A Very Margaret Christmas

This morning, to ready myself for the Christmas season, I went out and bought a four pinter of milk.  If you're aware of my shopping habits then you'll know that I always choose the carton with the longest 'use by' date, even if that means that I don't receive my first choice of fat content.  For example: today's milk was the 0.5% fat version, which I absolutely despise, but needs must.

What am I doing for Christmas?  Well, it's me, Father and his friend, 'Uncle' Bernie, who tends to drink pints of stout, wear stained vests and scratches his genitals during The Queen's Speech.  He last visited in 1998 and proceeded to touch Mother's bottom whilst she was mixing the Paxo Sage 'n' Onion stuffing and was banned from the house thereafter.

I'm going to visit James between Christmas and New Year as they always hire a log cabin in Blean Woods.  I am looking forward to it.

James

Apologies for the delay in writing, but I've been a bit tied up (not literally) with a number of things, one being the splendid James. We have dating for a few weeks now and went to the cinema this afternoon to see Allied. We sat at the back, but readers will be pleased to learn that he did not touch me inappropriately. We then stepped into the adjacent Frankie & Benny's. I had the black and blue burger and he, the lasagne verde.

The Joy Of WhatsApp

James and me have been exchanging a number of texts via the instant message app commonly known as WhatsApp.  I really don't know why I didn't buy a Smartphone years ago - they're such a revelation!  He's a deeply witty man and a patient one as he managed to sit through my rant about the council's draconian recycling policies.

Last Night (Not A Song By The Strokes ...)

OK readers ... so I went on a 'date' with James McCoy last night.  We went to the cinema, to see the Tom Ford film 'Nocturnal Creatures'.  I must admit that I found it poncey, confusing and above all, too long.  James seemed to enjoy it though and waxed lyrical about the 'definition of meta storytelling' and the 'outstanding parallel lines of doubt'.  I didn't understand a word of what he was saying, but was entranced by his green eyes and thick dark hair.  We went to a Wetherspoons.  I love those public houses as they're a) cheap and b) comforting.

We parted at 22:16; James gave me a peck on the cheek and then I ran for my train.

Look Who's Messaging

When I checked my messages earlier, I found one from ... James McCoy. Apparently he'd recognised my picture on the site.  We have now swapped mobile numbers ...

Bumble and Tinder

Yes readers, I've joined the wonderful world of internet/online dating.  Why has it taken me so long you may ask?  Yes, well, until recently I'd only owned a 'dumbphone' or to the layman, a non smartphone.  Last week I made the decision to go online and purchase an internet-enabled telephone and my extensive investigations steered me in the direction of a Samsung Galaxy S6.  So far, so good.  I linked it to the house's broadband system and I was ready to rhumble (let us wreck the mike, let us wreck the mike, let us wreck the mike: psych.)

Anyway, I set up my dating profiles, uploaded a couple of my most flattering photographs and I was ready to go.  Within two hours I'd received five pictures of various male genitalia in differing states of arousal, which was extremely pleasant.  I've created a special folder for them all.

Emma's Love Life

Emma came round last night (again, yes I know, but I'm rather skint at the moment and supermarket pizzas and wine are so much cheaper than going out!) It's all over with James McCoy apparently, who, according to her, wasn't so, ahem coy in dating other women at the same time as herself.  He also made the terrible faux pas of sending her the following Internet gif:

She didn't find it in any way amusing, Emma was disgusted, if anything.  I rather liked it though as I'm a bit of a Partridge fan.

I did suggest that James may be following the American method of 'non-exclusive dating', but Emma declared that as 'total bollocks' and proceeded to update both her Tinder and Bumble profiles.  After twenty minutes or so, she started frantically messaging a guy with the username 'MadMurdoch' - here's hoping that he's a fan of the cult 1980s action show The A-Team and not certifiably insane, but knowing the crazy world of online dating, it's bound to be the latter.

