Rower's buttock and the bum massage ordeal!

The unfortunate incident of the bum massage. Have you ever had to ask anyone to massage your bum muscles? If you have I suggest that you do not admit it to anyone. Okay let me give you are ‘brief’ history. As many of you know, I take part in the fantastic sport of rowing. This means getting up early at the weekend, carrying heavy boats, bruising yourself and then competing against other teams of ladies in treacherous tsunami-like conditions. Sometimes the boats sink, other times mothers have to save their children from drowning and fellow team members fart when they shout ‘start’ at the beginning of the race (they said start not fart!). I am still disturbed that I actually inhaled someone else’s intestine at the beginning of a race. After training endlessly for hours, experiencing painful blisters and muscle burn - you endure it all for the rare occasion when you actually win… Yes win. The tingling feeling of winning and the elation that you have conquered the conditions to be number one is a motivator for many. I go for the cake. Please don’t tell my team that… There are loads of Victoria sponges and chocolate brownies – all homemade. I have the domestic capability of a squid with leprosy… So the delight of a light sponge is a dream. Sorry I deviated. There have been many times where we have come second but last week we ‘connected’ and gave it our all in conditions that would extract washing from the washing line and deposit it five miles down the road – usually on a cow’s head! So with all this in mind, for two races we gave it full power, so much so, my bow person, Sally, held back from vomiting on my back. We reached our limits, surpassed them and then pushed again… After, albeit elated, my left buttock was up in arms, it does not have any arms but if it did it would have been waving them! That miserable buttock felt like it was on fire… After a night of celebration, where one of my team nodded off on her pizza, the cox lost her voice and there were some random incidents of knicker borrowing and bra lending… I headed home for a night of grumbling buttock. I decided that I was suffering from a complaint called rower’s buttock. Since the muscles were tight, I thought I would be able to solve the buttock revolt by taking part in hot yoga. Surely a buttock would not feel hot if the surrounding temperature was higher than the buttock – that must be some law of physics… Unfortunately the bottom burn was not solved, so I called my local sports masseuse and requested a massage. I simply said I was a rower and needed a ‘rowing’ massage. That Tuesday I was all concerned at work. I mentioned the situation to the boys at work, they all suddenly experts in the art of bum massage. I suggested that they demonstrate on each other and suddenly their skills were not so refined or vocal. Boys! So that evening I ventured into the Sports massage shop and went up to the rather gorgeous and statuesque looking man and whispered. ‘Hi am here for the bum massage.’ He smiled politely. ‘I came for the personal trainining!’ Bugger! Could I pretend I was a personal trainer? The image of a tortoise retracting into its shell spun through my mind…Why does it always happen to me? I had just confessed that I was having a bum massage to a hot, male stranger. Yes it worked as an opening line but I don’t think such lines result in dates… Hmmm. Anyway, my Dutch masseuse emerged from the massage room. She was petite, blonde and looked quite fragile. I have noticed that this sort of person usually has the most vicious thumbs… ‘Are you the masseuse?’ She nodded. ‘You are the rower…’ I nodded. ‘Follow me…’ We went into the stark brown room that was decorated with wall charts of muscles. Pride of place, at the centre of the wall, was a pair of muscular buttocks. ‘That’s what I have…’ I said pointing. ‘Everyone has those,’ she responded with a straight face. I studied her and noticed she was smirking at her own joke. ‘So lie down then…’ I studied the massage table and removed my trousers. ‘I wore the largest knickers I own so that you do not have to see my bottom,’ I blurted. Admittedly they nearly reached my neck and resembled something that superman might wear over tights… I was being considerate. The expression of confusion washed over her face… ‘I am going to massage your Glutes not admire them…’ It was lucky that I hadn’t decorated them then! I was so embarrassed. I will not go into further details but the massage commenced. At this time I would like to cut to the image of a particularly vicious WWF wrestling match. Followed by Rocky being knocked down in one of his films and finally a milk jelly being hit by a large mallet. Anyway when I suffer from pain, I laugh. I don’t know why but the more painful it is the more I laugh. The woman was elbowing my left posterial cheek - I was laughing hysterically and it became contagious. The more I laughed the more she laughed. We had to call a time out to catch our breaths, that was before she attacked the second cheek. Admittedly the right side was not so painful but I would prefer you to imagine slapping a cheesecake with a table tennis bat, rolling a rolling pin of hard boiled eggs with shells on and finally popping giant bubble wrap with your bare feet… Pop! And then the massage was over. I had tears in my eyes, bruises on my bottom and a masseuse who was studying me whilst coughing through laughter…. We went out to reception to pay and I gave her a tip. ‘One pound for each butt cheek ,’ I said. If I had had a fat bottom, with the equivalent of double chins, I would have given her four pounds… She looked at me again and I noticed that the reception was quiet. ‘I was suffering from rower’s buttock and she has straightened my cheek out.’ I said with a gentle pat to my posterior. There was one of those arid silences. There was no room for a tumble-weed, more of a bit of dust attached to a clump of hair that could be found in the carpet…. Of course, those who were sitting in reception were the beautiful elite. One woman was the type to visit the gym wearing the smallest leopard skin outfits. No doubt shefound apt places to bend over to distract the men while they were grunting. The chap sitting by the door was rather fit and obviously an athlete. He was now staring at my straightened buttock…. Hmm how did I get him from there to my face? So with all this in mind… This is for the young ladies at the rowing club who asked me to write more about the random things that happen in my life… You know who you are… Clue - you speak with odd accents…. Moral of the story: Tight buttocks might sound like a good idea but are not terribly practical. Moral of the story two: when confessing to being in need of a bottom massage make sure you don’t tell the wrong person. Moral of the story three: Take six pairs of spare knickers to every rowing race because someone will at some point either lose, soil or end up with wet knickers….

Dating and the random world of table football.

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Okay, so I was not going to share this but by popular demand I apparently owe it to female kind to share one of my more random dates...

So I met this one on a fitness website - designed for people who are into exercise... I love rowing so I thought that a man who exercised would appeal to me. Imagine this - the moment I press click to join the website - the hottest bloke you could imagine instantly contacted me. I thought the heavens were smiling on me. He was beautiful, could type a sentence and was taller than me... Wow, wow and triple wow. At this point it is customary for me to look over my shoulder and wonder whether there is some kind of joke involved... Nope... Straight away we began to chat and he actually seemed nice. Again wooooooooooooooooooop! There had to be something.
I don't know about anyone else but I am searching for that chemical attraction and I thought - imagine - this could be it.

So after a heavy session of rowing which resulted in bleeding palms and blisters, I patched myself up with elastoplast and headed for the date. I know I am classy girl but if men can do the Italian shower with the Linx affect a woman can do the same with impulse - true love... Oh yes! So I there I am smelling of true love with a hint of perspiration and there he is... My goodness he was beautiful, tall, and... when he open his mouth well it was apparent that he had been granted the gift of beauty without the gift of intellect. He was such a nice chap but during the conversation he asked me to explain some of the words I was using...

Further into the date he showed me a picture of his newly decorated bedroom - it was decked out in Liverpool football posters, curtains and matching bedspread. To top it off there was a table football table beside his bed. He was so lovely but he did not get the 'so is that how you do foreplay joke?' I then had numerous visions of romantic moments with the Liverpool team gazind down from the wall. Then on top of that I became rather amused about being woken up in the night - 'shall we have a quickie - a game of table football.' Obviously my date was not so amused and the fact I was shaking with laughter probably did not appeal... Oh well t'is life. We all have our own special ways of doing things so I did not show him a picture of my bedroom with the taxidermied squirrels - only joking... But imagine if I had come back with a picture like that - all these stuffed squirrels... Right back to normal life.
Now with my previous blogs I always have a moral of the story and on my useless dates I have a summary. So the summary went like this - I feel that you and I have different tastes and I don't feel any chemistry. I don't think you feel it either. Good luck with finding the right one.
I was surprised to have a summary response from the beautiful man - 'I am glad you said that - I don't think I could go out with a girl with bigger biceps than me who is more intelligent. I liked meeting you though - but I feel stupid now. I always thought I was clever until I met you. Now I know I'm not...' Imagine how bad I felt then.

Moral of the story - dating sites for fit men do have fit men - however they may also have table football beside the bed.

When dating a fit man do not compare biceps especially if yours are bigger.
When dating any man do not make him feel stupid even if he is.



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The mad, the bizarre and the down right wasted.

For the first time in my life I truly understood the expression as mad a hatter. Imagine parking your car opposite three people who are having a garage sale without a garage. Yes. So a number of undesirable items are lined up along the wall. Broken ornaments, an anarchy flag (everyone must have one of those) and a broken badminton bat... There were other items but they did not make a consumative impression on me...

The three people who had originated the idea accompanied their wall display with hardcore music played at full volume. A sales technique which is quite rare revealed highly energeticdancing which could be likened to jerking, spasms and tantrums. Every so often they sat down swigged a beer and then prepared for the next dance.

