walk along the river which included such highlights as learning about the different wharves, spotting water birds and avoiding the various missiles a group of youths were throwing at us as we snaked along the embankment. Wilf remonstrated with one of the gang until they decided to leave us alone - sometimes I feel he should join the UN Peacekeeping Force - they'd really appreciate his negociation skills and could probably utilise hid double decker bus at the same time.

Breakfast was wonderful, although receiving a text message from Mr A inviting me along to a 'Celebration of the Mannequin Pis' event in Brussels was a little unexpected to say the least.....

Can't sleep....

I've had a mixed weekend - Wilf was unavailable so yesterday I went on a walking tour of Upper Helsham with Mother and her group. Later I attended one of the group's 'Farewell to Last of The Summer Wine' party. It was more fun than you could ever imagine, Mrs Fairweather-Lowe dressed up as Nora Batty and Mrs Clapton donned a mini skirt and boob tube to impersonate Marina. Mother wore a pair of old tweeds pulled high up her body, a torn tank top and wellies as a tribute to her favourite character, the dearly departed Compo. We drank, as you would expect, a case of English wine, which was pretty dreadful but at 12 per cent proof, who flipping cares?

I now can't sleep due to suffering a terrible headache all day which even paracetamol couldn't shift. I keep thinking about Mr A - he's based in London for the next couple of weeks, so I may mosey down to his desk at some point.

The return of Mr A

I was happily devising a new pie chart to show how many KW of energy ten civil servants save by using the lift instead of the stairs when a familiar shadow loomed over my desk. Mr A, resplendent in an expensive looking taupe linen suit decided to honour me with a flying visit prior to returning to Brussels in a fortnight's time. He looked fairly dejected and the bags under his eyes were giving him a tired look he'd never exhibited before. Apparently it transpired that he'd ended things with Marta when she proceeded to get drunk aboard the Orient Express (the very trip which he'd promised me!) and mock Mrs A's decision to wear compression socks on a train journey "she was't best pleased Margaret!" was his droll comment.

I allowed him to take me to lunch - he offered to pay and the pie chart wasn't proving a particularly thrilling midday companion. We went to Carlucci's nearby and dined on tagliatelle, salad and a carafe of Frascati. Mr A asked after me and I told him about Wilf, my Father's obsession with burrowing underground and my Mother's love of new age theories. He looked pensive and stated that he'd worked with Wilf ten years ago and he always thought there was something a little strange about him! Pot calling kettle methinks!

After completing our meal with a complementary After Eight, he kissed me before returning to the tube station. I'd like to say that I didn't enjoy it and it meant nothing to me, but I can honestly say that would be a lie.

Midlands Motor Museum and 'Mavis'

Wilf picked me up at the unearthly hour of 6:30am this morning so that we could journey to the Midlands Motor Museum in Dudley, the home of his beloved double decker bus, Mavis. When we arrived at 9:57am, having stopped at a Welcome Break service station for a much needed Ginster's steak slice and latte en route, my beau was treated like royalty. We were given a guided tour of the whole museum by the curator David Frobisher who asked whether Wilf would honour us by allowing Mavis to be used as part of the Dudley Retro Festival. When he answered in the affirmative I noticed a bearded gentleman in overalls giving Wilf a filthy stare. When I tackled him about this later over a warming plate of beans and toast in the cafe Wilf told me that there was a huge rivalry between the bus, coach and tram community and that the latter tended to be more aggressive regarding getting their vehicles into the public eye.

Wilf dropped me off in Dudley town centre in the afternoon to do some shopping and handed me £200 in cash, which was generous of him. He then returned to the museum to 'carry out essential repairs' as he put it. After purchasing an £18 cardigan from M&S and a pair of flat fronted trousers from Debenhams I was rather tired and was glad that Wilf arrived to take us back to our hotel at 3:45. I am now writing this from the wifi enabled lounge of The Dudley Royal Hotel which boasts links with Queen Elizabeth I who, according to the aged looking computer print out in reception, was supposed to have enjoyed a jacuzzi bath with suitor Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester in the Royal Suite.

Tonight's the night (with John Barrowman)

I've eaten dinner (Fray Bentos tinned pies - yummy!), washed, dried and buffed up the glassware and settled down on the settee to watch my series stack of 'Tonight's the Night'. So far so good you may think? I'm either going off of him or my tastes are changing because after 30 minutes of his gurning face appearing on the screen, I had to turn it off. It's a shame because I used to love his extensive repotoire of singing, dancing and generally mincing across the studio.

I think I'll watch the episode of Bergerac I recorded from Alibi this morning. I do love Mr Nettles circa 1986, he's so tanned, fit and lovely! Toodle pip!

Mortified is not the word

My cheeks are still burning with shame. After the key turned in the lock Wilf and I struggled into our clothes to find Mother and the various members of the local Change4Life walking group assembled in our living room. Obviously this isn't a usual occurance on a Sunday, but apparently from September onwards they're all going to take it in turns to host a movement and music class in one another's homes. The only proviso being that the householder must sign a letter to confirm that they can endorse an underlay thickness of at least 2.5cm to ensure a springy tread underfoot.

Mother took the trouble to introduce everyone; one spritely bespectacled gentlemen called Mr Fisher asked us if we were keen on unclothed yoga as he'd heard on an episode of QI that the literal meaning of gymnasium was 'naked'. I answered that we weren't, but Wilf's parents were keen on naturism, which led to a lively debate about the inadequacy of sock and underwear elastic in this day and age.

Once everyone had left Mother took me to one side and asked whether Wilf and I could rein in our baser instincts as she'd measured the cracks in the dining room getting larger by the week. Also, she was fed up with the sheer amount of talcum powder was being used in the household and wondered whether to add a supplement of such sundries to my monthly keep?

Sunday dinner disaster

Wilf arrived chez Weaver at 11am replete with a bottle of Cabernet Merlot and a bunch of mixed stems. I welcomed him in and introduced him to Mother who provided him with a cordial welcome, which was good considering the circumstances. Despite leaving tempting food instead the shed, we couldn't summon Father's prescence, but I'm sure he'll be available to meet Wilf at a later date.

We ate a pot roasted chicken for lunch. The wine flowed and Mother particularly enjoyed hearing stories about Wilf's parents' garden folly which is growing higher by the month apparently. Mother had prepared dessert: a Bird's trifle with extra dream topping, which went down very well.

At 3:30pm Mother decided to go for her daily constitutional in nearby Parveyvale Park, so after we'd washed up the last of the plates, Wilf led me upstairs to my bedroom. Despite only having a single bed, allied to the discomfort of frolicking on candlewick, Wilf managed to retain his normal standard of lovemaking, although Bagpuss's diapproving looks from the shelf put him off of his stroke a bit, so all was well until we heard a key in the front door....

A weekend at home

To ensure the neighbours don't think that I've been abducted by aliens or sold into slavery, I've returned home for the weekend. Father's still living in the shed but I managed to coax him into the house earlier by leaving a saucer of milk on a plastic plate attached to a long piece of string. It seemed to work and we had a short conversation before he disappeared back into the shed and ultimately into his underground network. He's not looking well and the close fitting velvet suit he's sporting gives him the look of a dishevelled mole.

Mother's out with her new fancy man according to our opposite neighbour, Mrs Dawson whose twin sister Mrs Beavour confirmed that she'd seen the pair of them queuing outside the fish and chip shop last Friday "they'd ordered hake apparently," she confided as her son's football coach doubles as a potato boy at busy periods.

Wilf's visiting tomorrow so I am going to roast a chicken in his honour. Will Mother return from her romantic jaunt in time and do half-mole-half-man creatures eat anything apart from earthworms?

The Buckhurst Bucknaked Church’s baptism

Now I can finally haul myself out of Wilf's bed, here's my account of Sunday's baptism:

Attending my first naturist baptism is an experience I’d recommend to those of a strong constitution. It’s fun, but only if you’re a bit tipsy. Wilf woke me up with a potent combination of a red rose, a full English breakfast and his erect manhood, which was somewhat unexpected, but rather thrilling. He told me that his parents would be travelling via minibus but they’ve been told to remain clothed, lest the apolstory should suffer and the deposit be rendered null and void as a result.

When we arrived there was already a trestle table set up on the beach with a small running buffet and a group of naked people were milling about. Wilf introduced me to his parents Simone and David, although naked they were very welcoming and friendly and teased Wilf for remaining in his clothes, a fact he soon rectified by stripping off immediately. I must admit that I haven’t had a great deal of experience of seeing the male member unclothed, apart from seeing classical statues and a glimpse of Kevin Bacon emerging from the shower in the film ‘Wild Things’ but Wilf seemed enormous. I won’t write any more as I’m embarrassed, but he was incredibly well toned.

The religious leader or ‘Mogi’ as we were instructed to call him turned up 20 minutes later, dressed in a surplus and very little else, gave a short sermon about casting out evil and proceeded to lead the faithful into the sea. I noticed that one of his assistants was swinging an incense holder about – surely that’s a little dangerous given the lack of clothes sported by the congregation?

After sampling the running buffet which I only nibbled at given the hygiene issues surrounding the whole event I drank a little too much wine. Wilf (now dressed in a pair of cut off shorts and a t-shirt) offered to walk me back to the B&B, whilst Simone and David clipped their money belts around their respective waists and headed for the nearby amusement arcades.