James McCoy

I really thought that I'd actively dislike James McCoy, but it's quite the opposite in fact. Emma and James came round last night laden with goodies from the frozen food giant, Iceland. Now, you know me, I'm no snob when it comes to convenience food and the recent Iceland/Pizza Express collaboration has excited my girlish soul as well as my salivary glands. There was also a Mint Wall's Viennetta in there for good measure.

As Father had recently reduced our Virgin Media TV subscription from the XL down to the M, we weren't afforded as much choice as before, more's the pity. Luckily, James had brought along his recently acquired copy of the newly animated Batman. Luckily Father won a Blu-Ray player last month at the Leatherhead Fayre, so all was well.

James, in my opinion, was far too intelligent and rather geeky for Emma's more pedestrian taste. I liked him though, but fear not - no unacceptable boundaries will be crossed!

What Has Margaret Been Up To, Eh?

I'm forty-six years of age and I still live with my aged father, despite quite a few attempts to fly the nest.  Believe me, it isn't the life I envisioned when I was growing up.  I still recall careers lessons: what a total waste of time they were? And as for the 'revolutionary' computer printout telling me that I could be a 'market gardener' or a 'forensic scientist' - pah!

Oh well, I'm never sad for too long.  I have invited Emma over tonight for a film, pizza and chat session as Father's out at the Masonic Lodge's Pre-Halloween Monster Charity Bash.  Unfortunately, she's got a new boyfriend she met on the online dating app, Tinder and worst of all, she's bringing him along tonight.  His name's James McCoy and he's in his mid-forties, divorced, no children with an indoor cat called Jor-El and a huge amount of DC Comics memorabilia in his suburban two bedroom flat.  He sounds bizarre.

Emma And The Saga Of Zone 2

You remember my friend Emma, right? Well, she's been acting really strangely recently, especially since she's bought a new 1980s built mid terraced property. It's not as if she's furnished it either - the ground floor currently contains two wing chairs, a tiled occasional table and two tins of chopped tomatoes in the almost bare kitchen cupboards. At a diminutive 5ft 1in tall, she was able to negociate a very cheap price for the previous owners' daughter's pink cabin bed. Their son's bed, a red racing car design is kept in one of the spare bedrooms and Emma's (now ex) boyfriend Andrew used to use that when he stayed the night, but at a lofty 6ft 3in his lower limbs protruded somewhat.

Emma has worked in the London Travelcard zone 2 for the past decade; she's happy with that because it's a huge saving on her commuting costs. It does mean, however, that she doesn't like paying extra to enter the fabled zone 1 and undertakes a bizarre ritual of purchasing a paper single ticket using her Goldcard discount.

Whatever Happened To Laura Smythe?

Is a question which you'll undoubtedly be pondering, especially as I don't update this blog quite as often as I'd like to. Well, sit down, make yourself a nice cup of Mellow Birds and enjoy.

Mrs Smythe is a difficult and often truculent woman, prone to fluctuations in mood and opinion. I'd been experiencing issues with her treatment of me for a while, but decided to retain a distance as I needed the money.

It all came to a head last Thursday and due to the excessive heat, things were brought to a head. I'd taken a longer lunchbreak than usual to pick up Father's elasticated stockings and a spare washable wig from the chemist. As ever, there was a queue because an old woman was arguing that her husband's supply of Viagara hadn't been sent to the branch in good time. This all meant that I was late back to work.

I tried to call Mrs Smythe's mobile phone, but it rang and rang without the voicemail picking up. This is one of the most annoying things about her: her inability to stump up for the useful things which only cost a few pennies.

I rang the Agency and quit, giving a week's notice, as per my contract. Life's too short to be miserable.

A Day With Father

Father, as is his want, needed some new underpants as the ones I'd been pegging out on the line sporadically are completely warn through.  We ventured to BHS to see whether there were any undergarment bargains to be had.  There weren't, so we went to good old M&S instead.  Relaxing after our purchase in the sublimely named 'The Giggling Sausage' cafe we spotted Laura Smythe in conference with one of her peers.  I don't think that she spotted me, but I overhead the following exchange:

"Young people ... blah ... lazy ... ungrateful."