Subtely trying to park my car in a space that was coincidentally available oppsite the display, I tried to adopt my stealth departure. Unfortunately as I rounded a corner I stumbled upon three child-like drawings. Since I have a mind which feels the need to decode code I stood studying them. In red pen was writtem 'jellyusy is no need' no to discrmatv bevor,' and 4d+7d = somefing' A real puzzle if you ask me. In the centre there was a half drawn anarchy sign with eyelashes. If you can work that out you are a genius.

Since Boscombe has the ability to provide me than just human spectacle, I stood for a moment attempting fathom what it meant. That was my mistake. One of the spasmotic dancers spotted me and ran over. Well when I say ran is was more of a sideways stumble mixed with forward momentum. When she arrived she grinned at me wearing a top hat. Yes - TOP HAT!
'Hello do you like our drawings?'
Being polite I replied, 'I am just trying to work out what it says.'
'I am wasted.'
I studied the paper. I could not decipher those words.
'No I am wasted - been drinking and dancing. We did this to promote our garage sale. But I'm a bit drunk now.'
Okay - they were promoting their garage sale by not actually referencing a garage, having a garage, a sale or anything relating to it. Amazing cryptic clues - maybe they could enact a garage sale through charades too.

'I did that one,' she said pointing.
I nodded and considered my potential escape.
'It says not to be jealous... There is no point you see.'
She was right.
''cause jelousy makes you jealous.'
I could see the logic in that argument.
'I'm wearing a hat.'
'Yes you are... a top hat too.'
'I'm drunk. That bit says not to discrim in discrimin. Discrimin-hate...' she said with a belch. Discriminhate - that was pretty clever...
'That's a good attitude.' I replied.
'That one there was about dimensions and all the different dimensions. That is done by him over there... He likes his dimensions and his drugs.'
Oh brilliant... Lucky me falling into this conversation.
'I will be honest I don't really get it and I need to go and eat my tea.' I said.
She turned and gazed into my eyes, 'do you like it?'
What did a person say?
'I think the jealousy thing is very true. Jealousy does in actual fact make you jealous. Thank you. Right I have to go...'
She smiled, tipped her hat and stumbled back to the non garage sale.
I wandered home bemused and chatted to one of my friends on the phone about it. As much as I thought that was weird it turns out the person in a flat below her set off the fire-alarm with her cooking. When the three fire engines arrived she would not let them in. She then tried to stop the fire alarm by spraying airfreshner into it(at least it would smell nice) and later she was found hiding in a skip. How do you beat that?

I have to admit since moving to Boscombe I have had more writing material than a person could potentially wish for. Although as wonderful as it is, I often wonder about humanity and what the future holds. Then again - if it all goes to pot one can always hold a garage sale without a garage and advise random people not to get jealous. The posibilities are limitless!

Moral of the story jealously makes you jealous!
Moral of the story 2 Never ever stop and read promotional garage sale signs that do not relate to any garage.
Moral of the story 3 never park near to or next to anyone spasmotically dancing wearing a top hat at six in the evening....

Too much thinking about thinking.

This turned up today when I was thinking about updating my status on facebook!

The question what is on your mind is a strange question. If something was on my mind then surely my mind would be like a bench or something solid. I think a better question would be what is wafting / floating or wandering through the 'what is' that is labelled as your mind... I think to much... Thinking too much is on my mind... How does that work. I will stop thinking about thinking - which means I am thinking about thinking!!! Help!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ego learning and the concept of remote control sea gulls!

Today has been a bit of a learning... I had never really understood how a person's ego could inflate to the size of a walrus... Yes it is possible for an ego to become that huge!

So after careful consideration I believe I should share my findings... So how many people are actually aware of how they come across? How many people are actually aware of why they do things? How many people are aware of how huge their ego is? Not me!

Yesterday I was in a rowing race and had a strange moment where I realised as much as we rowed as a team, during the race we all resided in our own personal reality. One girl was feeling not good enough and feared letting the team down. One had to lead and had the responsibility of setting the pace, another was angry because she was not reaching her full potential. I was enjoying the view - young hot men lugging boats around. What more could a woman in her thirties want?

During the race the girl who felt inadequate kept saying sorry... She seemed to be living her own personal hell until her arm ceased up... There it was - bang - an excuse... A way out.

All the while, I was enjoying the view. Obviously we did not win the race but it was interesting how the team dynamic developed once we stepped ashore. I thought the race was great - there was a nice view, I had raced and had been out on the water and survived. The lady who felt bad was justifying why it had not gone well, another sulked whilst another was angry... In the meantime, I trundled around wondering what goes on in people's minds and why it matters so much to win...

While I was thinking deeply I was asked to spend an hour on the rescue boat. "what do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Rescue people and stop them dying," was the reply.
So I set about stopping people from dying. In doing so I climbed into the rescue boat with a chap who, not being rude, seemed to have no clue how to drive it. A few moments later the engine cut out in the middle of the race. There we floated with six racing boats hammering at us at full speed. How does one react to that?

The boat driver frantically tried to start the engine... I noticed some paddles and watched the chap panic. In the end I just thought - the worst that can happen is a collision and I get to fish hot men out of the water. I also had an excuse to practice mouth to mouth under the excuse of 'I am trying to stop you dying - that is my job you know!'

The collision did not happen but our rescue boat was rescued and the boat driver's ego was bruised. He also kept apologising and told me how out of control he felt. Surely life is out of control and any form of control in chaos is an illusion... What I did notice was how the ego was hurt with failiure or perceived failiure... A bit later I climbed the pontoon and strolled back to the picturesque site of athletic bodies and burgers.

Later that day, after dwelling on egos, the egosaurus appeared on the scene. The person who told us how great they were, how everyone else was lesser than them and how they were at a higher level... In truth it was hideous - but if life is a reflection of ourselves I had to consider where my own ego sat in a boat and how egotistical rantings affected others... In truth, unless we are aware of ourselves we often do not catch our behaviour... I often behave as though I can save the world, am a gold medal winner in the olympics and am an internationally renown author... Unfortunately, after witnessing the egosaurus, something dawned on me - we only see these things because that is part of ourselves... So with great reluctance one needs to face the ego monster and face the reality - one can save the world one tree at a time. Winning an olympic gold medal in chatting about random things is probably not likely. Being an internationally renown author may happen one day but it has not happened yet. So I will re-focus my energies on what is and what is actually possible!
So I just invented something amazing: a remote control seagull that you can use to shit on those whose egos are huge - it could be a best seller. What do you think?

Here is a link to RETINA BLUE AND GOYLEGATE - You could help me become an internationally renown author so I do not have to have the remote control seagull put into production!!!!

THE ART OF SHOE SNIFFING AND GENERAL OFFICE HYSTERIA

Shoe sniffing and general office hysteria.
When you come to work at eight in the morning to be greeted by a mass of people sniffing a shoe you realise that mass office hysteria has most definitely broken out. Admittedly it was a strange sight but it did demand attention. How often have you witnessed a line of people waiting to sniff a shoe? Shoe sniffing - is that some metaphor or had Cinderella found a new way of identification?
After each person had sniffed the shoe another lined up to sniff it. “Mmmm that is really nice,” said one.
“ I never knew shoes could smell so good,” said another.
The queue grew… I understand that in England we have a tendency to queue but that has to be one of the most ridiculous reasons to join other than to see why everyone is queuing. As much as I was resistant I was also curious. Why was everyone sniffing a shoe and why was everyone coming away smiling?
The office hotty stood proudly waving her fragrant shoe under people’s noses. When I reached the said shoe I studied it – it was pink with a heart on the top – of course it was perfect office attire. Well perfect office attire for male distraction and fantasy.
After studying the shoe, I leant forward and sniffed. My goodness…. What did I discover? It was not a game of sabotage –the office hotty had not trodden in dog mess and being vicious – instead the shoe smelled like bubble gum – yes bubble gum!
“I cannot believe people are lined up to sniff your shoe – no one lines up to sniff my trainers…” Obviously the aroma is not quite so enticing – instead of a smell of bubble gum my trainers smell like dog breath mixed with death and rotten sprouts. Although in a twisted way I would love the same people to sniff those trainers so that they could make the comparison! Of course that is me being a bit ‘dark’.
“Yes it is bubblegum flavour shoes,” said the office hotty.
I glanced down at my trainers, “I have rotten sprout flavour trainers. Does anyone want to sniff?”
The line dispersed but numerous women still clambered to study the beautiful shoe form before them. It was as if the shoe had descended from heaven its self“Vivienne Westwood,” said the office hotty with a coy smile.
The other women oooooed and ahhhhhhhhhhhed – they were grateful to simply have touched an expensive shoe.
In that moment I experienced an epiphany… When people fall at other people’s feet it is because their shoes smell of bubblegum rather or perfume rather than dog’s arse.
After that I went for a coffee to digest the fragrant shoe phenomenon. I studied people’s shoes and wondered whether there was a definitive guide to shoe selection and whether a person could be profiled according to shoe. Did the shoe actually correlate to the office type? The office hotty wore decorative feminine shoes. The office stinker probably wore stinky shoes – oh crap that makes me the office stinker doesn’t it? I am not the office stinker – I promise - I do have office observer shoes too. They have binoculars on the front… Actually that was a joke. The office bore probably has grey dull shoes. The office efficient will probably have clean patent shoes.
Does the office comedian wear clown shoes? Hmmm I feel that a study of shoes in relation to office personality profile might be necessary. Although if a person knew a shoe profile could they create decoys? Hmmm I wonder if the office strumpet wears leopard skin shoes. Obviously office little and cute wears small shoes because their feet are so small but those shoes will be psychologically selected to exude more cuteness…. There is a whole world of shoe profiling potential that I had never recognised before. How had I missed it?
A whole new study of potential personality profiling has opened up… Shoe spotting could reveal power dynamics… How am I going to cope with this new observatory knowledge? What else will be sniffing in the office next? Shoes today – what tomorrow… Office sniffing hysteria has infected everyone! Pheww… It is too much – I have to focus on metrics and graphs. That way I will not be overwhelmed by the potential of the shoe and shoe aroma in the office dynamic!
Moral of the story when sniffing shoes make sure they smell of perfume before sniffing.
Moral of the story two – never join a queue unless you know what it is for – you may be forced to sniff my trainers!
Moral of the story three – wear good shoes at all times otherwise you may unintentionally fall into the role of the office stinker without even realising it!
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TECHNIQUES TO AVOID PROMOTION!