Post coital bliss

I can't say that I've had much time to write my blog lately because of the intense passion which has enveloped me since my trip to Shoreham last weekend. Sufficed to say I can finally understand what people are talking about when they speak of true passion and Wilf is the most considerate of lovers, although he's keen for me not to write too much detail on my blog as he fears it will betray his bedroom secrets to the internet community.

Note to self: buy some cranberry juice.

The Shoreham Experience

Sometimes I'm surprised about the things I sign up for in life and this trip to Shoreham is a prime example. From the moment Wilf picked me up in his newish Audi I knew things would change between us. The drive, although picturesque, was fairly uneventful and we arrived at half two. Wilf had booked a room in the Old Knocking Shoppe B&B, stating that he would have booked two rooms if they'd been available, but there was a party of octogenarian retired monkey handlers staying at the same establishment.

That didn't really matter to me, we had a lovely afternoon wandering around the old town and even exchanged a few kisses whilst waiting for twenty minutes for the level crossing to clear. The highlight of the afternoon was visiting the Museum of Seaside Windbreaks, which was particularly illuminating.

We had a lovely dinner and I drank more wine than usual. When we returned to the B&B it was very romantic. We didn't do much, but Wilf's very considerate and propped the 'Dorking Kingsbury Book of Lady Pleasure' up on the bedside table so that he could correctly locate my erogenous zones. He's a very thorough man on that score and has even stuck post it notes on pages of interest.

Shoreham baptism weekend

This weekend's going to be 'interesting' Wilf's picking me up at midday and we're motoring down to the coast. "Remain broad minded" was his plea, I wonder why?

The world of classical music

Now I'm no classical afficiando, but when Wilf produced two tickets to a concert in St-Martin-in-the-Fields yesterday I was more than pleased. Beforehand we went for a romantic picnic and drank some 'wine based drink' purchased from Sainsbury's which was at best foul and at worst, like drinking petrol, but what do you expect for the princely sum of £2.50 per bottle?

The church was fairly packed out, but Wilf and I snuggled into our side pew. There were a myriad of odd people there: one gentleman was so old we thought he'd expire before the end and one man so fat, he had trouble squeezing into his seat. The German pianist was fairly accomplished and even cracked a few jokes between the Chopin and the Beethoven. The second half was slightly marred by a rather odd fellow who insisted on filling the neighbouring pew with all of his shopping. That being said, we had a good time and I'm really looking forward to the weekend baptism in a few days time.

Pesky children: day two

Well, I won't say that I'm glad to see the back of young Sebastian today, but I am. He insisted in shouting 'choo choo train' whilst I was trying to watch the episode of 'Midsomer Murders' I recorded last Wednesday, which is unacceptable in my book. He then disappeared out of the room for about half and hour, but by then I'd started to worry so I searched for him and found him upstairs, de-robing my precious collection of classic Barbie dolls, but luckily I managed to find both of Crystal Barbie's shoes underneath my chest of drawers.

I decided to amuse him by trying to engage him in crayoning and painting, but he wasn't very interested. He did love flicking paint though and my favourite M&S top has been permanantly stained by his actions. Mother and her friend Mr Gluckenheim took him to the park in the afternoon, so I had time to update my John Nettles scrapbook, which had been sorely neglected in the last few weeks.

Eleanor arrived to pick him up (Sebastian, not John Nettles!) at 6:30pm. She didn't look much slimmer. I suggested a Miss Mary of Sweden corset, but she didn't appreciate the thought.

Pesky children: day one

As regular readers may be aware, we're looking after my cousin Eleanor's son Sebastian this weekend whilst she sweats away her size 18 figure in the wilds of Wiltshire. Anyway, the day started well and he didn't spill too many of his coco pops on the floor, I then decided to strap him into his buggy and head for the shops, which was a huge mistake in retrospect. Strangely this child seems obsessed by buses, I can't fathom out why because personally I find them a disgusting, smelly and unreliable form of transport, but he seems to adore them - jumping up and down like a maniac when one appears on the horizon.

We called into Boots to replenish my supply of concealer when all hell broke loose - he started screaming and grabbing merchandise off of the shelves and hurling it to the ground. Obviously I was embarrased but when one tracksuit clad woman came up and shouted "I've got one like that too!" I was mortified and retreated from the shop.

This afternoon hasn't been much better, he's emptied all of his toys all over the floor and we're being forced to watch enless episodes of programmes such as 'Peppa Pig' and 'Balamory' over and over again.

Father's disappared, I haven't seen him for a couple of days now. I leave sandwiches, crisps and a thermos of tea for him three times a day in the shed and take away the empties. There's a huge amount of dirt around the area and a makeshift tarpaulin over a large lump - I can't think what he's up to?

Wilf's web wow

I logged on at work today and saw Wilf's face peering at me through the depths of our intranet. He hadn't pre-warned me but apparently he'd been chosen to write about a typical day at work, which he'd done with aplomb if you ask me. I found his detailed account of how he seemlessly manages to re-classify Government files, manage a small team, deal with the National Archives and still have time for a nice cup of tea was absoluely thrilling. The shots of him wearing his new fawn moleskin suit was quite attractive too if I may say so.

Father has decided to move into his shed as it's the only place in the house he feels welcome apparently. Therefore he's personalised it with old cushions, a wilton rug and some gardening chairs. I can't say that it looks very homely but I did hear the dulcet tones of Jethro Tull escaping from the rickety door earlier, so I suppose he must be happy.

Mother's just told me that we're to be lumbered with Cousin Eleanor's son Sebastian for the weekend, which isn't great news. Apparently Eleanor's spending a week at a 'fat ass boot camp' and the care of her child is to be shared amongst her close family. Her husband is coming along to ride a bike and shout words of encoragement to her as she tries to scale a small mountain whilst carrying a backpack full of bricks. Mind you, she is a bit of a lard bucket, I can honestly say that I've been a true size 12 for many years now, which is handy because I haven't needed to purchase a great number of new clothes and I can benefit from other's gluttony when I visit the local charity shops. Toodle pip!

The depression, despair and dismay tour

I met Wilf yesterday in central London to attend a walk he'd been recommended by one of his Scout Pack (he's Scoutmaster of the 2nd Gants Hill Branch) - the Depression, Despair and Dismay tour which runs in the empty City of London at the weekend at 2pm sharp. The tour guide, a diminutive scotsman, ironically named Scott Walker (his parents must have either had a canny sense of humour or incredible foresight - who knows?) Anyway, I digress, Scott's apparently an incredible storyteller as well as a former child actor who took his one man rendition of 'Oh What A Lovely War' to war torn Shropshire in the 1980s.

The walk lasted a whole two hours, which made it excellent value at £8 each. Beforehand Wilf managed to squash his egg and pickle sandwiches on the Central Line en route to London so we treated ourselves to a shared 'foot long' baguette from Subway, which we ate from each side, reminicent of the famous scene from Disney's 'Lady and the Tramp' (I'm not prepared to state who was the lady and who indeed was the tramp...)

Scott performed the walk with gusto and we were particularly frightened when he led us down a dark alley where a strange looking gentleman was reading by the light of a lamp in the shape of a skull. He entertained us with tales of bloodshed, deceit and murder in olde London. I particuarly loved his theories about the identity of Jack The Ripper, but Wilf argued against some of his hyphotheses stating that the particular suspects couldn't have possible perpetrated those heinous crimes. Sometimes Wilf is surprising: his sheer knowledge of serial killers is to be admired. After the walk several of the group asked for Scott's autograph and picture, both of which he refused unless they favourably reviewed the walk on TripAdvisor beforehand.

At 4:15pm Wilf and I went a local Wetherspoons for a drink and a bite to eat. We were enjoying our meals when we heard the braying tones of a group discussing the recent changes to the civil service pension scheme. They kept reiterating the point that the civil service didn't deserve such favourable terms but Wilf kept the peace until they started suggesting that 60% of public sector workers should lose their jobs, this is when he had his 'Incredible Hulk' moment and shouted at them that he'd accepted rubbish pay and a life of incredible tedium in return for comfortable conditions and favourable pension rights. He returned to our table red and shaking but he'd shown me the true measure of his passion and devotion and I liked it!

Wilf accompanied me to Charing Cross Station, we shared a chaste kiss and he invited me to his parents' adult baptisms which are taking place on Shoreham Nudist Beach in a fortnight's time. I enquired whether there was a minimum dress code but he assured me that my lycra mix tankini would prove suitable attire.

Emma's new man

Last night Emma invited me to her studio flat to discuss her latest boyfriend, Connor. They met whilst he was carrying out renovations in her office and according to her he's 33, separated from the mother of his twins, Ronnie and Reggie, and works as a jobbing carpenter. She appears smitten, which can only be a bad thing for her as Emma, unlike my good self, wears her heart on her sleeve.

She said that he was 'dreamy looking' and in possession of olive skin, green eyes and a muscular physique, unfortunately he was blessed with rather short legs so he's always grateful that she wears flat shoes whenever they're going somewhere. He refers to his ex, Donna-Marie as 'that cow', which doesn't bode well for Emma and Connor's future as he's clearly rather immature.

I'll be honest here: I've never really liked Emma's past boyfriends as they've always been...well....a little 'common' for my tastes. Take for example Stevie, he worked on a fish stall situated outside the Royal Dauphin pub in Colme Lacey (a dodgy area btw), despite the fact that he showered twice a day, Stevie always carried the aroma of Billingsgate around with him. When they split up (she dumped him because she found that he was slipping the barmaid more than just his electric eel) he posted her a putrid john dory, which just isn't on.