Luckily I was rewarded by her telling the waitress all about the difference between a serviette and a paper napkin.  The latter looked truly thrilled, but not as much as when she received her 20p tip.

The Thoughts Of Laura Smythe

My employer, Mrs Smythe has a wide range of opinions and views which she is more than happy to share with whomever is around to listen. Here's a rundown of the most bizarre:

Alan Titchmarsh:

Apparently he's responsible for the nation's drunkenness. Why? Well, Titchmarsh's tenure as the team leader of TV shows, such as 'Ground Force' has seemingly steered the population of the country towards supping wine in the comfort of their newly refurbished garden instead of the Great British cup of tea.

Morals:

Women should never, repeat never 'drop their drawers'.

'Love' Children:

There's no love; I call them what they are. I call them 'bastards'.

Hmmm.

Any Given Sunday

Oh, the Lord's Day - well, not quite.  Father and me went to our local church this morning and sat through the interminably boring service.  The Vicar, Reverend Samuels is a very waffly man and his sermon concerning the recent events relating to the Houses of Multiple Occupation (HMOs) was all very well, but as Father whispered, if he was so concerned with the welfare of the needy then he should open up his spare room for free instead of charging £45 per night for a single bed and continental breakfast.

After the lukewarm coffee and soggy biscuits had been served we slipped away as discretely as we possibly could and I placed the Goblin Meat pudding I'd purchased in Poundland yesterday into the oven.  Yes, I am more than aware that it's one of the hottest days of the year so far, but Father likes something warm inside him at lunchtime(!)  I have cut and pasted a picture of one below just in case you're not aware of this particular culinary delight.



For dessert we had a Butterscotch Angel Delight, yum yum.  Isn't my life exciting?

A Sunday Picnic

This afternoon we ventured out on a Sunday picnic to the 'countryside'.  Unfortunately, it was rather too near the local sewage farm for my liking.  By 'we' I mean, me, Mrs Smythe and Bill Wilkins, our chauffeur for the day.  Bill's a lovely guy and volunteers as part of his probation.  Apparently he was given a Community Service Order as a result of breaking into a zoo, dressed in only his pyjamas one night and trying to cuddle up with the llamas; he has not been deemed a danger to humankind since though, which is a relief.

Mrs Smythe prepared a large plastic box full of squashed sandwiches, two chicken legs and a box of sliced gherkins as her contribution to the feast.  As for me, well, I opted for an M&S Quiche Lorraine and a box of Mr Kipling Angel Slices and a six pack of Shandy Bass.  Bill Wilkins opted for an (already opened) box of Ritz Crackers, some squeezed Primula Cheese and a tub of Utterly Butterly, which he later consumed with the aid of a dessert spoon.

I won't lie: it was a bloody awful experience.  Firstly, we were followed by an ant colony everywhere we went and secondly, the company was dire.  Mrs Smythe kept on going on about how painful her corns were and Bill Wilkins started to regale us with a story of how he and his late wife went on a Waterloo Battlefield Tour back in 2002.  I was bored to death.

Luckily, we departed early due to the weather and the fact that the ants had called in reinforcements in the guise of a hoard of ladybirds.

(The) Caring Companion

Readers: I have a new job - I am, what is now deemed a 'caring companion'.  I'll explain what that is, in layman's terms - basically I have to undertake the care of one particular person; it's a private position and quite well paid for that particular field of work.  I obtained the position, rather strangely, via one of Mother's old contacts, Mrs Diller, who recommended me to her sister-in-law, Mrs Smythe, who, until rheumatoid arthritis, held a seat on the borough council.