How to ruin any chance of promotion.
Well it seems that in most offices there are people lined up to nut nuzzle, schmooze or woo the boss to be promoted. I find it interesting how the office back stabber and office nut nuzzler (brown nose) seem to be in allegiance until it comes down to a final show down. In the meantime, the office strumpet is practically shimmying about the office attempting to hypnotise the boss with booosoka shuffling. It can either entice the boss or result in motion sickness – it all depends on rate of motion and angle. Unfortunately, for the office strumpet, she usually misses the position because she is already lying on her back with some other high-ranking, married superior who offers power potential through association.
All the while the office victim is telling stories of how she has been overlooked for promotion ten years in a row and how nothing good ever happens to her. The office efficient is planning her secret efficient strategy. The office bore is telling a three-hour self-amused story of the day he once heard that someone might have been promoted – which was actually him. In that monologue he deviates numerous times and forgets what he was actually trying to tell you. To him it is incredibly amusing but to others they would rather have hair ripped from their private parts. At that point, the rest of the team are standing by the window trying to work out how they can escape through the bombproof glass without actually dying… Why does no one ever bring long ropes and glass cutters to the office for such necessary escape eventuality?
So of course while the majority of the team consider abseiling twenty floors to escape the office bore, the office backstabber and nut nuzzle are freed up to do their thing! When it comes to being under pressure to get promotion both will return to their natural behaviour: the back stabber prepares to backstab the nut nuzzler. However, all animals have survival techniques and the nut nuzzler has cleverly adopted his natural instinct to survive. He has already bent over and has adopted the brown nosing position behind the back stabber. Obviously, the back stabber receives pleasure from this action but the reward for promotion is greater than having your ego massaged internally using a nose. From the observers point of view the pair resemble the snake trying to eat its own tail and a no win situation ensues. The backstabber is unable to backstab the nut nuzzler because he is practically absorbed in her behind. The backstabber has essentially become a living hat. What’s more, you cannot backstab yourself and it is hard to backstab someone standing behind you unless you are a martial artist and can do a good back flip at the perfect time. While all this is taking place I realised that promotion simply means more work. It also means more responsibility, more stress and less time to write blogs about what takes place in the office. What at first seemed to be an unintentional technique to avoid promotion has revealed it is my natural tendency. How can the office observer observe if they are working flat out? So if you do want to be promoted do not do any of the below:
• Do not send pictures of dogs in wigs to your boss, especially if he has no hair or wears a wig himself. If the boss is a woman, she may also be offended because she may interpret that you are likening her to a dog. Admittedly, it was a great idea at the time but a dog in a wig does nothing to convince your boss of leadership skills, other than leadership of dogs in wigs. What’s more, do not sit hysterically laughing at the array of dogs you have found on the internet when you are supposed to be working towards a crucial presentation, which does not involve said dogs in wigs. It could actually suggest that you are evolving into the office I do diddlysquat.

• When disclosing psychological techniques for delivering bad news do not say anything actually offensive directly to you boss. The sandwich technique is a classic technique where you sandwich the bad news between two pieces of good news. Take for example the following delivery, which I gave my boss as an example. “So how you deliver the bad news is like this: that is a nice shirt, yep you’re ugly as sin, but you have nice shoes.”
“Hang on that’s a bit harsh…”
In that moment, I realised my choice of bad news was not terribly thought through. I had essentially told my boss that he was ugly. Oh God!!!!!!!!!!!!! (He isn’t at all. He is actually quite handsome. Oooops!”
And that was when the digging begins… The hole was already deep and was becoming a well.
‘No not you… You are actually good looking – but you know that. You must know that. No, you are definitely not ugly as sin. It was just an example of bad news… It just popped into my head… Oh God! Please do not be offended. Your wife must think you are good looking… She married you didn’t she? See that is more evidence of you not being ugly as sin. Admittedly, she might have really liked your personality. I did not just say that… Oh God… You are a good-looking man… You don’t need me to tell you that…’
Dig, dig, dig.
The hole wasn’t just deep - it was becoming a well.
Silence.
Intensive blushing.
Nervous laughter and time to involve the team and get them away from the window and the office bore.
“He’s good looking isn’t he? He’s not ugly as sin.”
The teammates gazed at me in horror as I continued to justify what I said. Promotion for miss dry… Pahhhh! No chance! Bus trip to work banishment – oh one ticket please! No return!
When you actively involve teammates to justify the horrifying thing you have just said by accident you know it has all gone wrong. In that moment of silence, I realised there was no saving the situation.
“Look over there,” I said pointing. They all looked over there and I hid under the desk. (Actually, I made that up, but thinking about it… That is what I will do in the future). Anyway, from now on I will bring in my own tumbleweed and roll it around the office!

• Alternatively, you can evolve into the role of office stinker and repel everyone on a daily basis. You will definitely not even be called into potential promotion interview through the boss’s fear of being stuck in a confined space with a hideous stench.

• If you really do not want to avoid promotion just make a massive mistake with your name on. When I worked as a temp, I once made a payment of eight hundred dollars to the wrong account. I was beside myself and instantly ran over to my previous boss and apologised profusely. She turned to me and smiled. ‘That is cannon fodder Michelle, I once paid the wrong account eight one million. Strangely, she was a boss… Hmm… Thinking about it – maybe my theory is not perfect! In fact, maybe my antics will keep me in the mind of the boss and get me a promotion that I do not really want. Actually too late – office power-hungry has convinced everyone of her true potential and as always, she has taken no prisoners. The backstabber can never backstab her because she knows that power hungry will lift her by the throat and stare into her eyes like Darth Vader! There will be deep breathing and there will be power surges through the office that no one can actually explain.

So moral of the story: bring long ropes and glasscutters to work. The action of considering escape from the office bores three-hour monologue will endear you to the team and create the perfect teambuilding escape strategy.

Moral of the story two – when laughing hysterically at images of dogs in wigs and fancy dress – go to the bathroom and laugh. Do not share the images with boss or anyone with hair depreciation.

Moral of the story three – when offending a person of a higher title than you – make sure you sandwich it, have and escape route or offer them the office strumpet as a distraction for offense – that is if she is not already being taken by anyone else.

DARTH VADER BREATHING AND THE ART OF KEEPING CALM!