Oh well, two bottles of wine, a pizza and some garlic bread can cheer up the most fractious of evenings. Let's hope it lasts.

My lunch with Wilf

I woke up with a start at 6am this morning: I'd been having a strange dream which included my friend Wilf's double decker bus, a pack of ring doughnuts and some flypaper. Sometimes I think the hormones are doing funny things to my system so I suppose I'd better stop using Mother's old HRT patches....

Anyway, today was my monthly lunch date with Wilf, we went to St James's Park and sat under a shady tree. Wilf remarked that he'd once encountered a colleague called Colin whose main aim in life was to sit at the bottom of the slope in the summer and glance upwards in case he should see a flash of a woman's knickers. Apparently he used to keep a spreadsheet of his finds. Civil Servants are strange people at times.

Wilf invited me to the Civil Service Social Club's annual trip to Hastings which is due to take place in early August. He'd bought two tickets, one for him and the other for his mother, but she's recently developed an aversion to sitting on plush coach seats and as a result, can no longer get full use of her old person's Oyster card.

I must say that Wilf looked especially stylish today - he was wearing his beige suit with the trousers nattily pulled up high onto his slim waist. His hair was also especially thick and lushous, although I'm sure he had a number of bald patches a month ago. When I complemented him on it he said that it was all down to a product called 'Miracle Hair Crop' which his mother had bought via a shopping channel (apparently her allergies don't apply to TV remote controls or credit cards - meow!) After our alloted hour we returned to our respective offices where I'm currently wondering how to back record convert 1568 files...

Whitstable

It's a Sunday morning and rather overcast, so I'd thought I'd treat my reader(s) to an account of my recent trip to the seaside resort of Whitstable.

To those in the know, Whitstable was once a major Oyster port on the North Kent coast and until about 10 years ago or so, was a fairly quiet resort, faintly smelling of fiah, rancid chip fat and boasting a connection with Peter Cushing, a resident of the town in his later years. Unfortunately (or fortunately if you were a property owner...) the place became better known as 'Islington by the Sea', which meant that the moneyed classes snapped up property, opened up art galleries and generally gave the area a bohemian vibe.

My parents and I travelled there on market day (which is basically a rag bag of stalls selling old tat) and had to park a long way away and walk in. We perused the small shops which line Habour Street which sell 'expensive tat' (Mother's words, not mine) and I bought a book about dolphin song from the remaindered bookshop. We had a short visit to the museum, which houses the usual collection of maritime cornucopia such as the figurehead of a ship, some fishing nets and a picture of a giant squid.

To avoid the extortionate prices charged by the various tea shops and cafes, Mother had packed the Thermos flask, which is rather old and smells of old coffee and plastic, so we inched ourselves down onto the pebbly beach and enjoyed our refreshment.

I wonder what the Isle of Sheppey's like?

Caravan of Love?

One of my favourite songs is the Housemartins' 'Caravan of Love' but one of the least favourite holidays I've been on has been the past ten days worth of caravan dwelling. Mother thought that it would be a cheap and easy holiday to hire Mrs Hampstead-Hollingbourne's 3 berth carvan for this year's summer holiday so I, not having much else better to do, agreed. Now, I'm not sure if you've ever been to Seasalter on the Kent Coast, and if you haven't, don't bother, but sadly we did.

Mother was very excited to be staying some 9 miles along the coast from Reculver as she'd heard great things about Seasalte; sadly Mrs H-H's menopausal drugs must have kicked in when she bought the place, because it was truly vile. Seasalter lies on a swamp, populated mainly by sheep. The tide goes out, stays in for five minutes and then disappears for the next few hours or so. Mother was upset that she barely managed to get her new skirted swimsuit wet.

As for the carvan itself, well, it had seen better days. The fold down beds twanged when any weight was put on them, the cooker didn't work and the chemical toilet rumbled all night. There were also a bunch of hooligans staying next door who insisted on revving their motorbikes throughout the day.

Perhaps the highlight of the trip was journeying to neighbouring Whitstable, which I'll tell you more about in tomorrow's post.

The wonderful world of Wilf

I'm not sure I've told you about my good friend at work, Wilf? Well if I haven't, I'm very remiss and do apologise. I first met him whilst working in the now defunct departmental library and we bonded over biscuits and a shared admiration for Harry Beck's innovative tube map. I arranged to meet him for a canteen lunch today and he brought along a new album consisting entirely of photographs of his vintage double decker bus which he houses at the Midlands Motor Museum. Wilf likes nothing more than spending hours on end tinkering with 'Mavis' on his days off, sometimes he jokes 'it's the only time I get to buff off some beautiful bodywork wh an oily rag Margaret!'

I left work at 4pm and decided to replenish my summer wardrobe with some more 'trendy threads'. Isn't it annoying just how long shop assistants spend folding and re-folding clothes? I headed for Covent Garden, as I'd heard that it was very 'hip and happening' there and thought I'd brave the Levi's shop as my hero Gok Wan believes that classic Levi's never date and always look nice. I picked up a size 34/32 and squeezed into the bijou changing 'pod' and conversely extremely embarrassed that I couldn't even do the button up! Oh Margaret, thou est too fat for fashion! Eeek! Headed to good old M&S on Oxford Street after that and found some wonderful capris and a trusty pair of linen mix trousers instead. There's a lot to be said for comfort in this day and age.

A quiet weekend

Oh I do hate football with a passion and surely there's nothing worse than thousands of St George's flags flapping around on cars, hanging off of buildings and generally appearing everywhere? Therefore, I think I'll hibernate for the next month or so.

Things around here are fairly quiet at the moment. I renewed my library books today and I'm thinking of buying a new cardigan to combat the chilly breeze. I'm going to Emma's tomorrow to watch a girlie DVD box set she has and eat butterkist. It should be fun.

The Wooden Rocket League's Weekend Jaunt

I'm writing this from the wifi enabled lounge of the Dorset County Hotel where I'm attending a crown green bowls weekend with Mother's team, The Wooden Rocket League. In fact, this break couldn't have occured at a better time as I'm looking to distance myself from the Mr A breakup scenario at home.

The hotel is breathtaking, it's set in beautiful countryside and has a wide array of sports facilities: 5 tennis courts, 2 swimming pool, 2 squash courts, 1 gymnasium and 10 crown green bowling pitches. The rooms are comfortable and I'm sharing with Mother and Mrs Constantine, a spritely septegenarian. The food's wonderful too and I'm especially enjoying the bizarre array of vegetables which appear at every meal. The 'free wine' available every other night is fantastic and I broke my 2 glass rule last night when Mr Lancaster insisted on purchasing another bottle because it was the anniversary of his wife's disappearance - apparently she was last seen heading towards Selfridges and never returned.

Yesterday's tournament was nail-bitingly close, Mother's an excellent player and she makes a great team with Mr Davis. They beat The Sidmouth Rockets and The Cardiff Cruisers with relative ease but had a more difficult time with the Worcestershire Woods and ended up losing. This afternoon's the final so I was advised to find something to do elsewhere as Mother believes that I am an unlucky omen when I'm half way through my menstrual cycle.

Well, I think I'll go off and have a swim before dinnertime. A strange thing occured last night; I was woken by an owl hooting and when I took a sip of water from the bedside table I noticed that Mother's bed was empty. A suspicious person would draw conclusions from such events as she didn't appear to be using the bathroom but I'm above such things.

The worst lunchtime of my life

Well, I went to lunch today with Mr A and saying that it didn't go too well is a bit of an understatement. We went to the Westminster Cafe, a fun, relaxed and welcoming place which is situated just around the corner from work. He looked a little shifty and couldn't meet my gaze so during the main course I asked him what was wrong, his simple answer was that he'd met someone else whilst travelling to Brussels on business. Apparently her name is Dr Marta Hernandez who holds a PhD in Biological Intelligence and who'll be coming to the UK as a detached national expert from her native Spain.

To say that I was angry would be an understatement, but to keep up appearances both of our sakes, I merely kicked him on the calf several times, causing him to wince. He explained that they'd bonded over the industrial strength coffee in the margins of the meeting and had discovered a mutual love of the work of Antony Gormley, The National Theatre and Mr Bean, Dr Hernandez being somewhat of an Anglophile. He apologized profusely, stating the classic line that it 'wasn't me, it was him'. After ten minutes or so of this I threw my napkin down on the table, hissed that 'he was welcome to her' and stormed out in as ladylike manner as I could.

Back at work I cried for twenty minutes in the ladies loos, pulled myself together and left the office at 4pm. Once home I went straight upstairs and confided in Father who put his arm around me and confided to me that he'd never really liked the sound of Mr A anyway, despite Mother's positive spin on things.

"who'd trust some jumped up grammar school boy called Giles Henry Arbuthnot anyway!" Mother was visably upset and consigned her wedding outfit to the back of the wardrobe once more.
"It's all your fault if the moths consume the raw silk mix Margaret" she said as she stomped out of the room.

As for me, I'm off to bed now, I don't feel sad, I just feel numb. I'm sure it'll pass.