Mrs Laura Smythe's a strange woman in so many ways; she lives in a large detached Victorian property in a room off of the High Street, which is crammed full of antique furniture.  She has one son, but he lives in Luton and refused to speak to his mother after she suggested that his wife-to-be was far too hasty to 'drop her drawers' prior to marriage (I really hate that particular phrase!)  Mrs Smythe is a very mean woman and doesn't heat the house properly in winter, but conversely, dotes on her dachshund, Derek.

It's currently a live-out position and I've only been there for the last week or so. Time will tell whether this is the right job for me?

Creative Writing

Before you ask - my services were "no longer required" at the Charity Shop.  Tsk - I'm really not sure why I'm expected to work for no pay, no benefits and have to put up with the hoi polloi anyway.

So, what to do?  Well, before I go a temping in the autumn, I think that I'm going to undertake some adult education.  A few weeks ago, whilst browsing in the library I noticed that they were running some creative writing sessions and as I'm a semi-regular blogger, I thought I'd give it a whirl.

The first session was this afternoon.  Our tutor's called Marjorie and she's a seasoned Mills and Boon author.  She lives, along with her terrapin, Timothy, in a large Victorian villa in the vicinity of the High Street.  She's a small, darting woman with tiny blue eyes, white hair and a slash of crimson where her mouth used to be.  That said, don't let her appearance fool you - she's as sharp as a tack and saucy as a sailor.  For example, she was talking about how she writes her 'love scenes' when a nearby vagrant looked up from his battered copy of The People's Friend and began to protest.

"Good Sir," she said "literary endeavours should never be quenched!  Take your Sports Direct bag elsewhere and find happiness in the mire!"

"You're talking total bollocks lady." he retorted and exited, not followed by a bear.

Cinemaworld Pass

Have I ever written about how much I'm enjoying my Cinemaworld unlimited pass?  No?  Well, take it from me, I am.  For example, each individual off peak trip to the cinema could cost me up to £10.60, but for the princely sum of £16.90 I can watch as many films as I like and believe me, I do as it saves on wear and tear of soft furnishings and utility bills in the long run.

This afternoon I went to see Money Monster (no, not Honey Monster!) and it was very good indeed.  George Clooney is indeed a fine looking gentleman.  I purchased two bottles of Sainsbury's latte prior to the performance (a snip at 80p each) and consumed them both in the cinema - it's so much better than paying those rip off refreshment prices!

The Room Above The Charity Shop

It's warm in here, well, it would be with all of the lagging surrounding the ceiling, walls and floor.  Sorry - I really haven't explained myself have I?  Well, since I last wrote I've moved into the upstairs flat of the charity shop and because it's so darn cold, I've plugged all of the gaps with unsold clothing.  Yes, it's a fire risk, but hey, I'm warm as toast ....

Why have I moved out of the family home?  Well, it's all because of Father's new woman, a 'lady' (and I use that term extremely loosely) called Mirabel.  Words fail me.

Customer Service

"How much is that?"

"Really - you'd think with that particular stain, you'd be paying me to take it away!"

"It's not that same since Margaret Thatcher left office is it?  It was her handbags and tidy hair which I particularly admired - and I told her so!"

That was a snapshot of all of the rubbish I have to put up with on a thrice-weekly basis.  I don't know how I am going to stand it in the longer-term, but needs must.  I suppose it's company and hell knows, I need it.  I'm not sure if I told you, but Auntie Barb finally moved out last month and is now staying with her ex-husband Stanley in Leatherhead.  Stanley looks like a person who'd be into leather and well ... ugh.  I'll stop there.

I'll have to run a deep bath to rid myself of the smell of mothballs ...

The Charity Shop

Apologies for not writing for a while, but I've been rather busy of late! The top line news is that I am working as the deputy manager of a local charity shop - they raise money for animals with alopecia.  Don't laugh - it's a worthy cause and all of the clothes we cannot sell in the shop are turned into stylish coats for the unfortunately bald creatures.