Darth Vader, the dark side and the disabled sticker.
Since we are all human, we all have off days. The virtues of kindness, joy and light evacuate and can be eclipsed. The result is the dark side taking over which, in psychology, is known as the shadow. I call this a Darth Vader day. Yesterday was that day for me…. We can’t all be perfect all of the time and in many cases most people can’t be perfect any of the time (no matter how much they convince themselves). So when the Darth Vader day arrives you just have to accept it and allow it to be. Rather than suppress any anger, rage or frustration I believe that experiencing it allows it to drive you and experience life to the full. If you suppress it it is like pushing it down and I believe the body repays you with uncontrollable flatulence or a bad stomach…
To me, when I feel anger, it is usually when I need to say no… Or disagree with something. If I do not say no I will have the incident buzzing around my head until I actually do say no. So Monday night is weigh in night for me… At the moment I am trying to shift an excess ten pounds, which has cleverly attached itself to my waist… So what better way to do that then to attend a weekly weigh in? Have you noticed with weigh-ins that as soon as you step on the scales you feel the need to confess everything that passed your lips?
In a rush, and already feeling a bit grumpy, I arrived at my car. And what has happened? I was blocked in. Not only was I blocked in, but on one side I had four inches to manoeuvre and the other side the person had actually parked on the double yellow line, on a corner and their bumper was actually touching mine! Why does it always happen when you are late? It was then the transformation began. The Darth Vader breathing increased and the dark side emerged… With the fight to remain calm, I took a closer look at the car behind. Did it have a dodgy hand break or was it light enough to life above my head. No. Worse. Booooom! It wasn’t just a car. It was a car with a disabled sticker in the window… What are you supposed to do with that? Other than adopt louder Darth Vader breathing.
I glanced around the road to see if I could see any disabled people who might own the car. Nothing… Then I stood for a moment and thought ‘hang on!’ Okay why is it okay that a disabled person did that with their car? Surely everyone should consider everyone else. I contemplated ringing the doorbells of all the nearby flats, but what was I supposed to ask? ‘Are there any disabled people in there who own car reg…’ I was completely flummoxed – it was not okay but I could not do anything about it. That is when the brewing began… I was angry but there was an ‘unfair card’ being pulled. I was supposed to not be angry because the person was disabled. In the end I simply got in the car and used both bumpers of the other cars to gauge my space. That is why they are called bumpers.
With a bee in my bonnet, I climbed on the scales at the weigh in and even worse I had gained 1.5 pounds… I reckon anger weighs heavier than fat! Actually in truth, during the week I had eaten one measly pizza. That was the only thing outside the dietary jurisdiction. To compensate I had been to the gym six times, been running, done abs and rowed for over an hour with the local rowers… And still a pizza had stuck to my body and would not shift.
‘But I only had one pizza,’ I said.
The weigher sighed, ‘carbs – make glycogen stores- that is what will be doing it… ‘
In that moment I was not only angry with being jammed in, the pizza was now on the list… Was I never going to be able to eat a pizza, chocolate or bread ever again just to remain slim…?
‘You probably have a very sensitive body – one which is very efficient,’ she said.
Brilliant – a body that is efficient and hoards pizza!
I have just discussed this with the office comedian and office cheeky. They have the following theory:
‘I would say that your body is not used to pizza,’ said office cheeky.
‘I suggest you increase the amount and frequency and you will build resilence to pizza,’ said office comedian with a certain look on his face.
‘Little and often…’ said office cheeky.
‘We know – we are your office dieticians,’ said office comedian contemplating eating yet another double decker whilst office cheeky filled a bucket with coffee and drank it through a straw!

So on the way home I called in at by best friend’s house. Her boyfriend wrestled the dog in the garden while I told them about the blocked in car.
“So what would you do?” I asked.
Mid-dog wrestle my male friend contemplated but was intent on extracting a dribble-imbued ball from the dog’s mouth. ‘Well there is no excuse unless the driver is blind!’ he finally said waving the drool covered ball victoriously.
My best friend and I frowned, ‘So what should I have done? Knock on all the flats and get a guide-dog to move the car.’
The dog and my best friend’s boyfriend stopped wrestling, looked at each other and nodded.
A little bit later, they served up dinner in the garden while I resorted to eating cucumber. They appeared a little concerned but I advised them of how efficient my body was. It was during this insightful moment that the dog adopted its best worming position and with a mad look in its eye appeared to be writing its name on the grass with his bottom. Of course that broke the atmosphere and made us all laugh. What’s more, the dog looked particularly proud of itself. I always find it amazing how dogs choose apt times to de-worm. This particular dog actually adopted that pose during a funeral and made a diagonal line amongst the guests while the eulogy was being read out. Well I left the house with my best-friend’s boyfriend demonstrating to the dog how to climb through the dog flap. It seemed the dog was enjoying watching the chap climb through and every time he went through the dog wagged his tail. Then when it came to the dog to go through the dog just sat and wagged its tail. I think that was a case of a dog training its owner!
So on my way home I came to the conclusion that I had to take action. I know this is bad and I do not profess to be an angel, but I think people need to be made aware how their behaviour affects others.
So I left a note on the car with the disabled sticker which said the following:
In the future please can you consider others? As you must be aware you blocked me in which made me late for an important meeting. Now I assume you expect me to consider you, well it should work both ways. As I currently see it – your behaviour was selfish and unkind. I think you should know that.

Moral of the story: if we all considered others - less bumpers would get bumped.
Moral of the story two: to lighten all dark sides employ a dog with worms.
Moral of the story three: don’t eat pizza if you want to be thin, don’t park where people can block you in and don’t eat your dinner (especially spaghetti) in plain view of a dog with worms!

SATURDAY NIGHT BOTTOM MESMERISATION AND DAD DANCING!

Saturday night, hypnotic buttock motion and the role of dad dancing to impress women.
Saturday night, as with all Saturday nights, is the opportunity to venture into the human alcohol imbued jungle. It is the prime time to watch the mating techniques of numerous inebriated human animals. Large gestures, exaggerated hip motions and puffed out chests are just a few of the techniques used to attract attention. One of the major techniques in Bournemouth is ridiculous fancy dress outfits. When I say fancy dress I do not mean a ‘fancy’ dress as in a nice evening dress. Instead large groups of men (the stag night) can be witness dressed as babies, large items of fruit or super heroes. These are directly proportionate to hen parties who are dressed as policewomen, nurses or pirates. There are obviously variations on these themes but the women wear items that are revealing, a bit rude and are suggestive. In the opposite faction the men dress as fruit. I have not determined the ultimate psychology behind this, but essentially the men go for phallic / heroes. And the women go for ‘have some of this big boy!”
With all the above in mind, Saturday night is the prime opportunity to take part in a human safari. It is dangerous, there are conflicts and there are passing outs in the street. Survival of the fittest is demonstrated by the winning Alpha male escorting the most attractive female in the direction of a taxi. Of course there are those who are unsuccessful in the mating escapades. The women are often found collapsed in piles outside bars with opportunist men attempting to prize them off the pavement. Alternatively you find those who resort to stuffing chips and kebabs in their faces with far too much Chilly sauce as a consolidation prize.

So this brings me to the dance floor. The dance floor is the prime place for demonstration of sexual prowess. With low lights, alcohol and loud music this is the prime place to appear attractive without actually being attractive. The constant flashing of lights and intoxication evolves beyond beer goggles into cocktail glasses! No one has to talk; they just need to demonstrate their sexual prowess by dancing.
In terms of dance, or that which is defined as dance, - the pointing at of genitalia, waving at genitalia or simulating certain motions with your best friend or any passer-by who is not offended by the randy-dog leg grabbing technique appears in abundance. On this particular evening a group of stags, wearing baby attire, were in full testicular swing. Dad dancing extraordinaire was being demonstrated in all directions and genitalia thrusting filled the dance floor. As the evening hotted up, the men attempted to out thrust each other until two blondes arrived on the dance floor. That was when things became interesting and best friends stopped being best friends and survival of the fittest/alpha-malism competition was on!
The two blondes, wearing their best animal patterned dresses, rotated their hips and hypnotised. The men did not stand a chance. In that moment I understood that the word hypnotism may have originated from such hip motion because it was actually hypnotic (Hip – notic)
My fellow safari observer, who was male, was transfixed by the motion too.
“Does that mesmerize?” I asked turning to him.
The answer was obvious; his eyes were fixed on the ‘said’ bottom. He could barely speak and his head motioned in exactly way as the hypnotic bottom. Her motion reminded me of a cobra and how it subtly motioned until its prey was completely dazed and then it would attack. Strangely my fellow safari observer could hardly string a sentence together either. In the meantime, I considered how the application of the sound of jungle drums to would work well accompany the blonde bottom undulation.
“It is really interesting… “ he finally said choking on his words. “I never realised a bottom actually hypnotised,” he said. It is really nice to watch…” he said dreamily.
It was then that the competition increased. A group of hens arrived in the arena dressed as police women. They carried truncheons and handcuffs. The invasion changed the dynamic of the room and the men scattered and were confused. Rather than just focus on the blondes they thought they could go for all of them and work by numbers. That never works and men never really seem to learn that.
As soon as the competition arrived, the animal pattern wearing blondes increased their rate of bottom mesmerisation. The men increased their thrusting but the hens were accosting the thrusting men. It was like the Serengeti crossing. All manner of species were diving into the water and some of them were going to be picked off by the alligators. The men were scattered, there was no group dynamic or strategy. It was carnage. The men were confused which did they go for? Did they accept the easy pickings in terms of hen party versus the prize of the hypnotic bottom owners? The competition was rife. Hen’s versus the cobras. The men could not think because the blood had been dispersed between the two brains and all they could do is thrust their parts. It was genitila testicular war!
Of course, the blondes had a strategy. As soon as the men were distracted, they pulled out the ultimate male-attention attracting card. They danced closely with each other and kissed each other on the cheek. It was at that moment a ‘matrix’-like moment took place. All the men froze, the hens features distorted, they had been out-alpha-femaled… The male attention had shifted and the hens were now desperate. And what happened? It was a fraught moment and the hens had to get the attention back. The hens glanced at each other and to their leader. Someone had to do something and do it quickly. They could not repeat what the blondes were doing so there was one thing for it. The leader of the hens lifted her top and showed off a pair of massive bazookas. Bang! The men did not know where to look. Two brains not enough blood. Two eyes not enough vision. Mental overload took place and the men folded. They reverted to what they knew and all adopted their worst dad dancing. No one was impressed and the blondes left the dance floor.
Later that evening my fellow safari observer and I walked past a number of kebab shops. The stag night were in there stuffing consolidation. The blondes were being escorted to taxis by two very masculine opportunist and the hen night were in a pile outside the bar laughing hysterically. Men were attempting to help them up and legs were flaying.
Moral of the story: if you are a man focus on one woman and go for it. Scattering your mind will scatter your options which will result in your evening ending in chips and kebab.
Moral of the story two – hypnotising the room with the bottom can only be achieved successfully if there is not hen-like competition. Too much bottom mesmerisation results in dad dancing. It is the default for the drunken male.
Moral of the story three – do not dad dance even if your instinct drives you to. Do not thrust your pelvis at your friends to gain attention. I suggest you spot potential bottom mesmerisers early on and make your move before the rest of them room are transfixed by an undulating bottom.

