Howl

This year has been a good one as far as my skin's been concerned. Until the last fortnight, when it went completely, utterly crazy. I thought it was stress, I thought it was hormones, I thought it was horrible. So, on Friday, when I had a pre-booked appointment to see my GP, I mentioned it to her. She agreed that it was horrible. She prescribed me some new antibiotics, and a course of the contraceptive pill. I'm taking the antibiotics, and carrying out a bit of a cost/benefit analysis on the contraceptive pill. Generally, it makes me a total mentalist, so I'm a bit wary. I'm currently hoping the antibiotics will be enough to restore balance, and stop me scaring small children.

I mentioned the lurking lumps to my mother, who sympathised. And today, on the phone, she asked me how my appointment had been. I told her, and she sympathised some more. Then she went on to tell me how P's daughter (all conversational roads lead to P, no matter where they start) has terrible skin. She told me that every time she talks to her, all she can think is how awful her skin is, and what a shame it is.

I know I'm too sensitive, I know I should be grateful for my mother's sympathy, and I know she was trying to conjure up a "common bond" between P's daughter (I refuse to think in terms of step-siblings at this stage) and myself. But really, in conversations about skin complaints, the only acceptable thing to say is that no-one else really notices. I've gone from feeling ugly and self-conscious, but thinking I'm more aware of it than anyone else, to feeling ugly and self-conscious, and thinking everyone else is actually thinking how hideous I am.

I know, I know, I know. My blog, my rules though, and I just had to unload that one somewhere.

Howl - Florence and the Machine

Take It or Leave It

A few weeks back, I bought myself some shoes, from Office. They are cream leather pumps, with navy patent toes. A little bit Chanel rip-off, and a lot cute. Better than that, they are actually comfortable. I am rocking the nautical look with blue skinny jeans, and my blazer/cardi hybrid thing from Topshop.

Given my awkwardly shaped feet, I figured I should celebrate this success by buying a second pair, in black, which I could wear to work with black skinny jeans. Naturally, there is not a size four to be found. When I queried with the sales assistant whether they'd get more in, she told me to order the shoes online.

I checked the website, and they do indeed have my size. However, I would prefer to buy the shoes from the shop because:

A) I'm an instant gratification kind of girl.

B) The whole waiting in for the courier thing is a pain in the ass, and with the best will in the world, I always, always miss them.

C) One of the perks of my job is a student card, which gets me 10% discount in many shops, including Office. Call me mean, but I'd rather have the shoes with discount, and without P&P.

So, I conclude that the internet has indeed changed the way we shop, but not always for the better. What happened to the days when the assistant would try and track down a pair of shoes from another shop?

Now that's off my chest, other stuff. The first week of the holidays flew in: I did a bit of lunching and dining, I had a haircut, I pottered and tidied, and I saw Sunshine Cleaning, by myself, in the afternoon, which was bliss. Week two is set to be busier - I am rediscovering my social butterfly, which was buried deep under piles of marking. But, oh, the weather, the weather. Where has the heatwave gone? Where has the sun gone? Please, come back.

Take It or Leave It - The Strokes

I'm Free

I'm on holiday - yippee! I can't even begin to tell you how much of a drag last week was. That half hour between 4.30 and 5pm on Friday felt like it lasted a hundred years. And then some.

The last week did, however, throw up a couple of interesting insights in the shape of my appraisal. Firstly, that I'm apparently much better at my job than I realise. Which is always nice to hear, even if it's possibly just a sweetner because my manager's terrified I'm going to leave, and the staffing situation is - he told me - not going to change. So, boo for no staff to fill the empty posts, but hurrah for a bit of positive feedback.

And secondly, that my "issues" with a colleague have not gone un-noticed, and weren't just me being over-sensitive/paranoid as I'd feared. I hesitate to use the word bullying, but it certainly felt that way at times - it sounds like a ridiculous thing for a 36-year-old woman to say, I know, but bear with me. This is the colleague who insisted I worked at home while I was off sick, and who has persistantly gone out of his way to undermine me since I started the job. We'll call him N. At some level, I think he feels - quite wrongly - threatened by me. Things seemed to peak over the last few months, with a number of incidents, leaving me quite shaken, and at times, teary and lacking in confidence. Other colleagues encouraged me to go and talk to my manager about it, but, you don't want to rock the boat, do you? And wouldn't it just make things worse, anyway?