Southford Country Fayre

Well Spring Bank Holiday weekend can only mean one thing in the Southford Social Calendar - the country fayre. Mother and I spent all day yesterday preparing for it, Mother making her 'special' orange marmalade and baking her high fibre health loaf. I stuck to my area of expertise, my award winning rock cakes. Anyway, with Father being very much out of action and being unable to drive Mother decided to take the executive decision of driving the Mondeo; unfortunately she collided with a parked car and once she'd sorted out the insurance details she telephoned her friend Mrs Bennett who offered us all a lift in her aged Ford Escort estate.

We arrived fifteen minutes late so didn't have much time to set up our displays. Mother's arch enemy Mrs Greengrass was stalking around the tent, she's hated by Mother because she once stood in for the judge on the bread competition and cut Mother's loaf at a 45% angle causing it to descend into a pile of crumbs. Luckily, it transpired that she wasn't on the judging panel this year and Mother's former fiance Mr Davis was instead so guess who ended up walking off with first prize?

Mother disappeared into the refreshment tent for a good hour whilst I minded the tombola stall. Very few people won prizes and seemed rather miffed as a result. At 3pm Mrs Bennett approached me and said that she was ready to go if Mother was. We ventured into the refreshment tent and found Mother rather worse for wear on Mr Davis's pear and parsnip wine remenisicing about the old days.

After we'd hauled Mother into the backseat the journey home was fairly uneventful. Mr A had left two messages on my mobile answerphone so I called him back. He seemed rather distant but asked me to lunch on Tuesday as 'we've things to discuss'. I wonder if he's worried about his promotion board?

Back again

Hello everybody, sorry for the delay in writing but my home system suffered a terrible bug which caused me to be offline for a good long while! Anyway, in the interim work's been very busy and Mother's friend from the bowls club, Mrs Pendergrass, sadly passed away last Wednesday and the club decided to give her a good send off by ordering a selection of wreathes shaped like bowls and jacks. Mother was understandably distraught but consoled herself by putting in a sealed bid for Mrs P's set of old woods, she's a canny old lady who likes to play dirty, so sufficed to say those balls will be in her possession by the end of the week.

As a kind of tribute to the late Mrs P and to gain maximum value from the group booking, Mother's asked me to attend the bowls club's annual excursion to Dorset to participate in the 'Wooden Rocket League' in a fortnight's team. Although I know naff all about the game, I'm a quick learner and am looking forward to it already!

The PM has gone....welcoming the new PM....

For important civil servants such as me huge political changes are always exciting, therefore it was a true privilege to be at the centre of events today. I've attended briefing sessions, written notes and have generally immersed myself in the world of policy. I had lunch with two former colleagues today who stated how much they missed my cheerful and witty banter in the office.

Mr A has finalised the date for the trip on the Orient Express - myself, Mr A and his parents will be travelling on a British Pullman steam train on the 9th June. We're to brunch aboard with a four course supper: I for one, cannot wait!

Overnight woes

Oh dear! Confined to my room for the day by Mother for my latest indiscretion - i.e. I stayed out all night and worst of all, lied about whom I was with. Some of you may be thinking 'why's a forty year old woman obeying her mother when there's no real need to do so?' and you'd be right, but she's already given away a bag of my favourite clothes to the Scope shop as punishment and I dread to think what her fevered mind is planning in the longer term.

Let's rewind to the events of last night. I went out with Giles/Mr A to the cinema to see Avatar (over-rated if you ask me...) and of course, the trailers hadn't even finished before he was stroking my cardigan. I firmly and promptly removed his hands and whispered to him to 'sit on them' if he couldn't control his actions. Anyway, after that we went for a meal in an Italian restarant in Soho and enjoyed two pitchers of their house red. Now, as you know, I'm not a huge drinker and it soon went to my head, so when Mr A invited me round to his flat to watch 'Ashes to Ashes' which he'd recorded earlier, I was more than happy to comply.

I rang Mother and told her that I was staying with Emma for the night. She seemed a little suprised and just asked me to call her if I needed anything. Anyway, when we arrived back at Mr A's his flatmate Benji was in residence and seemed a little flustered when he'd finally managed to switch off the DVD he's been watching. He soon retired to his room and Mr A and I watched television whilst drinking Peroni and eating spicy Nik Naks.

Mr A made the bed up for me in his room and slept on the sofa. In fact, he was the perfect gentleman but I was a little surpised to see a copy of 'The Rough Guide to EU Directives' on his bedside table - strange bedtime reading methinks!

In the morning Mr A woke me with a cup of instant tea, which tasted a bit rubbish, but the sentiment was there anyway. He heated a tin of 'All Day Breakfast' for us both to share and made some toast to go with it. He accompanied me back to Charing Cross station and I arrived home about 11am.

Mother was absolutely livid when I walked in the door. Apparently Emma had telephoned at 10am reminding me that I'd promised to help her choose some new net curtains for her lounge. Mother berated me saying that I was a 'lying slattern' and nobody wants to marry a woman who'd 'drop her drawers' in the blink of an eye.

Upset and contrite, I went to my room via Dad's, which suprisingly wasn't locked. We had a long chat about Mother (who'd flounced out in the direction of the Co-op by then) and agreed that she's a very difficult woman to live with at times. We put it down to the fact that she wasn't allowed to carry on with her dancing classes after her own mother sold her ballet shoes. Sad, but true.

Hung Parliament

I'm writing this in the afternoon at work, which is deplorable, but given the events which has unravelled during the last day or so, you can understand why. A hung Parliament - whatever next? I arrived at work to much confusion, apparently the civil service hasn't been this perplexed since 1974, and that's never a good thing. We've received various briefings from our permanent secretary but to date, nothing's really been decided.

My team then decided to take the huge step of going to the pub for a 'liquid' lunch. I ordered half a Peroni but the guys on the team had a 'no halves policy' and made me consume a whole pint. I texted Mr A who came to my rescue at 12:35 and we retired to a smaller pub where he enjoyed a pint of Ruddles and myself, well a Diet Coke sufficed. He asked whether I was free tonight and I replied that I was because Mother was hosting a WI meeting in the knock-through living/dining room which unfortunately means an evening spent in the confines of my room. He brought me a double shot latte coffee five minutes ago which I'm most grateful for - he's such a gent!

Maybe he's 'the one' popular fiction always talks about? He's rather dreamy and best of all, he's been granted an interview for a Grade 6 position next week. I'm very excited, a man who's in possession of a Grade 6 salary can surely be wont of a wife!

Election day blues/reds/yellows

Well, it's an historic day for the UK and Mother and I are watching BBC1 with trepidation. Father's upstairs, he's very tired these days and rarely leaves his room.

I met Mr A'S friend Chas yesterday in the civil service club. Chas is an intelligent gentleman, but he's more than a bit odd: he sports a comb over, a sixties style suit and crocodile skin shoes. He's also had a rather thrilling life, stories from which seem to mirror key plots in Bond movies. Chas stated that he'd been the best man at several weddings and as a result had a database of speeches he can cut and paste from.

I'm getting very tired; I think I'll change into my winceyette nightie before the swingometer starts getting exciting.

Meeting Mrs A

I can't sleep: I've had such an exhilarating day meeting Mr A's Mother, Penelope. It started well, it was a lovely day, albeit slightly overcast as we caught the train to the village of Ashfield where there's a local wildlife sanctuary because Mrs A loves nothing more than communing with owls at the weekend. She met us outside and we sat down in the beautifully decorated restaurant and got to know one another over tea and scones. I was soon chatting away nineteen to the dozen with Mrs A, or 'Penelope' as she likes to be called by everyone bar the milkman 'he takes such liberties Margaret!'

After about an hour, I wandered off to the toilet and as I approached the table on my return I managed to catch the end of their conversation which seemed to include the words 'getting on a bit....beggars can't be choosers and lovely posture' Anyway, we decided to wander around the sanctuary a bit as Penelope sponsors her own European Eagle Owl, Barney, and as a result, is very much a VIP guest there. She joked that Barney would most likely turn up on her doorstep one day seeking refuge! How we all laughed.

After 40 minutes of wandering around looking in various avaries, Mr A or 'Giles Henry Arbuthnot' as his mother correctly calls him suggested that we retire to the Bishop's Mitre public house in the village for a 'flagon of their finest foaming ale'. We had a wonderful time I later pleased to read that the pub had won the coveted 'horse brass collection of the year 1994' award - hurrah!

Giles's father, Frederick joined us later on, apologising that he couldn't make it earlier but he was busy with his grand poo bar duties at the lodge. He'd forgotten to remove his ceremonial apron, but after two halves of Badger's Bottom real ale I was too intoxicated to care. The day ended with Penelope and Frederick inviting us on a lunch aboard the Orient Express in June.

Welcome home Father!

Today is the very day Father is released from hospital, hence why I've taken a day off. At 10am we arrived and by 11am Father was sitting in the back of a taxi with Mother whilst I was riding in the passenger seat next to the strangely bearded driver.

Mother prepared a lovely lunch when we returned, it consisted of Shipham's fish paste sandwiches, mini sausage rolls, cornish pasties, skips and Cadbury's mini rolls. As it was a special occasion she'd purchased a bottle of lambrini bianco to celebrate Father's homecoming which we both consumed with gusto, although Father had to add considerable amounts of lemonade to the wine in order not to interfere with his medication.

After lunch Father went for a sleep in his new room. Mother asked her friend Painter Dan to decorate it and I must say that it looks a treat - the arrows on the wallpaper really give it a homely feel and the linoleum is a great idea for dealing with any spillages. Strangely she's also had a lock fitted, which I queried but she said that Father was 'wont to wander' and this was the safest option.