NOTE: My fellow safari observer mentioned something very profound which may well provided insight. When a person is drunk and talks to someone sober, the sober person never understands. Yet when two drunken people talk to each other – they always understand! The language of inebriation seems to be exclusive to those who are wasted.

FRIDAY BRILLIANCE AND THE ART OF NAKED PROMOTION

If we all live for Friday then surely if we named all days Friday then we could live every day and not just live for the weekend… Sometimes I even astound myself with my own brilliance – how do I share that modestly? Actually there seems to be something wrong with that plan… We would not have a weekend and would just work seven days a week. Okay so I take it back – not quite so brilliant but the thought was there… So what about the endless Saturday? Hmmm… but then how would we afford the weekend if we did not have week days? My goodness I am actually glad for the week days because the weekend is a celebration of not working… Okay I feel better now. Although there should be a bit of daily celebration somewhere within the day… I will think about that…
You know what? I have just decided that celebration should be a necessary part of the day. At a certain point each day it would be lovely to do a little dance to celebrate being alive and the wonders of ‘the self’. Obviously I am not suggesting do the hokey cokey or the Macarena (how does one spell that word?) but a minimalist celebratory dance to remember that we exist and that life is good… Seventies staying alive dancing at the desk is a pure celebratory move. Body popping would be for the office show off and pole dancing for the office strumpet. The office bore would probably do dad dancing and the office little and cute would just do a cute little dance and everyone’s heart would warm. Those pigeons would probably start mating again… (if you are wondering what I am talking about this is in office little and cute posting.)
So today, it is Friday and I am excited… I am always quite excited but this time next week I am off on me holidays… In the meantime, I have team mates making suggestions on how to promote my books. So the general consensus of opinion, from the male contingency, comes down to nudity… Why does it always come down to being naked? They kindly came up with the Demi Moore cross legged pose with my books cleverly positioned. Why do they keep suggesting that I should be naked… Maybe we should have a nudist office… Oh how awful would that be? I suggest looking around the room and imagining that… Of course there would be issues. We would probably get pubes on the photo-copier and then we would have to bring little hankies so as not to make a mess or dirty the office furniture.
Anyway the boys are off on one… “Michelle the fact of the matter is nakedness sells!”
“So how will that sell a children’s book?” I asked.
The men grinned at me and told me that the dad’s would buy it and read it to their children…. They have an answer for everything. Me being me decided to throw a blow-up cat amongst the male pigeons… “So which of you would be willing to do that? You know pose naked with my books? Since we live in a world of equal opportunity....”
The men looked at each other with horror. “No… We were meaning you…”
“Oh really, well as we are all grown-ups and as you told me that nakedness sells – then your nakedness should equally sell.”
I watched three men go pale and almost retch when they glanced at each other and the thought of their hairy bodies being put on a billboard- suddenly it was not so appealing! The men being men then began to nominate the potential totty who would make a good naked poster… Bless them. Fantasy is a major part of their day… So around the office the general question was ‘would you pose naked to promote Michelle’s book?' Interestingly both the office strumpet and the office desperate (for hide the sausage) were very up for it – plus a few older randoms offered their lacking clothes services. So in the world of fantasy we now have a line of office workers posing naked with books arranged over naughty body parts. Since I used to work as a professional photographer I have been nominated to create the ‘imaginary’ image. Now, just to take this a little bit further I set a diary meeting… Title – naked picture for Michelle’s book promotion… At this point fear appeared in the numerous ‘oh I am up for it’ bunch and strangely none of them actually wanted to be photographed. It was all just naked book bravado…
So today it is a case of back to the book promotion drawing board… Oh and of course the men have come up with another naked idea – let’s get me riding a horse with my hair over said naked parts with my books as a bra… Lady book Godiva… What is it with men?

Hanging out for holidays and advancement in the knicker continuum

Hanging out for holidays.
So do you ever get to the point where you have not had any time off for a while and you are desperate for a holiday? I guess that would be most people… I was just thinking about it… As you can imagine I am having the palm tree daydream and I have just realised that it is close to five months since I took a holiday. I know… What am I playing at? The thing is I have been pretty sly and utilised all the coming bank holidays to use the most limited amount of holiday days and maximise the most time off possible… So as of the 22nd I have 17 days in a row using a whole seven days holiday – bliss!
So it is Wednesday and that means Wednesday call of doom! It is the most boring call in the world and the other team members are comfort eating chocolate digestives. Rather than add on the poundage I have wondered off into Michelle land of Laaaaaa and today the land of Laaaaaaa is full of holidays. Amongst the holiday scene a giant pair of knickers has doubled as a hammock! It seems the ’knickers on wheels’ post has raised a few eyebrows in the office and it seems knickers attached to wheels could become the next big thing… Dragging your knickers around the office on the bottom of your chair could be a signal for availability and single-dom. It could be a special mating signal - like those birds waving their giant red warbles about. Although I wouldn’t advise knicker waving from your chin.
Of course the post stimulated numerous knicker-loss horror stories… Of the numerous knickerless adventures, my friend’s knicker elastic evaporation was the worst. It is amazing how knicker elastic can select the most awkward of places to evaporate. While my friend was walking through the main central area within the place she worked that was precisely when the knicker escape began. Numerous business men sat at tables and her knickers slid down to her knees. To combat the issue she walked with a slightly wider stride but that did not help and the said knickers slid to her ankles. In that moment she had a choice – pull them back up or let them go… What would you choose? Whilst looking straight ahead she simply stepped out of the defiant undercarriage protectors and continued walking. What I find amazing is that no one pointed it out. It was as if it was a normal occurrence and a lone pair of knickers made their escape into the central meeting area. For the rest of that afternoon a pair of red, lace knickers remained on a white marble floor. People would not be able to miss them! Of course for the rest of the day she had to be aware that it was windy outside, she was wearing a skirt and could not allow anything to drop on the floor.
This then lead me to my ultimate horror story of loss of the knicker kind. This one also happened to me… In public, with a crowd and a school party!
I went to Cabo St. Lucas- Mexico , to swim the dolphin. My particular dolphin swimming partner was called Osiris. Now as part of the fun you get to hold onto the dolphin and swim. Unfortunately with a dolphin noise she blasted off and so did my bikini bottoms. Unfortunately we were in a pool, with large windows and a school party had just arrived. It was a while before I realised. I was just about to climb out after the rapid ride and I looked down in horror. The penny dropped and suddenly I understood that the dark material floating on the other side of the pool was in fact my nik naks! So after feeling somewhat humiliated by the dolphin, I had to swim back and collect them. The only possible good that could have come from that is that the school party would have had a lesson in female biology and the virtues of investing in pressure-resistant bikini bottoms.
I feel at this point it would be well worth having a moral of the story.
Moral of the story – invest in knickers that stick to you like glue… Actually no invest in anti-falling down knickers. Or alternatively wear two pairs of knickers then if you lose one pair you have a back up. For those who need an extreme contingency - wear three pairs. The should be a really small pair. The second a slightly larger pair and the third – a giant pair of granny knickers…!
Second Moral of the story - time your bikini bottom loss to be at night and away from a pool with windows.
Third moral of the story only go on holiday to nudist beaches and places where loss of knickers is not frowned upon.
From darkness came light and whether you realise it or not there are solutions for all knickery eventualities!

THE THRESHOLD OF BOREDOM & KNICKERS ON WHEELS!

