Work experience

I remember a long time ago, more than 10 years in fact, I went to the holiday inn in Reading (the one near Caversham) to complete my week of 'work experience'. The placements were chosen at random, and despite wanting experience in a 'busy office' I found myself in the wonderful world of hoteliering- perhaps this is where my love was born (of staying in hotels and cleaning, not the two together of course).

Each day I reported in via the back entrance to my supervisor, a rough'n'ready Reading lass, probably about mid-late 20's but who might as well have been 50 to me at the time. I donned my green and white checked jumpsuit and yes, I had to clean bedrooms. I even had to do that little poncy thing with the toilet roll where it forms a neat little 'point' at the end for easy grabbing.

I learnt how to do proper nurses corners on the bedsheets, how to change a duvet cover in a time efficient manner, how to plump cushions (which Sam has since re-taught me) how to steel the chocolates that were meant for the guest's pillows and how to take longer lunchbreaks than I was supposed to. All in all, many valuable life lessons were learnt that week.

The reason I cast my mind back to these happy carefree days (ahem) is that at present we have two 'lads' in the office on work experience. I say 'lads' as everyone in the office is desperately trying to call them something PC- young people, young men, lads etc rather than children, or even worse as I did earlier....kids! Oh dear god.

Trying desperately to make them feel an integral part of the business, I felt it would be good to involve them in a mini focus group to ask their opinions some on preliminary designs done on a site we're developing aimed at kids their age (see I'm at it again, old mother Hubbard!)...rather unfortunately about sexual health. Funny, but 15 year old boys don't appear to want to talk freely about sexual health problems to a 20 something erm, woman. When I asked if they recognised a picture showing a pile of contraceptive pills one of them piped up and said, 'yeah, it's a load of e'....yes! Well, not quite- e-strogen maybe. Thank you and goodnight.

Facebook....the end of many happy relationships

Don’t get me wrong, I love Facebook as we all do, but already in the few short months since I’ve been on it, I (and one of my best friends) have experienced the very thing which could end up bringing it to it’s knees….yes, something we all hold dear to our hearts (those of us with skeletons in our closets, dearer than others)….our privacy.

One of my bestest friends in the world, who will remain unnamed, recently battled against the potentially unfortunate end of her 14 year relationship, the culprit: Facebook. Well, that’s not 100% accurate, but the reason she got caught out for doing something a little bit silly- Facebook. It goes something like this- her and her boyfriend are on a break, they spent some time apart to mull things over (plenty to mull after 14 years) and in that mulling time, my friend decides she needs a holiday, and being temporarily single, needs a travel buddy. She asks around and her coupled up friends have already committed their meagre 20 days holiday for the next decade on various weddings, 90th birthday parties and christenings (sign of the times people). She floats the idea at work and finds a willing companion, male, aged 29, single and they get on well. Job done.

Not relishing the idea of fessing up to her pseudo-boyfriend that she has a holiday impending with another man, and knowing in her heart that it was entirely innocent, she decides to skip the truth and tell, what is in essence, a ‘white’ lie- she’s going with a girly mate from work- ok? There is no deliberate malice, merely the desire to avoid a potentially difficult and hurtful conversation when there was no need…all good. Hurrah.

Whilst holidaying, a certain ‘on a break ‘ boyfriend pops into the flat to get some bits and pieces and logs on to her PC. As ‘luck’ would have it, he looks at Facebook, and thank goodness the cookies had remembered her user name and password, so he thought he’d have a quick squizz. Well, you just would wouldn’t you! Once on there he sees the recently added friend ‘Mr X’, and the range of holiday pics featuring my friend at various tourist spots looking happy. Nothing incriminating, apart from the fact that my friend is clearly on holiday with a bloke, not the ‘girlfriend from work’ who she was supposed to be away with. He freaks, he leaves a message on the guy’s wall, telling him in NO uncertain terms what a f**king w**nker he is, and my friend is left shamefaced and well, caught red handed!

Things are fine now, and after a fair amount of humble pie and some serious smoothing over, they are back together as they should be. My friend is left feeling silly for thinking she had to lie, when in fact, the truth would have saved so much upset and we’re all cursing facebook for being so fecking transparent.

Meanwhile, I have been rated as an 8 out of 10 by some tosser I met in the pub ages ago, a friend of a friend. 8 out of 10. How DARE he.