Oh well, I must get back to dusting the garage this afternoon. The sheer amount of spider's webs have been worrying me for weeks. I'm back at work tomorrow and Saturday heralds my initial meeting with Mr A's fabled Mother....

Sunday

This week hasn't been a good one, firstly Mother made me return all of the goods I purchased on Tuesday, stating I was a 'wastrel'. Sbe then sat me in front of her Microsoft Excel budgetting programme and instructed me to learn the fundamentals by next weekend.

Unfortunately that may not be possible as I'm meeting Mr A's mother next Saturday. I can't say that I'm really looking forward to it, but c'est la vie as the French say.

Father is doing well and may be released in the next couple of weeks. Mother has been having a fair amount of work done on the house in his absence. Today she employed someone to soundproof the shed, which was a bit strange.

Well, I've baked bread this afternoon. I must see if it's doubled in size. Sometimes I think dough is the only thing I'll ever make rise....

Stress is turning me into a shopaholic

Father update: according to Mother, he's doing really well and will probably be released from hospital in the near future. He's asking her to go to Marks and Spencer and buy him a pair of summer slacks for him to wear whilst convalescing, which can only be a good thing!

I'm sure the recent stress is driving me around the bend. Firstly, I just wasn't myself today, I snapped at my colleague Matty and ribbed him mercilessly about his turn ups. I also suprised Mr A with a bottle of wine and two plastic glasses at lunchtime when we ventured to a sunny St James's Park. The wine was potent; the sun was hot which made me feel rather odd. We took a turn around the lake and I grabbed Mr A and kissed him passionately by the wartime kitchen garden tableau, which surprised him somewhat, but he didn’t complain too loudly!

Back in the office I decided to clean out my desk drawer by hurling all of my information management manuals into the paper recycling and re-arranged my stationery in my pencil palace. Mr A bought me a strong coffee at 2:30pm, which was nice of him!

This evening I decided to throw caution to the wind and go on a shopping spree to the west end. I went a bit crazy and bought a new jersey jacket from Next (£38), a black leather bag from Jones the Bootmaker (£120) and a pair of silver Mayari Birkenstocks (£49!) To top it off, I went to McDonalds where I consumed a huge chocolate milkshake, came home, logged on and spent more money online – a Boden Bag if you please!

I’m locking up my credit card and am going to bed now. Mother will go mad when she finds out as she always goes through my monthly accounts with a fine toothcomb to ensure that I’m not wasting my salary on ‘fripperies’ – what would she say?

The awful truth

The events of last Tuesday have left the whole of the Weaver family in shock. Father had suffered a minor heart attack whilst attending, what I can only describe as 'an orgy of filth and decadence'. His argument was that he had an ongoing back problem since falling off a pedalo in Great Yarmouth in 1987 and the NHS had failed him, hence he'd been attending Marilyn's Massage Parlour for stilletto based acupuncture. Mother's a tolerant woman, but it's more than she can stand.

Father's still in hospital but she's busy turning the smallest bedroom into a place where he can recuperate. I've moved the large computer into the dining room and we've purchased some lovely nets for privacy. Mother was too distraught to visit Father today and decided to watch pre-recorded editions of the QVC Birkenstock shows instead so I went alone. He looked old, tired and sad in his winceyette pyjamas (with a drawstring waist, anything else just falls down according to Mother). It was a lovely day but Father just stared out of the window in despair. "What on earth must she think of me?" was his refrain, but I couldn't answer truthfully. Time is a great healer so they say, but will it be enough for Mother and Father's fractured marriage?

Shocked to the core

I’m sorry if I haven’t written a great deal on my blog during the last few days, but things have been a bit crazy. Father’s absences from the home continue to mystify Mother and it makes the whole atmosphere rather poisonous to say the least.

I can report that I took a day’s annual leave yesterday so that Mother and could bond over a lovely coach trip to sunny Eastbourne. We boarded our luxury Setra triple axel coach outside the library and journeyed in comfort to the south coast. We brought a Tupperware container full of hard boiled eggs and were able to eat them in the comfort of the cafeteria at the motorway services. A man wearing a nylon tracksuit tried to befriend us whilst we were strolling along the promenade, the strange thing is that he was one of the coach party. He very soon realised that when Mother and I say ‘no’ that we really mean it and the next thing we saw was him trying to build a sandcastle using a plastic trowel and a chipped mug.

We went home where I wrote the first draft of this post. At 9pm two police officers turned up at the door. I’m too upset to continue writing at this present, but sufficed to say that these are the bleakest days the Weaver household has ever had to contend with since my paternal Great-grandfather tried to avoid conscription by sailing out onto the Solent on a makeshift raft. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful in his quest as they captured him and he later faced a firing squad.

Pre election fun

I'm confined by the Civil Service Code, so I can't say a great deal. Sufficed to say if a wider audience knew of my plans to revolutionise the world of electronic filing then they'd be rather excited, but I'm electronically redacting myself as I type.

Myself and Mr A went shopping in the West End this afternoon for our respective summer wardrobes. Mr A decided to purchase two pairs of chinos in a size 38/32 from Marks and Spencer. He bought me a new stripey cardigan and a floaty scarf, both of which I absolutely adore.

To round off the evening we went for a meal in Pizza Hut. I feel that we bonded over the Farmhouse Supreme and when he put his hand in mine and told me how much he cared. His mother's coming to visit next weekend from Guildford and he wants me to meet her. I'm a little scared to be honest, from the picture he showed me of his graduation she closely resembled Clarissa Dickson-Wright and was sporting a pair of enormous walking boots and a jumper decorated by large yellow teddy bears. I'm quaking in my ballet flats already.

Easter in Reculver

Mother, Father and I piled into the Mondeo estate on Friday and headed towards Herne Bay. Now we're huge fans of the place as we've a static caravan at nearby Reculver (home of the Roman fort which was originally 12 miles inland coastal fact fans!) Unfortunately the clientele of the caravan park has gone downhill in recent years and it's full of what Mother calls 'Feralchavs'. Anyway, our caravan is plush and cosy and we've just invested in a new chemical toilet so all's well on that front.

I had lunch with Mr A on Thursday afternoon where he asked if he could pop down for a day and join us and I thought 'why not?' so threw caution to the wind and invited him. Father picked him up from the station at 12pm on Saturday and we decided to splash out on a pub lunch at the King Elthelbert public house as we'd heard good things about the mixed grill. Mr A charmed Mother and Father by intervening when a group of youths were trying to rip the aerial off of the Mondeo, which impressed the former more than the latter.

After lunch Mr A and I decided to walk along the cliff, it was very windy but he'd brought along a spare balaclava helmet for myself, which was rather sweet of him. We stopped on a bench for a rest and shared the flask of coffee which Mother had thoughtfully packed and a pack of six hot cross buns. Mr A declared that he was "getting dangerously fond of me" and tried to kiss me, unfortunately this coincided with a seagull trying to peck the remnants of his currant bun from his hands, failing to do so and biting his thigh instead. I'll say this for Mr A, he didn't complain, but we hobbled back to the caravan for an application of Savlon and a plaster.

The day concluded with a lovely dinner of Ginster's steak slices and chips from the local fish and chip shop - Mr A even decided to choose a side order of mushy peas! Prior to catching his train Mr A and I we dropped off on the Herne Bay seafront and decided to spend an hour playing Flipper Winner (a 2p arcade game which includes mechanical pushers and the facilitity to flip a coin.) He was rather good and made his £2.26 last longer than mine!

As I waved him off on the train I smiled, it had been a good day.

Appraisals and Mother's apple pie

Today was appraisal day so I sat down with Julia, my line manager at 11am for a chat about the past year's work. Now don't get me wrong, Julia's a lovely woman but in my honest opinion she's not really as dedicated as she could be because she's a part-timer and loves to ramble on about how difficult it is to get quality childcare and more boringly, the price of nappies! Anyway, that being said, she was happy with my performance and gave me some excellent feedback which I'll be incorporating into my next application for an HEO post. I decided to bring along my lever arch file which contained my detailed plan for improving the Department's current filing structure, but after five minutes Julia apologised and said that she had to attend a middle manager's huddle meeting.

Whilst Mother was straining the custard Father decided to unload himself to me about how unhappy he was. I half listened but kept thinking that if he'd completed the wood turning course then he'd have much more to do with himself and wouldn't have to rely on his evening jaunts to the public house!

Mother's home made apple pie was as scrumptious as normal - she's a marvel! Her unique blend of bramley apples, cinnamon and brown sugar really make my evening. Mr A telephoned me at 8:30pm, Mother was a little cross because she was unhappy at the thought people ringing after 7pm as she always believes it to be one of those 'dirty' phone calls which her friend, Mrs Leadbetter, always seems to receive on the last Wednesday of the month. Sometimes I think the world is a very strange place indeed!

The delights of Holloway

I met Mr A outside Holloway Road tube station at 10:30, he was wearing a pair of jeans and a brightly coloured North Face anorak, so he was easy to spot. Despite looking up the location on Google maps and thinking it was a bit icky, I was pleasantly suprised by the amount of urban regeration which was going on.

We walked a few streets to Mr A's flat which is located in a six storey local authority block. I held my breath was we entered the communal hallway but apart from the slight smell of concrete, disinfectant and sawdust there was nothing ontoward happening and I didn't spot any 'hoodies' smoking their 'crack pipes' or 'Meow Meow'!