The threshold of boredom and knickers on wheels.
Boredom… As my dad once said - boring people get bored. I would like to dispute this. Today I feel like a child who wants to go out and play. Outside the office there is bright sunshine and world that is full of potential. In the opposite camp I am sitting at my desk contemplating boredom. I feel like the child who has to do its homework before it gets to hang out with friends.
To alleviate a bit of boredom, I accidentally sent my colleague down to the shop with a vending card with not enough money to buy a coffee. It wasn’t intentional but she has just lined up to get to the front of the queue only to discover my lack of funds on the card and her lack of funds on her own card… A choice had to be made and humiliation ensued… This action generated a story and that story broke the ‘metrics’ tedium.
With boredom alleviation in mind I think I will share ‘my little incident.’ It began like this – each lunch hour I go to the gym. Not really for fitness purposes but it is an excuse to get out of the office and sweat. You can’t sweat in the office because it is frowned up… Obviously going to the gym involves bringing in a change of clothes… Well being desperate to get on with my work I put my bag down and threw myself into the world of metrics. A little later I was scooting between desks on my chair. At this point a colleague frowned at the floor and pointed.
‘Are those knickers?’
Everyone on the bank of desks stood up to witness a black lacy pair of knickers attached to the wheel of my chair. Imagine if they had been granny knickers or apple carriers. Anyway, the harsh reality was that I had been driving my knickers around the office. Some of the guys pointed out they had noticed it earlier but they wanted to see how long it would take me to notice. Potentially I could have driven around for days… Even worse -my knickers on wheels could have been a permanent fixture in the office. I may have started a knickers on wheels trend!
Moral of the story: don’t change your knickers after the gym. Invest in disposable knickers or deny that the knickers are yours… Now that would have been weird…
Right back to work… I have had my boredom alleviation….

Gossiptorial locations around the office.

Gossiptorial locations about the office and gossip spotting.
Today is another international conference call of doom. This is my prime opportunity to glance about the room and consider the intricacies of office life…
Today I have the feeling that gossip seems to be my focus. Thinking about it… There is always at least one gossip, two supporters and numerous others who are interested in other people’s lives and stories. It is like watching planets come into alignment and gravity pulls the gossiptorial group together. Such activity is what gives the office gossip her status and value. She alleviates the tedium and the dull repetition of the office grind.
In terms of gossip, there has to be specific locations for gossip other than instant messaging… These are the communal hubs where people have the opportunity to congregate and appear to be working. It seems that the various locations provide different levels of gossip potential depending on location and privacy… It is kind of like a gossip gathering… In my personal study and investigation I have come up with the following:
The photocopier…
The photocopier is the prime area to catch up on the general happenings. There is not too much actual gossip on the surface but people do have a tendency to reveal how they feel about others and tell you what is going on in their lives. Although, when the paper gets jammed it seems that while people perform the gynaecological operation on the machine, something stimulates them to share actual gossip. I believe that something must happen when the person is bent over and rummaging about the copier’s innards. My assumption is that there is a rush of blood to the head which results in the gossip release… In terms of photocopier disclosure – the collation of actual paper or paper shuffling will disclose the potential for a full confession. The speed and action of the paper shuffle is directly proportionate to what is about to be released. If you notice an increased rate of paper shuffle I suggest you find something to photocopy and get to that machine pretty quickly.
By sitting close to the copier I have learned about bunion removals… Births and birthing techniques. At other times I have been provided with numerous strategies for pulling… The photocopier is not the prime area for full reveals unless there is a massive paper shuffle, but the photocopier provides an entertaining place to catch up and gain insight into other people’s lives.
The lift.
As soon as those lift door shut – that is it! It is as if someone has shot the starters’ gun on the Olympic 100m race. For those who work on the higher floors there is potential for at least three floors of comprehensive gossip off-load. The lift is the prime area for power talking. This is stimulated by the fear that someone will join the lift mid-flow. Have you noticed that other people always enter the lift at the most juicy part of the conversation and it has to be continued in the loo?



The water cooler and /or coffee machine.
The locations of the water coolers vary but those that are in remote places are a hub for office chat. The bigger the bottle you take with you the longer you can chat. Although bringing a ten litre container to the work may indeed reveal a very obvious intention. The answer is to bring ten one bottles and confess that you get very very thirsty. The only problem is that the more water you drink the more time you spend in the loo – which again is another prime location for chat.
Lavatorial gossip.
This is the prime place. I have watched people check every cubicle to make sure that there are not ears a wiggin'. Once clear that is where the gossip off-load takes place. Did you hear… My God so and so… It is amazing. Sometimes people are not so careful in the cubicle check and I have been witness to the beginnings of an office mutiny. After one girl had been crying in the loo her colleague stamped her foot and made a plan for a mass resignation of the whole team. Within the month nine people left a team of ten… I am not saying spend your day on the loo if you are nosy but every so often lurking in the loo can give you an insight into the realities of what is taking place on the bank of desks near by….
The kitchen or communal area…
A little bit too obvious but often people talk in code in this location. I have noticed the office gossip checks this area on a regular basis and follows certain people into the area to see what juicy bits she can catch up on to plan her extraction strategy by mentioning that she already knows something from someone else.
The canteen.
Anywhere that people can form queues and fold their arms will produce gossip. The longer the queue, the more potential for gossip. Obviously sitting down at the table provides the potential for social interaction. Sitting down at a table beside a pair that are already gossiping provides potential for gossip absorption…
The cakes desk of disclosure.
When cakes are brought in or any type of share food – they seem to stimulate conversation. If someone is leaving it seems that people who have never actually talked to them before circle the area take some food and then feel it is perfect to delve into the intricacies of that person’s life. What’s more, when a person leaves everyone always seems stunned, curious and asks why.
When a temp leaves, even if they have not been talked to by the majority of the permanent staff, they still eat their cakes, ask them about their personal history and act like they are their best friend. This is all in order to get a cake. Of course the temp is going to go to London and become an international star, live an extra ordinary life and become a millionaire! In conclusion cake seems to be a gossip catalyst. By eating cake there is a whole load of disclosure… Maybe in comfort food we make our confessions…

Smoker’s hut.
This is the area where those who inhale bonfire disclose most information. I have never been privy to this; however, one of my friends began smoking so she could find out various information… It seemed that the smokers had a specialist knowledge and a network that involved inhalation, fire and disclosure.
The bus
Travelling to and from work is the prime area to catch up. I have noticed an array of office gossips who sit on the bus absorbing everything they can from those in the vicinity. For some reason people do not think they can be heard talking on a bus. The truth is everyone can hear. It is just that they appear to be listening to music but that is just a decoy… They are listening, absorbing and forming an opinion about everything that is being said!
The thing is all of the above is actually fascinating; however, being privy to gossip observation – I have noticed the Chinese whisper phenomenon. It amazes me how stories get exaggerated over time and gossip becomes malicious. I have even known someone who was gossiping over the e-mail to be picked up on her gossip. Her mails were used as evidence of bullying and she was actually fired… As much as gossip can be humorous – it is also someone’s life.

Alternatives make up gossip about an imaginary person / or imaginary friend. Or gossip about yourself in third person… Brilliant!
Okay I have to be involved in the call now – but a little mental wander gave me the escape I needed from mundanity!

Gratitude and the lovely loo roll!

Gratitude and the art of random things…
On the walk to work today I was thinking about the things that I am grateful for but take for granted.
So my first gratitude went in the direction of ear plugs… I would like to give the person who created the silicone earplug a big cuddle… Sleep is paramount and living next to a busy road with angry ladies of the night (the ladies of the night insight is due to be posted over the weekend… Along with sausage dogs…)
Then in my half-awake state I began to think about toilet paper… How many people feel joy at the amazing invention of toilet paper…? A comfort that comforts! Imagine the world without toilet paper. There would be no fluffy puppies wrapped in loo roll appearing on adverts… There would be no satisfied feeling that comes about when you visit your mum who has quilted toilet paper. Pure luxury!
Anyway I delved a bit deeper into the world of loo roll because I wanted to find out when it was actually invented and here are a few of the things I found out about it.
Previous wipery came in the form of grass, fur, leaves, mussel shells and corn on the cob (without the corn). Apparently stones and pieces of clay were the Greek solution and the Romans evolved their system into using a stick with a sponge. They dipped the said stick into a jug filled with salty water….
Actual toilet paper originated in China. Emperors ordered it in large sheets – maybe the emperor’s bottom was larger than the average posterior… Who knows? The first actual loo paper arrived on the market around 1857 and was a flat sheet with Aloe Vera. Oh and in 1935 Splinter free loo roll emerged onto the market… Amazing! SPLINTER FREE – HOORAH! Good old Great Britain originated the two ply in 1942.
Now of all the things I have learned, what shocked me the most, was that there was shortages of loo roll in the U.S in 1973. How can a government justify that? Imagine the speech. ‘We are making toilet paper cuts and we are going to ration toilet paper. This is in the best interest of the nation. Please comply…’
With all the above in mind – how glad are you that loo roll exists now?
After the loo roll meanderings I crossed the park and realised how grateful I am to dogs… Yes dogs – They definitely cheer me up. I love watching their little legs as they get a huge amount of pleasure chasing the ball. Although what gives me more pleasure, and this is naughty, is when the owner throws the ball and the dog looks disinterested. The owner then has to fetch the ball themselves. I think those dogs know what they are doing… And I love it!
Back to the desk for some office insights… And some more ways to mentally escape mundanity….

Cake and the art a cake resistance....!