However, it transpires someone in N's office reached the end of their tether - they went and reported him to my manager. And my manager duly hauled N in, and gave him a right, royal roasting. Funnily enough, I'd noticed N being a bit more bearable over the last few weeks, so something must have stuck. Here's hoping. My manager said he was disappointed I didn't go and talk to him myself, but in many ways, I think it possibly carried more weight coming from someone from N's team and not me telling tales.

So, all in all, quite a good result.

Anyway. Holidays. The weather has, predictably, turned rubbish, but I'm amusing myself very nicely. I've been chilling out this week and other than a day out today with my friend L and her two little girls, a haircut, and a spot of shopping, haven't done much. Next week, however, promises lots of lunches and dinners, and gossiping with various friends. I suspect I'll be porking back to work on my trotters, but I'll think about that later.

I'll leave you with a question. When someone tells you you look "well", is it a polite way of saying you look fat? Answers on a postcard (or in the comments box) please.

I'm Free - The Soup Dragons

Stretch Out and Wait

Dear Restaurant,

Firstly, let me tell you how brilliant I think your lunch deal is. Two courses, plus coffee for just £5 is cheap as chips, even if there are no chips on the menu. In this economic climate, everyone's tightening their belts, so this is an excellent way to make sure you have bums on seats throughout the lean times.

This promotion means you're going to be busy. Which is your intention, so it's good news for you. But think about it: if you're offering cheap food to make sure your restaurant is full, wouldn't it be a good idea to put more waiting staff on?

Having one solitary waitress for the whole place - who also has to make coffees - is just not going to work. During the week, people generally have an hour to eat and get to and from work - they're delighted to get a bargain, but is it too much to ask for them to get it in a timely fashion? And if a group of five people go out to lunch together, chances are they actually want to eat their food at the same time as one another. If it's brought to the table a dish at a time, at five minute intervals, it's going to mean it either gets cold, or everyone eats at different times.

That poor waitress! She just didn't know what to do with herself. And that made her pretty bloody grumpy; understandably so. Which, in turn, leads to a whole tipping dilemma. If a tip's supposed to be a "reward" for good service, should you actually leave something when you had to wait 25 minutes for a coffee, and ask for the bill three times? Especially if you've run out of time to have a much longed-for pudding! It's not the waitress's fault, and everyone feels sorry for her for being put in this position, but nonetheless... Possibly people will follow our lead and over-tip because they feel so bad for her - but there's something that doesn't feel quite right about that.

We're living in tough times. You're operating a service-orientated business. People expect service. Otherwise they'll vote with their feet, and then where will you be?

Yours faithfully,
Cat

Stretch Out and Wait - The Smiths

A Fortnight's Time

The countdown's on. Nine more working days, and I'll be on holiday for six weeks. Six weeks. Six, glorious weeks.

Things I am particularly looking forward to:

1) Not making people cry on a regular basis. This appears to be a party trick of mine at the moment, and I don't enjoy it one bit.

2) Catching up with everyone I've not seen in weeks.

3) Weekends where I don't have to work. And weekdays where I don't have to work too.

4) Banishing my black patent bag to the back of the cupboard. It's big, and it's leather, and it accommodates all my junk, plus my laptop, and essentially my whole life. You have no idea how much I am growing to hate it.

5) Long lies.

6) Going off to stay with my friend G in Edinburgh, and doing festival stuff.

7) Cups of tea that don't cost 70p a pop. I drink a lot of tea, so working is almost counter-productive.

8) The weather turning fabulous. Probably.

The last few weeks have been fraught, but not without their moments. While I may have been making people cry left, right and centre, I've been leaking regularly myself as I've said my goodbyes. One huge - and very beautiful - bouquet of flowers, plus a surprising number of sweet cards from various groups and individuals shows that I'm possibly not as rubbish at my job as I think. It would be brilliant if I got some feedback from my manager, but I'll take a positive where I find it.

A Fortnight's Time - Maximo Park

Been Caught Stealing

Remember that virus I had? And remember how I thought I was sorted? It appears I was not. At the weekend, as I worked (I know, poor me) a weird thing happened. I got a message saying the firewall - whatever that may be - was disabled, and then my laptop froze. I ended up crashing it shut. And when I switched it back on, it didn't seem to know me any more. All the sites where I had details stored - like the login to my work email, for example - had vanished. Odd. But, not being that way inclined, I didn't think too much of it.