I think the worst part of the job is dealing with customers.  Now, don't get me wrong - I appreciate their patronage, but constantly being subjected to haggling and bartering really gets me down at times - it's not that any of the goods are particularly expensive in the first place!  People!

The Voyage of The Acolyte

Yes, I know that it's a strange album to listen to on a Sunday afternoon, but hey, that's me.  How are things going you may ask?  Well, I'm getting out and about and not neglecting anything major.  Auntie Barb's caravan is still parked in front of our house, but I have a plan ...

On Monday I Left Work

Yes, you read it right - I did.  Unfortunately, there were no surprise parties, bunting or even nibbles.  Not that I really care of course, I just wanted to leave quietly with the minimum of fuss.

I am currently improving my personal fitness; plus I helped Father re-paint the garden shed this morning.

Hotter Shoe Catalogue

This morning's post included a Hotter shoe catalogue. Now, don't get me wrong, I fully realise that I'm now forty-six years old, but I didn't believe that I was passed it to that level. I am fully prepared to accept that I am wrong though.

Actually, I'm hoisting myself with my own petard - some of the styles contained within are beautiful. Mmmm - comfort!

The Benefits of a Larger Bedroom

During the past fortnight Auntie Barb has moved into her static caravan, which is sitting, pride of place, on our front hard standing.  I can't say that I particularly appreciate the view, but on the plus side, it's meant that she's moved out of the hosue and I can take possession of the front double bedroom once more, thus retaining this one as a den/TV room.  Hurrah!

I can't say that Barb's personal habit are pleasant though - the smell eminating from her chemical toilet when she opened the caravan door the other day was enough to fell an ox.  Family - who needs 'em?

Walnut Whips and Caravans

I don't think that you can underestimate quite how tasty a Walnut Whip is on a Sunday afternoon?  They really are sublime.  If that's how exciting my life is these days then it's a sad state of affairs - it really is.  I am, yet again, shut up in my bedroom trying to escape the madness of this family.  Apparently Auntie Barb's old caravan is being removed from its current location in Bexhill-On-Sea and will have to be placed somewhere, so Father's agreed for it to be put on our front driveway.  It arrives on Wednesday - great - that'll really retain the property prices on this road.

Life never ceases to amuse me sometimes.

Hemmed In

I hadn't realised quite how much I enjoyed my freedom until I moved back in with Father and Auntie Barb, I really hadn't.  Take for example, their respective Sunday morning routines:

Father:

6:50am - Wakes, descends the stairs; makes up of tea in the kitchen whilst singing the 1980 Split Enz hit I Got You.

7:30 - Bathes whilst listening to The Archers ominbus podcast amped up to sound level eleven.

8:30 - Empties a can of All Day Breakfast into a saucepan, heats, tips onto a plate - consumes.

9:13 - 12:00 - Peruses earthworm websites on his laptop in the comfort of his bedroom.

Barb:

7:45am - Wakes, rounds cats up - feeds them their respective stinky breakfasts.

8:05 - Fries kippers, toasts bread - macerates and swallows the lot in three minutes' flat.

8:08 - Licks plate clean.  Proffers any leftovers to cats.

9:34 - Hosts her legendary(?) Sunday Secular Spectacular in the sitting room.  Usual attendees are: Mr Beech from #23; Mrs Spendilove from #11 and Mrs Cathcart from #13.

11:30 - Runs her weekly bath; listens to podcast of You And Yours during her soak.

12:39 - Leaves the house for her Sunday constitutional.

Living Back At Home ...

... well, I say 'back at home', but as regular readers of my blog will undoubtedly recall, this is a replacement house built on the same site as the one which had to be demolished after Father's incessant human earthworm burrowing caused it to subside.  Semantics huh?