CAKE ABSORBTION AND THE ART OF BACK CHATTING A CAKE.
Put the cake in the mouth… Go to the gym and burn it off…
That seems to be the common belief within the office. However I am in a period of anti-cakism… I am resisting that cake urge because summer is coming and when it comes to the local beach, I am not going to be the one who has save the whale campaigners dowsing me with water…
What is it with offices and the need to bring cake in at every opportunity? We have had charity cake, birthday cake, cakey cake and hoorah someone has run a long way – let’s celebrate with a cake! Actually there is even a look we have a cake let’s celebrate a cake with a cake hoorah!!!
Admittedly cake and chocolate is my kryptonite. What makes it increasingly difficult is that my desk is located in eyeshot of the cake launch-pad desk… It is not fair! So the cake battle is quite paramount. I have been found in the chocolate isle of the local supermarket wrestling myself over a box of chocolate lint… Yes it was like a toddler having a tantrum where the angel voice in my head said virtue and the naughty voice said do it who cares? Well the angel and the demon had a bit of a wrestle themselves and left me with chocolate scarring! Advice to all – do not talk to the chocolates in the chocolate isle and do not shout, mutter of grab your self in anyway in plain view of the security camera!
Yesterday was a particularly difficult cake struggle. The cakes were in direct view. With little voices screaming eat me… I realised why some cakes are known as fairy cakes because the little voice calling sounds like a fairy!
Anyway the majority of people in the office know that I am on a pound shifting mission. So in honour of this they have arranged the cake along my desk divider. Now they are all clearly eating cake in plane view and wafting in front of my face. Oh let’s make the cakes dance in front of my face… Obviously jamming cake up my nose is going to tempt me…
I did not give in…. So finally my boss came over and advised me that by sitting at the desk in close proximity to the cake meant that I was absorbing the particles of cake through my skin therefore I had succumbed… Unfair? So my response was the following by mail:
Obviously not wanting to disagree with my manager, I would like to apply this theory to other things… To test it if you like. If your theory is correct then the office comedian and office reliable (to omit names) are sitting relatively close, plus we have chairs and desk furniture… If we apply that particular theory to them that would suggest that I was technically absorbing all this through my skin which would therefore suggest I was a living black hole.
Apparently my boss has generated his own alternative universe of cake absorption… The rules are only known to him and his imaginary followers…
Moral of the story: do not tell anyone you are not eating cake because it will create office uproar!
Second moral of the story: do not talk to the cakes in front of your work colleagues, ask whether they can hear the fairies or write about your cake issues.
Third moral of the story do not unintentionally absorb cake through your skin! Or allow anyone to convince you that it is possible!

CAKE ABSORBTION AND THE ART OF BACK CHATTING A

I MISSED A FEW OFFICE TYPES

Okay… So it seems I missed a few:

The office gossip.
She is usually buxom and has a tendency to cross her arms as she leans into hear everything and every one. She is a phenomenon because she can extract the intimate details of everyone’s personal life. She is there when someone breaks down and cries, she senses when something is brewing. She notices the subtle gestures between those who are hiding the sausage but trying to keep it quiet. She is an antennae for all goings on and when she gets the chance she sets herself up to be confided in. She is a gossip genius. When she feels she is ready to share she will subtly drop some of the most surprising antics into conversation. ‘So do you hear about…. Such a shame…’ ‘You would never believe… but so and so….’ ‘Guess who is ….’ Everyone wants to know her because people’s lives are brightened by this creature. It is natural to want to know about others but be aware that everyone probably knows about you too!

The office get away with doing absolutely nothing!
The diddly squatter of work. He spends all day on the internet reading the news, looking for cars to buy and bidding on e-bay. He looks like he is busy because he has developed ‘the I am really busy expression,’ but in truth he has done bugger all. Then when it comes to the end of the day his work is dished out to everyone else because it has not been done… He is the object of intense dislike. He rides the wave of ‘getting away with it’ for usually about six months, then he will either move department or get another job. Oh and when it comes down to bonus / pay rise time he is deeply wronged because he has not received anything. He does not get the equation of work in = pay out.

The office vanity.
On the desk there are lipsticks, nail varnishes, spare scarves, perfume etc. She is immaculate. Her hair always looks like the adverts and bounces perfectly. Her clothing is perfectly co-ordinated and her skin is clear like porcelain. She looks amazing, nothing is out of place and she always has a glossy magazine to reference. She takes pride in how she looks but disaster falls when a nail is broken. Catastrophy and drama ensue until super-glue is applied. The world then returns to stability.

The office mum.
She is there in times of need. She usually has available tea and biscuits. If anyone cries at the desk she is there batting off the office gossip and backstabber. Her atmosphere is pure mother, she nurtures, loves and supports. She is a wonderful woman and should receive more appreciation because she constantly gives with out the expectation of a return. We should have a national office mum day! Oh and never under-estimate the power of nurture!
The office power hungry.
This one is simple – they will do what they have to do to get where think they want to be. They will stamp on anyone and everyone to achieve their goal. What they do not consider is that to have power a person needs to feel powerful inside. The power hungry at some point has felt powerless and the chip on their shoulder drives them. They believe that in the future that having power will make them happy. A little insight here – power does not make people happy. Being happy is a state of being… Thought you might like to know that!

The office idiot.
He is rather silly, spends his life just getting by. He just does not get it, he never will because his mind resides in a land of complete idiocy. In a state of ignorant bliss he gets on with mundane and easy tasks that no one wants to do. He usually gets it wrong so it has to be done again. It is fine, he will not be upset, he will simply do something else equally badly. The others in the office have no clue how he got employed but the office idiot does serve his purpose in that he makes the rest of the office feel superior!

The office powerhouse of efficiency.
Done it. Yep done. Have you… Yep done, complete, done! This person is super efficient. They work like a machine. With big gestures they tick yet another thing off their list. They are super efficient and like to let everyone know it. Yes they do make others feel inadequate but we do need this person within the office dynamic to support the office idiot and the ‘I have done diddly squat!’
The thing is this person will end up with burnout at some point or build massive resentment for the people who cannot keep up. She will ask something to be done and will learn that only she will do it… It is a harsh realisation for the Office powerhouse of efficiency that other people do not get satisfaction from being the most efficient.



Okay… So it seems I missed a few:

Two morals of the story!!!

Retina Blue (Volume 1)



Okay this is the last past blog re-visit...
It seems that it isn’t just me that has many an interesting thing happen to them, my lovely friend endures such incidents. For the new year she decided she wanted to get fit, gyms are dull, running can be long and arduous, so she thought she would do something fun: roller-blading. Roller blading looks smooth, quite feminine and involves wheels. That is where I would put a stop to it… Yep right there. I learned very early on that when you are escorted across the road by an eighty year old with a limp because he fears for you, you know your skating style is probably a little naff. Also when you go over a wall and land in someone’s rose bush- that is a good sign you don’t have talent- listen to your intuition. Finally when the only way you can stop is to hit a lamp-post it is time to say no and move on. So I learned my lesson early and have since stopped balancing on a line of wheels, in public, at speed. To me it the same as tight-rope walking in a gale- who in their right mind would do that?

Anyway the tangent bi-sected me. So my lovely friend, in hope of achieving fitness, ventured down her road to a local park on the ‘said’ skates. Fair enough. Her best friend followed her, he can already skate. Please note this.

Anyway at the park a rugby team are in full scrum, roaring, grappling and being too close to each other’s behinds for my liking. Now as a girl, it is common to be aware of a bunch of jostling, sweaty men on a field, each man handling an odd shaped sack, which ironically they call a ball. My friend was aware of such mass interaction and thought she would glide past like a princess, purposefully ignoring the testosterone fest. This is where it usually goes wrong and it did. She glided, tripped and landed on her behind in the middle of the road. It was a park- there is no traffic right? No. Of course there was traffic: one solitary car and a narrow road. Luckily the car had seen the full arm waving, skidding foot decent to the ground. The car stopped and patiently waited for her to get up. The rugby team stopped scrumming and noticed a girl flat on her back in the middle of the road with a car waiting. Her friend laughed. Did anyone help her? No. Why is it at any such point people stand and stare and laugh? Well her best friend found the situation side-splittingly funny and held onto a lamp-post because he was laughing so hard. In the mean time she tried to co-ordinate her feet or should I say wheels. But under pressure nothing was going to work. Every time she tried she fell. She flayed about in the road legs everywhere, everyone laughing. The driver turned off his engine and still didn’t help, instead he just waited. The rugby team made comments, the friend laughed, but finally she gathered herself. There was one thing for it: enact the motion of a dog with worms- that would save the day. It did, the poor girl dragged herself across the ground looking like a worm-infested hound on wheels. And as if by magic the moment was over. Grass was there, no more slipperly surface and a post available to lever herself up. Not one gentleman or saviour amongst the onlookers. Instead a number of lessons learned: take off the boots if in trouble.
Don’t rely on laughing friends.
If all else fails adopt the worm-infested hound position and drag yourself to safety. This may be worth knowing for many other life situations.

Moral of the story: if we were meant to have wheels we would have evolved with them.
2nd Moral of the story, dogs probably learned the worming maneouver from girls in difficult situations on roller blades and thought that was a great idea in dog language. I figure that because it happened in a park and dogs get to walk, mark territory and leave messages.