Mr A's flat was located on the third floor and it was much tidier and somewhat roomier than I'd imagined. The furniture consisted of two Ikea light blue sofas, a coffee table and a slightly stained beige carpet. The room was also populated by two bookcases bursting with Penguin Classics and peppered with a selection of native American statues (Mr A's flatmate's contribution I believe!)

Mr A made a cup of tea and we started chatting about our plans for the day, he said he would have liked to take me to the local pub, The Flask and Cask, but sadly it had been closed down due to being a venue for illegal dog fights. As it was raining, we decided to watch the entire TV series of 'Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy' which I haven't seen in years and was fairly good as I recall.

Mr A had prepared a lovely lunch consisting of a Dr Oetkger pizza, a scrumptous salad, a chocolate gooey dessert and washed down with a classy bottle of Chablis. As we were watching Slartibardfast's plans for the Norweigian Fjords, Mr A started to inch towards me, having sipped two glasses of wine I was feeling a bit light headed, but that didn't stop me inching the other way. This state of affairs continued throughout the next episode until I said 'not yet, it's far too early for that kind of thing!' Luckily he respected my views, sighed and inched towards the other arm rest.

At 6pm I decided to head home, Mr A travelled with me to Charing Cross where he saw me safely onto my train. I promised to ring him when I'm safely home.

Myself and Mr A

As regular readers are no doubt aware the relationship between Mr A and myself is chugging along nicely. He's invited me to his flat on Saturday, so armed with a copy of the London A-Z and TfL's JourneyPlanner I'm confident of finding the place. Apparently he lives near Holloway Road, which is a 'vibrant urban area' so I'm reliably informed by a website entitled 'daplacetobeinlondon.com'.

Mr A told me that his flatmate Benjamin will be out and about enjoying a 'Dungeons and Dragons' extravaganza in South Acton so he won't be bothering us. I'm not sure if that's good news or not!

Emma called me tonight and rabbited on for ages about poor customer service and the fact that her mother keeps on going on about how great her brother is. Fair enough if he indeed was, but he's a bit of a flibberdigibit and no mistake, you only had to read his school reports to know that!

I'm off to bed now, I've a busy day in the morning organising the annual conference of database filing officers. If last year is anything to go by, it should be a hoot!

Interview woes

I received a letter today stating that I hadn't been successful in applying for the briefing HEO post and as a result I wasn't even been offered an interview. Clearly I was annoyed but Mr A took me for a coffee to console me.

Budget day today, more cuts in the Civil Service planned. I hope I don't have to move out to the sticks - I've heard that it's difficult to get online in the countryside.

I'm currently watching a programme about bread but it's boring me somewhat. I think I'll go to bed soon - it's been one of those days. Father's out again.

What happens in the Cotswolds should stay in the Cotswolds

As regular readers of my blog may be aware I visited the Cotswolds this weekend via a very reasoably priced coach trip, accompanied by my friend Emma. Here are some of the high and lowlights of the past few days:

Highlights:

- The toilets at Thurrock Services were both plentiful and spotlessly clean
- Burford had a charming river and I managed to purchase a green crochet tea cosy in the shape of a toad for Mother
- The matching bed linen and curtains in the hotel room
- Friday night's dinner - chicken casserole with a selection of vegetables
- Ron the coach driver's rendition of 'Rhinestone Cowboy' at the 'entertainment night' on Saturday evening

Lowlights:

- The constant rain on Friday which seeped into my chips
- Being squashed by the selfish person in the coach seat in front of me's reclining seat; remonstrating with him and being called 'a boot ugly despot' in response
- Being splashed with disgustingly smelly stagnant water by an angry penguin in Birdland
- Emma for 1) snoring loudly and 2) stealing the last teabag in the hotel room
- Ron the coach driver's lewd comments about his former career as a male stripper conveyed to a shocked audience after his fifth whiskey
- Ron's sausage related banter at the breakfast table

Apart from that, I must say that I enjoyed my weekend immensely and am planning to book another trip with another company after I've penned my letter of complaint to Ever Ready Ron's Coach Tours Ltd.

Promotions, Birkenstocks and fillet steak

Good news - a job's come up as an HEO in a briefing section and Mr A's helping my apply. I went to see them today, they seemed friendly and smelt pleasant, which is always a bonus where I work.

Went home and found Mother cooking fillet steak and chips - yum! We enjoyed the Meat Market's finest and wound down over a sinful glass of Mateus Rose. Mother said that Father's been rather distracted of late and that his friend, Mr Babcock has suggested that he leave the crown green bowling team because of an incident which occured last week. Mother's far too loyal to go into further details, but I was worried on her behalf.

I decided to jump onto the laptop after undertaking the washing up with renewed vigour. I'm after a pair of Birkenstock Rio sandals for Mother and try as I might, the website never seems to stock her size but tonight was different - they did! Hurrah! Ordered a pair forthwith. I'm looking forward to the hours of comfort they'll give her, especially considering her fallen arches and dodgy foot.

A day out with Emma

Prior to next week's trip to the Cotswolds Emma and I decided to meet up for lunch in London, we went to Wetherspoons where we enjoyed the two meals for £7.00 offer. Over a bottle of very reasonable wine we discussed the trip amongst other things. Emma lives with her boyfriend Stephen who's she's sure is up to no good. Granted, he's a good looking man but she's sure he's using his Facebook account to get in contact with old girlfriends as is incredibly common amongst his age group (so I read in the newspapers!) We also talked about Mr A and my forthcoming visit to his flat, Emma told me to beware and to ring her should anything get out of hand!

We then ventured out to the Cartoon Museum where we spent a good hour looking around their exhibition - I'd highly recommend a trip there to anybody. We travelled back home together and I secured a seat in the third carriage from the front of the train - all the better for lining myself up against the exit!

I returned home to a warming Fray Bentos pie which Mother informs me are on offer for the princely sum of £1 in Netto at the moment. She confided in me that she feels as if Father's hiding something as she smelt some stale perfume on his tank top the other day. I reassured her that it probably wasn't the case and suggested that it may be her imagination working overtime. Seriously though, I'm worried - I may follow him one of these nights.

The romance of the south bank

How did my date with Mr A go last night you may ask? Well, let me tell you - it was very enjoyable.

We left work early and moseyed on down to the south bank where we indulged in a few games of tenpin bowling. I was pleased that I didn't have to wear a pair of special shoes with your size emblazoned on the back because I have rather large feet! Mr A was rather a good bowler and managed to knock down a number of strikes and spares, he was a gentleman though and let me win a few games!

We then went for a meal at an Italian type restaurant which faces the Thames and had a lovely time, we ordered a carafe of house red and really kicked back and enjoyed ourselves. Mr A told me that he was hoping for promotion to Grade 6 - a job dealing with the European Earthworm Preservation Directive was up for grabs and because of his previous experience dealing with the Straight Cucumber Directive he was in a good position to apply. I did giggle when I thought of Mr A and all of those straight cucumbers and he replied that he was continually amused by the strange things which took place in Brussels and regaled me with a story of a colleague who was mugged whilst getting money out of a cashpoint at midnight in a red light district of the city!

We walked back hand-in-hand to Charing Cross station where Mr A ensured I caught my train. He invited me over to his flat in a couple of weeks time ostensibly to listen to his various Monty Python albums and drink his collection of Bulgarian wine. I accepted but made a mental note to wear an all-in-one body shaper that particular day which even Harry Houdini would find difficult to get out of!

I'm really looking forward to my weekend away in the Cotswolds next week. I've packed my wash bag already and am looking forward to using a Corby trouser press for the first time since September 2008. I adore coach tours, I can't bear driving, it's great value and my fellow travellers are always so much fun!

Cost benefit analysis

I attended an economics seminar at work today and it really got my thinking about the way I'm living my life. Take for example my shoes, I worked out a formula which could preserve the life of my sole and heels for a while longer - by taking longer strides!

I'm also going to spend part of the weekend making an inventory of my wardrobe and working out how the price paid for an M&S cardigan in 2010 (£18) and if it was worn every Tuesday for two years (minus the cost of how much each specific wear costs (minus a portion of electrity, water, washing liquid and fabric softener so here goes:

CardieValue = 18.00 % 104 + 0.07 + 0.03 + 0.1 + 0.0000002

I was so excited by the prospect of saving a considerable sum of money in future that I immediately told Father, whose churlish response was to sigh loudly, put on his slip on shoes and leave the house. I'm writing this an hour later and he still hasn't returned.

I've now finished my cocoa and am off to bed. Tomorrow's another fun filled day - Mr A is treating me to an evening out - he's got a Kray Twins walk booklet which he's been 'dying' to test out - tee hee!

A Sunday at Eleanor's

Cousin Eleanor asked me over for Sunday lunch so much as I love to partake in Mother's weekly foray into a Bernard Matthews turkey roast, I was happy to accept. I walked the 3.3 miles there (the quickest route being souced via MultiMap!) because I haven't driven since I crashed Father's Austin Allegro into a supermarket trolley in 1998. It was also a lovely day and my word, I need the exercise.

Eleanor and her husband John were in fine form, young Sebastian was busy watching 'Thomas and Friends' on TV whilst consuming a bowl of salty snacks. I've read that young children shouldn't be exposed to too much television and their salt intake should be strictly rationed, but I didn't say anything.