I am currently sitting in the smallest bedroom, which was previously the home of Auntie Barb's three cats.  They still try and butt their way in, but I'm not standing for it and may borrow a German Shepherd from that strange guy up the road to 'dissuade' their endeavours.  The house currently stinks of Super Noodles - Barb's chosen dehydrated instant noodle snack for a Saturday.  She loves convenience foods and has filled the kitchen cupboards with such tinned delicacies as Prince's Pies, curries, ratatouille, pears, prunes, stew and worst of all, cream.  Yes, tinned cream.  How representative of the 1970s is that?

Barb's a right lazy mare too - she doesn't do a stroke of housework and likes to adhere to the 'Quentin Crisp' school of house management.  Nice.  She's also getting her hair permed next week.

The Redundancy Fallout

PERSONAL - ADDRESSEE ONLY

22nd January 2016

Dear Miss Weaver

RE: Redundancies Update: Non-Selection For Games

I am writing to inform you that on reflection, the Redundancy Panel did not find your application nor your previous appraisals of a good enough standard to qualify for a place at the Departmental Redundancy Games. Therefore, the decision has already been made on your behalf and your last day of service will be Thursday, 31st March 2016.  We have decided on a figure of £XXXX amount as a suitable severance package for your many faithful years of service.  This is a very generous offer in the circumstances and could we remind you of the need to adhere to the Civil Service Code in regard to never specifying the exact amount to anyone?  Even members of your own family, your pet or indeed your parish priest?  

Please can you ensure that you arrange with your Line Manager to take the outstanding leave balance prior to departure.  Your laptop and drawer will also need to be cleared out by xxxxxxxxx.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for all of your many years of service and trust that you use the money wisely.  I have attached a fact sheet (enc) including the telephone numbers of various charitable organisations to contact should you ever feel suicidal during the next few months.  There's also a social club for former public servants which meets on a the promenade at Hastings Beach on the second Thursday of every month at 12pm.  Bring your own booze in a paper bag.  

Good luck for the future (you'll need it to remain sober!)   As ever, your line manager is the first point of contact for any queries you may have in the meantime.  

Kind regards

Celia Broom
HR

The Aftermath Of The Move

I apologise for not writing before, but I've just moved back into Father and Auntie Barb's house after having to leave my flat above the cafe.  Everything's in complete disarray at the moment and I'm feeling somewhat discombobulated.  Normal service will return very soon!

The Redundancy Games

I received the following email from HR today:

PERSONAL - ADDRESSEE ONLY

7th January 2016

Dear Miss Weaver

RE: Redundancies Update: Let The Games Commence!

I trust that you had a good Christmas and New Year break and didn't spend too much of it worrying about the after effects of managing your life and finances during the months and years following redundancy?  I am writing to you to inform you of the dates of Departmental 'Redundancy Games', an idea which we've semi-stolen from the Sci-Fi film The Hunger Games, but don't worry, it's not half as violent and no-one's scheduled to die! Well, hopefully not anyway!

The games will take place at Lord's Cricket Ground, St John's Wood, London, NW8 (full map and details to follow) on Tuesday, 8th February (tertiary stage) through to Thursday, 10th February (final stage) - 10:00 to 17:00.  

There is a physical training planning session taking place on Wednesday, 13th January in your building.  I have already written to your line manager [insert name here] to provide you with a one-to-one briefing session beforehand.  We expect candidates to be physically as well as mentally fit, so are allowing selected staff to complete a training programme during working hours.  These sessions will be facilitated by fully qualified PT instructor and former Royal Marine, Derek Barnardino, whom I'm sure you'll recognise from the 2009 series of Celebrity Lard Land?

Developing your analytical, cognitive and communication skills is also essential to success in the new, leaner Civil Service, so to assist potential applicants with this, we're pulling out all of the stops and inviting the eminent Captain of Industry, Sir Percy Winkleton to lead two sessions on his patented technique 'Mind Cramming'.  I'm sure that you would have listened to Sir Percy's recent series on the very same subject which was broadcast on BBC Radio 4 at 3am throughout the middle of last April?  

Good luck!  As ever, your line manager is the first point of contact for any queries you may have.  

Kind regards

Celia Broom
HR