3rd Moral of the story: If a girl is floundering about on the road in front of a car- maybe we could possibly put the odd shaped ball down and help her?

I hope it makes you smile.

MY MOST READ BLOG EVER!!!!

Retina Blue (Volume 1)



I have been reading previous blogs to see what appeals to the world... This was on redbubble and has been read thousands of times... It still makes me laugh and gives an insight into my life!

Well this weekend was spent like many others knee deep in mud with excitable flatulant horses. I was somewhere known as the Quantock hills. It is a place in England where the people are known to talk with additional RRRRRRRRRR’s in everything they say. When they answer yes they often say ARRRRh, a bit like a pirate. I think the word referee would be a good illustration. RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRReferrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrree.

Anyway deep in a forest area a horse event was taking place where the riders draw their own map and navigate the forest. An orienteering with horse adventure if you like. And I luckily was able to photograph most of them before they got lost. And you may think that I am joking but numerous disappeared into the forestry green yonder. Admittedly I met a man who lived there and he did say that when he walked his dogs around here he spent a great deal of time being lost. So thank God I didn’t venture too far, especially with my track record. So each entrant had to draw their map, I think one couple forgot which way up they were suppossed to be. So, not being able to tell the competitiors they were going in the wrong direction, I continued taking the pre-lost picture as best I could.

Later that afternoon I was asked to photograph an event that was suppossed to take place at one o’clock but was delayed because the competitors were lost. So to make the best of the time, the other photographer (Carol) and myself had a buttercup photographing competition. Yes that is what you do while you wait for a horse to appear. So since buttercups are bright yellow I thought I would create the anti-thesis of buttercup and photographed in black and white…. I never like to be the same…. Always original…

After a couple of hours of buttercup embued photographic frenzie, we learned that the entries for the competition had declined from 60 down to 14. There were talks of alien abduction, actually that talk came from me, but there was still talk. Then a number of questions arose: if a horse was abducted would an alien know how to ride it? If the horse was abducted would they take the saddle and all the gear? If you were an alien why would you abduct a horse? Where in a space ship would you ride the horse? So many questions that will never be fully answered, that is unless I meet an alien. Although if you meet an alien I doubt that would be the first thing on your mind. I think more likely would be what do you eat and please don’t let it be humans. Also what happens if the space ship runs out of fuel? Do you have an alien AA? Still I did learn there were people who would be abducted by aliens in a second.

The competition commenced but some of the horses were not complying. When it came to jumping a few tried to throw their riders. When it came to crossing a brook the image of a woman standing behind a horse and pushing with her shoulder made it apparent that you could lead a horse to a brook but you could not make it cross . I tell you it was so funny. She tried everything, pushing pulling, leading, waving food at it. The horse was having none of it. When she walked away and had completely given up the horse snuck across the brook and acted as though nothing had happened. It was brilliant.

Later that evening I invited Steve Spraggon (another photographer) to the hog roast. I met Steve through flickr and red bubble. Since he lived in the area I thought he might like to join the Carol and myself for an interesting evening. That way he would experience the reality and know the stories were true. Steve miraculously found the field in the middle of nowhere and was lucky enough to be persuaded to go on a chocolate mission to a near by village. It was apparent in the first few minutes of meeting carol and myself that he had wondered into extreme eccentricity and that he had just met two women who laughed hysterically at their own jokes…. Poor guy.
After a slighlty slurred conversation about one of my books: Goyle, about Gargoyles. I informed Steve that Gargoyles eat walls and poop pebbles. I am convinced that Steve thought I was completely fruit loop. I also told him the Goblin story, you can find that on one of the other Journal entries or in writing. And yes that was it, he realised there was no escape!

Anyway after the chocolate mission Steve was enlisted in helping me put up my tent. Now most people would put the tent on the flat. Seems obvious. But the way I saw it: horses could jump fences and go for a rampage during the night. Also when I was in Namibia I always camped on a slope close to rocks just in case the desert elephants wanted to play twister using tents. So my logic seemed perfectly okay to me. Although since then I have been informed that the word logic was nowhere near the mark. Never mind. So I pitched the tent under trees, up a bit of a hill and where there weren’t too many ditches. Also in terms of thinking: if I was a horse and I was going to escape from a field where would I run? I would run down hill because up hill would be too much of an effort. So do you see the logic now? I know I am convincing you.

Once the tent was pitched there were a few comments amongst the horse fraternity. Who’s camping on the hill? Er me? So there were a few amused looks and a couple of ex-service men who said. ‘I did that once, never again.’ Well that was it, stubborness kicked in. I would camp there no matter what! Then one of the lady riders kindly offered for me to stay in the comfort of a nice warm cottage. Most people would have jumped at the chance; however i still had work to do, a buttercup photography competition to have judged and had to save Steve who was being bullied by salivating dogs. So imagine you have a choice of sleep in a cosy cottage or sleep in angular tent construction. My question is: what enables the most adventure? So of course I politely declined their kind offer and returned to the photo van where Steve was being licked to death by two dogs whose breath smelt like tripe. He seemed okay with it all. In fact I was astounded by how calm Steve was considering he had worn nice shoes and had been forced to trample through mud. He was very chilled out: I put that down to shock.

So for the buttercup judging. Bearing in mind that Steve had not met either Carol, who owns the company, or myself before. We felt it fair to force him to jude the buttercup photography competition. Of course it was highly competitive and could turn nasty. I had images of WWF wrestling, but I did keep that to myself. I didn’t think it was fair to put your boss in a double nelson in the middle of a field.

For someone now in the throng of two competive female photographers Steve was potentially at risk. He took his role seriously, showed dedication and was very fair in the judging, albeit completely wrong in his choice. I lost, but came highly commended. I think the black and white photograph of a buttercup defied the idea of buttercups! Anyway I was not sore, but I was going to be…

After the hog roast and my vegetarian version:quiche. Yes I know that a quiche rotating on a stick over a fire does not conjure the same romantic imagery. That is why I said Hog roast, you can imagine fires, men beating their chests and women dressed as wenches weilding jugs of beer saying arrrr and Robin hood turning up. Try that same image with a quiche on a stick! Yes I know it doesn’t sound so great… But it was nice. Anyway after saying goodbye to Steve, whose eyes were slightly glazed and he may well have developed a twitch, it was time for bed. On the hill I arranged my sleeping bag and blankets. The slope, I would guess, was about 20 degrees. So I worked out my plan. Sleep on my back with my legs out pressing against the canopy. I could dig in with my heels and stop myself sliding. Well I laid down and got myself comfortable and it worked quite well. Then a horse let out a loud ney and made me jump. So I rolled onto my side. This is where it got difficult. I slid to the wall of the tent. I then scrambled back up and re-arranged my sleeping back and slept on my back. I don’t know whether anyone else ever has it that when they are camping their hearing goes into over-drive. Well I laid silently and all I could hear was grass being ripped up and chewed- all night. Had the horse got out of the pen? I undid the zip of my tent expecting to meet a horse face to face. No. There was no horse, it was down the hill. Hmmm? I went back in and fell asleep until two o’clock in the morning where another horse did a rather loud bottom sound. I thought the phantom rasperberry blower was in the field. He was not. Horses pass wind a lot, you thought cows were bad… This one sounded like it was playing a bugle through its bottom. So I woke up and not only had I slipped but I had rotated. It had rained and my face had made contact with the side of the tent. I had managed to unintentionally wash my face. Ironically I had been dreaming about waterfalls. So back to laying on my back until five in the morning when there was a rain storm. I wondered about the comfort of a pretty the cottage and considered I may well have made a mistake. Although the thought of the morning conversation about the virtues of erecting a tent on a hill made me feel I had made the right choice.

The last three hours of sleep were the best. I wedged my bottom in a pot hole, it stopped me sliding and I made it through to eight oclock where yet another horse made a loud neighing sound. That was it, I was awake. So I took a stroll down to an area where they are making some very tasty fried egg sandwhiches. Also there was home made Victoria sponge. It was lovely. I did notice there was were a number of smiles in my direction, numerous people asked if I had slept well. Now for me the word ‘well’ is not definite. It is like nice. So since well had no specific parameters, I went for well in comparitive to an insomniac. So my answer was yes, surprisingly well considering. All through the day numerous people came up to me. ‘Ah you’re the girl who slept in the angular tent pitch. ‘Yes I am.’ ‘The girl who slept on the hill, giggle.’ Yep all of the above… But with such mini-adventures you learn the following.

So in terms of pitching tents: do not pitch on a hill, even if you think that freaked out horses or elephants may well crush you. If you do make that decision- make sure you do it where no-one can see if and make jokes about it. Always deny the fact to the masses that you have been a completely stubborn idiot. Always justify why such an idiotic attempt has been made and convince them you are completely right! And finally invest in a camper van and do not park it on a hill!


Moral of the story, when pitching a tent do not imagine angry horses playing twister on your tent!