I removed my new Birkenstocks which I'm currently wearing with thermal socks until the weather improves. After much deliberation I decided to plump for the 'Rio' style which encompasses the width strap of the 'Madrid' with the addition of another strap to ensure that the shoe adheres to the foot at all times - a must if you're a commuter like me - 'Mind the Gap!' Eleanor cheekily said that they looked like her Mother-in-Law's orthapedic sandals - hmmm!

John had roasted an enormous chicken and we sat around the table to enjoy his efforts. His potatoes were amazing and the size of his parsnips left nothing to the imagination! We drank wine: Hardy's Nottage Hill to be specific and it was rather splendid. I became a little squiffy and we were soon laughing about Eleanor's mother's dress sense - apparently she still wears a fleece embossed with rubberised sheep!

I was a little annoyed when Sebastian threw one of my Birkenstocks in the rubbish bin but otherwise it was a lovely day, especially when he gave us some much needed peace by having an afternoon nap. I spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the Virgin 'on demand' TV service - Mother and Father are far too mean to take out a package of their own, but it's always nice to be able to watch my favourite pop music videos time and time again whilst I'm visiting other people.

At 5pm it was time to go; Father picked me up on his way back from visiting an old colleague. Tea is always a pleasant occasion - Mother bought a new jar of Shipham's fish paste for us all to enjoy.

An evening with John Barrowman

Mother and I are taking a break from our evening watching her Christmas present: the DVD of 'An Evening With John Barrowman'. We've settled down with a large box of custard tarts (with extra nutmeg!) and two snowballs, which I admit is a bit naughty, but it is a Friday! Father is out, he often leaves the house in the evenings these days, Mother blames his 'restless legs' but I have my own theory on things - I think he's sneaking off to the Rodent and Racehorse for a sneaky pint!

I must say that Mr Barrowman's on fine form tonight, he's entranced his audience with his showvoice versions of 'Don't stop me now' and 'Help Yourself' although his rendition of 'Rhinestone Cowboy' was particularly inspired, especially the dance. I did find myself welling up when he showed slides of his various pet dogs past and present because it reminded me of when Nipper disappeared all of those years ago.

Must go - Mother's just returned from the toilet.

Phew!

I wasn't told off today - apparently my previous exemplary work record stood me in good favour.

The highlight of today was the arrival of my new Birkenstock Rio sandals. Amazon are very reasonable for these rather special shoes and I've taken to wearing them with socks around the house. I can't wait until I can wear them to the visit the library - NB must renew my books. You'll be pleased to learn that I was awarded the borough's bookworm award for reading the most amount of fiction books back in 1984, I've still got the certificate hanging on my bedroom wall.

Alan Carr is on in 35 minutes - hurrah!

A lineside fire stops travel

Lineside fires - don't you just love them? They stop you getting into work though and that's always dreadful. I missed two important meetings today and worst of all a deadline due to IT problems. I feel bad and imagine I'll be hauled over the coals tomorrow.

Am off to sulk into my candlewick bedspread....

John Barrowman - what a waste?

Just a reminder to myself to tape Alan Carr: Chatty Man on Thursday night as John Barrowman is one of the guests. Now, I think you'll agree with me that Mr B is a fine figure of a man even if he 'bats for the other side'. He's got perfect hair, luminous skin and even white tombstone teeth. I never watch anything he's in because I find him incredibly annoying, but he's nice to look at!

As a result, I've cut out the article about him from yesterday's Mirror magazine and have placed it in my 'Hunk Scrapbook' along with pictures of other handsome specimens such as George Clooney, Daniel Craig and Jeremy Clarkson.

A lunchtime date

When I arrived in the office this morning there was an Outlook calendar invitation entitled 'Lunch - somewhere nice?' waiting for me sent by Mr A. I accepted it and we met at 12:03 precisely in the road behind the building. Mr A was in a cheerful mood, the European Directive he'd been working hard on had been passed by a number of Member States and as a result he'd been awarded a bottle of Pomagne to mark this achivement so he was keen to share his good fortune.

We journeyed to the local Pizza Express which is a nice place, but the acoustics are flipping awful! Mr A was expansive, he told me to 'order anything' off of the main course menu because he had a 2for1 voucher. I duly ordered a special and we drank Peroni and finished with a yummy dessert. As you're probably aware, I'm no drinker, so the 5.3% alcohol content went straight to my head and I found it rather intoxicating to be honest.

After finishing with coffee we took a walk around the park, which was exceedingly verdant due to the excessive amount of rain which we'd been experiencing earlier. Mr A talked about his plans for refurbishing his flat and I must confess that my mind wandered onto Mr A's dress sense: he was wearing a faded pair of lovat cords, a plaid shirt, a red tie and boat shoes. I wonder if I could take him on a trip to good old Marks in the near future?

When we returned to the office the remainder of the afternoon passed in a haze - unusually I wasn't quite as vigilant on approving files as I normally am and let a folder go through without following my five step strategy. My friend Sarah saw me at the tea point later and noted my flushed face - "are you ok?" she enquired. Am I ok or am I keener on Mr A than I previously thought? Only time will tell!

The drunken shame of a fortysomething

I suppose you're keen to find out what happened at last night's birthday meal? Well, let me say that I took a day's sick leave today to recover and it's the first and indeed the last time I ever take a day off to nurse a hangover.

Father drove myself, Mother, Auntie and cousin Eleanor in the new 7 seat Hyuandai car (complete with leather seats!) and we arrived at the Bienvida restaurant in good time. We were met by my friend Emma and her sister Fiona, so a girlie night out for all of us. Now, I don't know if you've ever been to the Bienvida but it's a bit like stepping back in time, there's anagylipa wallpaper adorning the walls, thick dralon curtains, peach tablecloths and napkins folded in various formations. The waiters were attentive and the set menu very reasonable.

We ordered the 'Thursday Thriller' which consisted of a choice of soups or prawn cocktail for starter, lamb, steak or vegetable medley for main and a selection of desserts from the sweet trolley to follow - all this for the princely sum of £12.99 per person! We also purchased two bottles of wine for the table, one white, one red. It didn't take long before cousin Eleanor was guzzling back the wine and laughing like a drain - I exchanged some fierce looks with Emma, she's well aware of Eleanor's past history, especially the 'Christmas Fiasco'.

The conversation at the table was lively - we discussed whether Gordon Brown enjoys collecting stamps and the legacy of the credit crunch, however this free and easy ambiance wasn't enough for Eleanor who'd ordered another bottle of wine, much to the disgust of Mother. Eleanor then proceeded to go to the bar and order a few additional drinks, a pitcher of strange coloured liquid and some 'shots'.

Now the rest of the evening was a bit of a blur - I do recall pinching a waiter's behind and singing 'I will survive' at the top of my voice. Emma also left at some point after being rather shocked by the amount of alcohol which had been imbibed. I think I had a conversation about Mr A with Eleanor at some point because she asked me if he was a good kisser and I replied that I wouldn't know if he was or not! She then decided to start singing 'Like A Virgin' at full volume until Mother silenced her with a rather barbed comment which I'm loathe to repeat.

The next thing I remember was being put to bed and the room spinning....

Today I am 40

Yes, it's happened, I'm now a 40-year-old spinster but I don't feel too bad about it! Woke at 7am by Mother carrying a tray containing a large cup of tea and an enormous cake fashioned out of Mr Kipling's finest cakes. There were slabs of country fruit cake, French Fancies and Battenberg cakes all fashioned into a large mass by mother's impressive ribbons of icing. She'd written 'Happy Birthday Margaret, 40 years yg' When I asked her why the last word was somewhat deficient in letters she replied that 'the icing was running out and she hadn't time to make any more.'

I sipped my tea and ate a slice of cake, both of which were scrummy and discussed plans for the day. As you already know, I'm going out for the day with my cousin Eleanor in London whilst Mother is keen to get her hair re-set at the pensioners' special, which is only available on Thursdays between the hours of 11:15 and 12:05.

Mother gave me my presents which consisted of the following items purchased from M&S: 6 pairs of opaque tights, a tshirt with a daringly low neckline, a bronze satchel and a ceramic biscuit barrel in the shape of the pig which makes an 'oink!' noise when one lifts the lid. I thanked Mother profusely for my lovely gifts.

At 10 am precisely I met Eleanor at the local station. I was keen to ensure that Eleanor took full advantage of the Gold card discount I could provide for her one day travelcard (a saving of £2.20!) I also managed to pick up a 2for1 London booklet and we used it to gain a discount on the Handel House Museum (HHM).

The HHM is a strange place, the woman on the reception desk was in a neck brace and therefore couldn't move her neck to gesture where the entrance was, which was rather confusing! We finally took the lift up to the house and enjoyed wandering around the various rooms. Whilst we were in there another visitor was invited to 'leave his rucksack at reception' and another asked to play Handel's pianoforte - the cheek! After 2 hours Eleanor was clearly bored and I had ensured that I'd eked all possible value from our tickets and we duly departed.

We ended up in the Civil Service Club again and Eleanor was keen to order a pint of Peroni for herself but it was orange juice all the way for me. Whilst there she spotted a friend of her husband's, George and they chatted about 'the good old days of the civil service when everyone used to get tipsy at lunchtime'. Now call me a prude but that behaviour is deplorable!