Both of these stories I think prove, beyond reasonable doubt that Facebook ought to be treated with great care and caution.

Ouch....get that thing away from me

One day you’re contemplating what outfit to wear to the races and the next day you’re thinking about whether or not those dodgy cells in your cervix might turn out to be something nasty. Funny how life throws a googly almost to punish you for being stupidly shallow and avoiding facing the real issues in life. I guess that’s what you call, erm, ‘getting real’.

I’m not being dramatic about my little impending hospital appointment (much) but it’s hard not to be a little bit scared when you don’t really know what to expect, apart from some poking and prodding, possible lasering, freezing, cutting and biopsying, depending on what’s erm, ‘up there’. My friend Sam, I’m sure won’t mind me saying, has gone through many a similar procedure in her time. Having had kids, I guess this is somewhat of an inevitability. I knew asking her about this would result in on thing- brutal honesty. There was talk of ‘hot lasers’ ‘hand squeezing’, ‘some bleeding’ and also I’ve heard speculation about ‘nappies’. None of these things fill me with much delight it has to be said.

The classic moment came last night when Steve and I were discussing said hospital appointment and I told him that after a biopsy or lasering or freezing, I was to become a sex free zone for a month whilst my insides sorted themselves out. He repeated the words ‘ a month’ as if it were a truly alien concept- I think he thought being the ‘hand squeezing recepticle’ was as bad as it was going to get…

I’ll keep you posted….29th June is D day if you’re interested so all positive vibes for ‘not too much abnormality’ are happily received. Sam- I know I’m being a massive girl, but godammit it’s my bits, I’m entitled!

A day at the races

A day at the races. You’d think a classy affair, complete with glamorous outfits, pockets wedged full of crisp banknotes, champagne bottles in ice coolers by your feet, lots of polite chit chat about odds and form and the lie of the land…god to fair, damp to erm, stiff. You get the picture.

So we arrived at Sandown in our i-wags car (i-wags- insurance wives and girlfriends- AKA Steve’s work colleagues plus their girlfriends). It’s a little bit rainy, so my choice of white linen smock dress not necessarily the best, especially given the hour long journey which has left me creased beyond belief- where’s the gas powered travel iron when you need one? Being sensible and well seasoned drinkers, we decide to fill our tummies with some stodge in order to combat the early afternoon boozy wooziness, all well and good, except for my lunch consisted of several white wine spritzers….large, and some moderately picked at salad.

In we go- premier lounge, which means covered from the rain and not within spitting distance of anyone wearing jeans. It also meant the best selection of ridiculous oversized sunglasses and fake tans I have ever clapped eyes on. Not only that but I was also ‘lucky’ enough to be standing behind the ‘legend’ that is John Mccririck complete with giant cigar, purple troosers, his silly ear flaps hat and a serious case of the shakes. Of course at first I thought it was some joker in fancy dress with a spitting image rubber ‘John Mccririck’ head on until Steve pointed out demand for such a thing would be limited at best.

And so we gambled. Second race, we had a tip off on a dead cert. We should have known. A proper nag who pottered in 6th out of a line up of 7. So from then on I bet on the outsiders without a win of course and got gradually drunker and more annoyed. Steve on the other hand proceeded to bet on the favourites, winning paltry sums but at least breaking even by the end of the day. Ho hum. Through out the course of the day, Steve’s colleagues let slip about a whole host of travelling which he’d not quite got around to telling me about yet, no big deals, just a long trip to Russia and then Australia, oh, and New York early July. Having a super ambitious boyfriend is sometimes a little sad you know...I’m counting down the days till self actualisation and the opening of the dog sanctuary.A day at the races. You’d think a classy affair, complete with glamorous outfits, pockets wedged full of crisp banknotes, champagne bottles in ice coolers by your feet, lots of polite chit chat about odds and form and the lie of the land…god to fair, damp to erm, stiff. You get the picture.

So we arrived at Sandown in our i-wags car (i-wags- insurance wives and girlfriends- AKA Steve’s work colleagues plus their girlfriends). It’s a little bit rainy, so my choice of white linen smock dress not necessarily the best, especially given the hour long journey which has left me creased beyond belief- where’s the gas powered travel iron when you need one? Being sensible and well seasoned drinkers, we decide to fill our tummies with some stodge in order to combat the early afternoon boozy wooziness, all well and good, except for my lunch consisted of several white wine spritzers….large, and some moderately picked at salad.