After 2 pints we all left as George had an appointment with the Minister and Eleanor and I journeyed to the National Portrait Gallery, we had a lovely time wandering around before it was time to go and catch the train.

I'm really looking forward until tonight!

My last day of being 39

I'd like to say that it was a good day, but sadly it wasn't. I attended a group meeting of all of the Records Managers in the Department but there weren't enough PowerPoint slides to keep my interest. There wasn't even any refreshments either - I recall a time when ALL meetings included a selection of coffee, teas and biscuits, those days have long gone!

It rained pretty much all day, the only highlight was popping to Sainsbury's at lunchtime to purchase some apples and a multipack of salt and vinegar crisps for my office drawer. At just £1 for 6 bags this represents excellent value.

Walking back from the station I had to run to avoid the numerous puddles which lined the side of the main road. I nearly got caught by a double decker bus!

Ho, hum - off to bed in a minute because I want to get an early night tonight. I'm off to London with my cousin tomorrow. I'm hoping to take advantage of the London 2for1 offers which abound. I quite fancy visiting the Freud museum.

Not sure what's been planned for tomorrow night but Mother told me to be ready at 8pm and to wear something 'smartish' (isn't she aware that I don't own any clothes I would deem 'scruffy'? I fear it's a trip to a local restaurant, but I'll let you know tomorrow night if I'm not too squiffy!

Records Management

I'm home bright and early today because I attended a 'Records Management Workshop' which took place in our records store based in Croydon. In many ways Croydon would be an ideal place to live - it's served by a huge array of trains, is located in zone 5 and best of all, one of the opening sequences of the fabulous TV comedy 'Terry and June' was filmed at the Whitgift Centre!

Anyway, I digress. I take my job as records manager very seriously indeed and love deleting incorrectly or inapropriately named files. Someone once unkindly called me a 'jobsworth' and a 'filing nut' but when I do a job, I like to do it right! Therefore it's always pleasant to meet up with fellow RMs and find out their 'tricks of the trade' so to speak. The highlights of the day were the trip around the 'marked for burning files' and the sandwich lunch, which is always pleasant.

Whilst on the train home I switched on my mobile. Many people would take the mickey out of my telephone because it dates back to 2002 but my mantra is 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it' and I can confirm that the the Nokia 3210's a wonderful handset. I keep it spick and span by carrying it around in a sandwich bag and refusing to switch it on until absolutely necessary. I adhere to a strict 'pay as you go' system and don't have voicemail. Some may get annoyed by this but I don't see why I have to pay to pick up other's messages.

My handset beeped and lo and behold, there was a text from Mr A. He apologised for not being around this week but he's stuck in a series of meetings in Brussels. Last week on our date he tried to explain the history behind the European Union but I must confess that I found it rather tedious and started to drift off. He assured me that he'll steal a showercap from the hotel for me (I said that Mother likes to keep her seedlings warm with them!) and that we'll definately meet up next week.

A quiet weekend?

Question: is there such a thing as a quiet weekend these days? Answer: no, not if you live in our house. Mother and Father had left at 7am - ostensibly to miss the traffic en route to their craft fayre extravaganza in Crawley. They were showcasing their unique brand of life sized plaster models of cats - Father's a whizz with a brush and some Humbrol enamel paint!

I thought I'd have a lie in until about 8:15am but this was rudely cut short when I heard shouting, hollering and car doors slamming eminating from next door's driveway - it was their version of family Sunday once more. Now, from reading this blog you'll be aware that I'm not a person to judge my fellow man but the Macpherson-Webb family (MW for short) aren't really 'our' kind of peeople.

Mr MW favours wearing vests all year round and has a fantastic array of tattoos adorning his torso and lower legs (I haven't seen any other parts of his body exposed so he may be further inked - who knows?) Mrs MW (if you can call her that, I believe the term used to be common law) likes wearing sportswear purchased from the local market teamed with scuffed plastic stilletto heels. Both partners are loud, foul mouthed and smoke at least 40 cigarettes per day and consume a great deal of alcohol (I've checked their recycling box for evidence.) They have four children named: Beffany (sic - yes that is the correct spelling), Tyrowne, Saffire and Tweezle who range in age from 15 down to 3 and have unique characteristics all of their own.

By 10am four more cars were parked haphazardly along the road and their 'get together' was in full swing. My walls reverberated with the sounds of their 60 inch plasma TV's speakers belting out their games console kareoke game. Honestly, the MW version of 'The Greatest Love of All' is one performance which is somewhat unforgettable - for all the wrong reasons!

At 3pm Mrs MW served up her 'all day breakfast special' which she'd cooked on the instant BBQ to her hungry hoard. Smoke billowed out of the filthy contraption and I was forced to bring the cat in, lest her fur should smell of carbonated pig fat.

I am writing this now at 5:30pm having put up with the thumping and banging which has been occuring all day. I would surmise that Mr and Mrs MW's superking bed is now rather less springy than it once was because of the sheer amount of bouncing which has occured on it today. In some ways this is a blessing - I had been wanting to complain about their disgusting carry on during last year's power cuts - it makes me sick to the stomach!

My 40th birthday looms even closer - Thursday's the big day....

'Eat me' dates

Well, I've eaten a good dinner as my mother would say and I'm sitting here typing up the events of last night's date. I was somewhat disappointed that Mr Average had 'too much month at the end of the money' and as a result, didn't have enough to even go halvsies on a Wetherspoons Grill Club special so we ended up going to the civil service club instead. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't mind the place and to be honest my cousin even held her wedding reception there but it's not as cheap as it was, much to Mr A's chagrin!

We chose a seat near the door and scanned the clientele - they ranged from porters to fully blown officials but one thing was clear, they were more than a little odd - one gentleman was blatantly sticking his hands into his pockets in a gesture which I believe is known as 'pocket billiards' and there was a group of colleagues who looked as though they were rejects from Top Of The Pops in the 1970s! There was also a rather lovely comb over which was carefully arranged on top of the man's head to conceal his increasing baldness.

After two white wine spritzers I started to loosen up. Mr A was being as amusing as he usually was in the office - quoting lines from Monty Python and enthralling me with his knowledge of pretty much anything (I'd imagine he's a whizz on a quiz team!) I appriased his appearance: sandy coloured hair, blue eyes and a clear complexion. He's tall though, which is always a bonus because I'm a strapping 5ft 9incher. His dress sense could improve though, so if we hit it off I'll take him along to M&S, Next and Burton and try to improve his wardrobe.

At about 21:15 I decided that it was time to go home - after all mother does worry if I'm out too late and Mr A decided to walk me back to Charing Cross Station. Whilst waiting for the 21:39 he tried to kiss me, now I've no problems with holding hands with friends in public but I do baulk at public displays of affection, especially on Tuesday nights in February, so I gently pushed him away. I don't think he minded though because he grinned and said he'd see me at work the next day. Whilst on the train I ruminated on the evening just passed, it had been fun but was it really 'living?' After all, I am turning 40 next week....

Waiting in vain?

Tonight's the night of my date with my colleague - let's just call him 'Mr Average'. I'm looking forward to it and have worn a polyester non crease skirt to ensure that I look daisy fresh when we rendezvous at 5:30pm. We going to the Jolly Pig, a Weatherspoons nearby because Tuesday's their 'Grill Club' (the only thing you should know about Grill Club is that you don't talk about Grill Club' - tee hee, a little film based humour to lighten the day!

Grill Club is rather yummy, you've many options to choose from via their impressive menu. I tend to plump for an 8oz sirloin with a glass of red wine to really ensure that I get my full value from the offer but we may be able to invest in the 2 steaks and a bottle of wine - bliss. The other thing I like about Weatherspoons is their fine array of fake books on the wall, which is always pleasant.

I do hope that he doesn't try and kiss me as I've had a corned beef sandwich for lunch and despite consuming a number of mints, the aftertaste isn't going away. Saying that, we may end the date on a firm handshake, which is always enjoyable to both parties.

A perfect picnic

Today is Mother's birthday and I have taken a day's annual leave to help her celebrate it. She refuses to state the year she was born but I'm guestimating it to be 1946 to coincide with Grandpappy's return from the war, it could be earlier if you took heed of to the gossip at the time as it was said that Grandmammy never wanted for chocolate or nylons. Anyhow, Mother's a woman who's keen on picnic lunches to off we duly set off in Father's new car to the dockside shopping centre to whet our appetite so to speak.

Now I love Marks and Spencer - they have a fantastic selection of acrylic knitwear in a myriad of colours which really flatter a woman nearing her 40th birthday. I also like the way in which they're easy to wash and wear and don't need a great deal of shaving with my Remington fuzz away. I purchased a new cardigan for the princely sum of £12, it's chocolate brown with satin buttons which will look rather snazzy with my new corduroy skirt. I adore cord it's both warm and will never date, which is always a bonus, although it does wear out around the bottom if one's a prodigious walker.

After two hours of wandering around the shopping centre we were all hungry so we retired to the car and drove to our normal picnic place overlooking the docks. Sadly the bridge was closed so we were forced to drive some 10 minutes and park in front of an empty lagoon. The picnic was fantastic - spam and egg sandwiches, mini pork pies, slices of quiche and crisps. I'd made some of my famous mince pies and we sat and munched together in companionable silence. I love drinking coffee from a flask and especially enjoy the way that everything slightly tastes of plastic, why oh why can't we purchase tartan flasks any longer? It's aluminium all the way now - pah!