In we go- premier lounge, which means covered from the rain and not within spitting distance of anyone wearing jeans. It also meant the best selection of ridiculous oversized sunglasses and fake tans I have ever clapped eyes on. Not only that but I was also ‘lucky’ enough to be standing behind the ‘legend’ that is John Mccririck complete with giant cigar, purple troosers, his silly ear flaps hat and a serious case of the shakes. Of course at first I thought it was some joker in fancy dress with a spitting image rubber ‘John Mccririck’ head on until Steve pointed out demand for such a thing would be limited at best.

And so we gambled. Second race, we had a tip off on a dead cert. We should have known. A proper nag who pottered in 6th out of a line up of 7. So from then on I bet on the outsiders without a win of course and got gradually drunker and more annoyed. Steve on the other hand proceeded to bet on the favourites, winning paltry sums but at least breaking even by the end of the day. Ho hum. Through out the course of the day, Steve’s colleagues let slip about a whole host of travelling which he’d not quite got around to telling me about yet, no big deals, just a long trip to Russia and then Australia, oh, and New York early July. Having a super ambitious boyfriend is sometimes a little sad you know...I’m counting down the days till self actualisation and the opening of the dog sanctuary.

Isle of Wight

I think my lack of postings goes someway to explaining just how good the festival was. And if you could see me, my comedy tan lines would certainly demonstrate how warm and sunny it was for the entire weekend (except for the morning we left which was strangely overcast and cloudy- when does that ever happen I ask you?!).

My bags would tell you a story about my lack of sleep, and my big grin would go some way to hinting at the happy memories I now have in my memory bank.

A quick rundown as I’m so tired I can barely type (almost 30, 2 hours sleep per night in a damp tent on a rubbish air bed which was all lumpy, right next to a massive group of ‘youths’ who stayed up all night every night strumming on their guitars, and somehow managed to sustain sleep past 6.30am in a tent which, after sunrise, promptly soared to horribly uncomfortable temperatures!)

Rolling Stones- excellent. Jagger has got amazing sex appeal for a man of his age, and those hips sure can wiggle. Also, he seems devoid of the usual 40-50 something paunch which effects many men (and some much younger!). My favourite song….I can’t get no (satisfaction), a brilliant live rendition, perfectly sung and complemented by some fairly naff staging technology which propelled the whole band forward on a 100 foot extendable section of the stage so that all the audience, from front to practically the middle, were able to get at spitting distance from the great legends. Steve was so drunk he created a 10 metre square area around him because he kept falling over and treading on people’s toes. Infact, most of the time, I was secretly giving him a little push as he was teetering on the edge and went down very easily like a sack of proverbial shite and it kept me amused. Also, he made the heinous error of attempting to enter the 3 day old urinals area wearing flip flops and I don’t even need to begin to describe what happened, suffice to say that there were much oozing of raw sewage involved.

In fact, Steve provided a whole array of entertainment throughout the weekend- getting some brilliant panda eye burn marks from his Pradas- serves him right for wearing such big poser shades, and last but most certainly not least his response to our friend Rob’s question ‘What’s the funniest outfit you’ve ever worn’ where he proceeded to describe an outfit which consisted of faux leather trousers and high heels….(his REAL words) cue many many hours of howling, and crying so much I ended up with stomach cramps and an upset tummy. Just when we thought he couldn’t possibly get any more entertaining, he told us he had saved up for 6 months when he was 11 to buy a bespoke, Michael Jackson ‘Thriller’ red leather jacket, complete with the shoulder pads. We made him do a moonwalk in the tent which consisted of him walking backwards pulling a stupid face. What an absolute wally….god love him. That is what happens when you don’t have a male role model in your life and are surrounded by women for most of your life. I guess….

We had a couple of minor run-ins with the police when one of our group was taken away for questioning when the sniffer dog sat squarely by his side and looked up at him (what I thought was lovingly…it turned out it was dog-accusingly). He was out 30 minutes later, light of some pot, and having had to pull his pants down and kneel over so that the police could see if he had anything up his bottom. Lovely! He didn’t by the way….well, nothing untoward anyway.

All in all, lovely time. I did feel a little bit old, not helped by the aforementioned youths in the plot next door describing our group as ‘really cool, but VERY old’….little did they know I was attempting sleep some 2 foot away and cursing them with every swearword in the book. Cheeky sods! They were about to go to ‘uni’ (tossers) so I suppose we were a decade older, but whats a year or ten between revellers?

Oh, and the other amazing thing…Morrisey cancelled, (no great shame, horrible miserable man, with awful hair) and was replaced in the line up by…..the RED ARROWS! They were so fabulous, and I felt like I was about 10 years old, all teary eyed and full of pride (don’t ask why I have no idea!). They did some amazing stunts, some coloured smoke type things, and some low level fly-bys where it looked like they were inches away from each other….the whole festival craned their necks for 30 minutes and did the statutory ohhing and ahhing. We were even given a live link radio link up to ‘Red One’ the top flying guy, who gave us a countdown to when they were going to appear in the sky. It was one of those moments when you looked at all the boys and realised they were all re-living some child-like want to become an ‘arrow’.

Happy days! I didn’t really manage to properly embrace the ming, and did have a proper wash down every day, plus hair wash and make-up and lovely smocky type dresses….look low maintenance hippy chick even if you’re quite clearly not- that’s the key!

Photos to follow when I can locate them from other people…promise xx

IoW

Pack-o-rama! Last night I excelled myself in the packing stakes by filling my 85 litre ruc sac with mostly shite which I won’t wear, won’t use, but makes me feel much better about the whole camping experience….like what? Well…this:

x2 pairs knee hi-boots
x1 pair green wellies
x2 pairs flip flops- one gold, one silver
x1 pair- trainers

x3 sun dresses
x3 scarves
x2 hats (one woolly, one summery)

X1 double air bed and foot pump
X1 giant tent with two sections

Plus all my clothes, which I can’t list as, well frankly, I’m too ashamed.

The weather forecast is looking, on the whole, pretty good and I’m hoping that my wellies will be redundant, apart from some flinging.

So then, time to mastermind the logistical nightmare that is transferring all this crap from Belsize Park to Clapham South. I’ll be back on Tuesday with some amusing stories from the weekend no doubt. I’m most looking forward to seeing La Winehouse (and seeing if her face really is that hairy), of course the old Rollies, and very unpopularly with Dan and Jonathan….Snow Patrol.
(Soft) Rock on!

Camping.....and some

I have made a small number of moderately brattish demands for the camping.

1) That the sun shines for the whole weekend
2) That I have a double air bed mattress with built in pillow
3) That I have a 2 part tent with one part specifically for 'getting ready'

Not unreasonable?

I think not! More tomorrow.....bit frantic today. xxx

House of OCD....trip to Ikea.

As I predicted, Friday night, otherwise known as ‘return from Epsom’ became a travesty of the highest order.

Throughout the day I was lucky enough to receive little gems of updates about the gambling progress and various wins along the way.

I even received a moderately coherent phone call at around 7.30pm when I was told that Steve was at Epsom train station and should be home by 8.30pm, handy given that I was due to meet him at 8pm at his and was there twiddling my thumbs.

An hour or so later I was getting bored (ish- although Big Brother was keeping me entertained!) so gave him a call, only to find he’d become dramatically more pissed (darn those booze trolleys on the trains) and was not at Clapham Junction as expected, but at Waterloo. Back in 45 mins he slurred. I grumpily accepted. Another hour passes….’Where are you? I thought you were getting on the tube an hour ago’…..and where is he? The West End, in some fancy restaurant bar having champers. Brilliant. Home in 45mins. You get the picture. An hour later. ‘Where are you’….in a cab. Another lie! In total a series of 5 drunken, heinously bad lies and a total of almost 4 hours late to meet me. And when he did, my god, I’ve rarely seen him drunker.

Result- Ali gets a lovely sparkling new black ipod docking station with amazing speakers and treated to several nice dinners out over the weekend. Bought from guilt. To be fair though my Friday night was RUINED (it matters not that I would have sat there anyway watching big brother and ugly betty….the fact remains, I was stood up!).

Tonight- the house of obsessive compulsives, plus Sam, who qualifies very nicely as she’s as OCD about cleaning as me are going on an outing to Ikea. Lindsey will be in heaven as they provide little tape measures so she can inspect the display stands are up to scratch. I will be in heaven as I can buy new sparkly things to make the place more girly and less boyish and minging and Sam will be in heaven as she is on her own as G has buggered off to New York, so needs lots of love and TLC. Hotdogs for dinner then.