Today, I received an email saying I'd added a new addres to my Paypal account. An address many miles away in a town I'd never visited. Minutes later, I received more emails, thanking me for my Paypal payments to the tune of several hundred pounds.

According to my more IT-savvy colleagues, I'd had something called a keystroke tracker. Many telephone calls later, the situation with Paypal's been sorted, and the money's been refunded. However, I've subsequently cancelled my cards, so I can't access it. I've also had to change all my passwords, and my access to online banking, which is perhaps even more inconvenient - I did it in haste, and now can't remember the passwords, and the payments I have set up will all have to be reset from scratch.

No real harm done, I suppose, other than an afternoon on phone-bashing on my work's tab. But oh, the bloody hassel. People are really horrid sometimes. And I am really stupid, a lot of the time.

Been Caught Stealing - Jane's Addiction

Just the Past

It's said that we leave a piece of ourselves behind with every person we're involved with. In my case, those pieces tend to be books and CDs. My relationship with GB is no exception. Usually, I take the hit. You win some, you lose some, and I dare say my music collection has a few ill-gotten gains in there. However, on this occasion, there was also a very expensive, once-worn set of extremely beautiful underwear. GB was supposed to bring that with him last weekend, and didn't.

I figured that if GB really did throw away the birthday gifts I gave him, he probably ditched the rest of the stuff. I also figured I'd be no worse off if I asked him. So, this afternoon I sent him an email asking if we could meet up, or if he could pop it in the post.

I got a bounce-back immediately, saying my message was undeliverable. It gave what I imagine to be an IP address, with the telling line "does not like recipient". So, either GB has changed his email address, or he's blocked me*. Which is a bit shit, but after last weekend, not entirely unexpected. I hope he's enjoying my black and pink bra and pants.

Other news? Still ill. I've now got tonsilitis again, and a respiratory tract infection, and am back on antibiotics. I've decided to take a few days off work, and have slept most of today, which has been blissful, since I've barely had an hour uninterrupted by coughing in a week. It's going to cause me no end of trouble when I go back, and I've already been told that this will raise an HR action point, but frankly, I feel too lousy to care very much.

Just the Past - Peter, Bjorn and John

*Is this possible with a Hotmail account? I had a fiddle with the account I have for this blog, and blocked my other address, but didn't get any error message when I tested it. I'd assumed it would just junk messages, but I'm not technically minded enough to really know.

Not Fair

I have always considered myself to be fortunate with my health. Yes, there's the depressions, and there's the IBS, but overall, I do okay. This last six months, however, have been a different story.

Yes, I am ill. Sick, sick, sick. I definitely went back to work too early with the tonsilitis. As soon as the antibiotics were done, I started to feel rubbish again. By Friday last week, I felt grotty. Saturday, very grotty, and Sunday and Monday, a full-blown lurgy - sore throat, high temperature, runny nose, and horrible cough. I left work early on Monday, and actually called in sick on Tuesday. I felt too wretched not to. But, I felt too guilty to stay off. So, still I am sick. Last night I coughed so much I was throwing up, which was horrible, and a little bit frightening.

I'd like to say I feel better today. I'm afraid I don't. I know I shouldn't be at work, but I also know there's no-one to cover for me, and at this point, I can't really afford to miss any more time.

Four weeks until the holidays.

Not Fair - Lily Allen

I Always Cry at Endings

Last night, I ended things with GB. He was/is a great guy, and we had a lot of fun together, but the reservations I had about him on our very first date have remained throughout. Maybe I should have listened to my gut instinct then.

GB was consistently vocal about his feelings for me, and mine just didn't match. I didn't think it was fair to keep up a relationship which - for me - didn't have a future. He'd told me categorically that he didn't feel we could be "just friends" and that he didn't stay in touch with any ex-girlfriends, and I'm sorry that it had to be so black and white.

GB didn't take it very well. He cried. Which was utterly, completely grim. And then he went home, and sent me a horrible email, ending with the PS that he'd thrown my birthday presents in the bin. Later I realised he'd gone into the kitchen and taken the wine he'd brought round away with him too.

So, that was nice.

Today I'm mostly feeling sad. Sad that he won't be around any more, sad that things had to end on such a sour note, and sad that I have yet another failed relationship under my belt.

I know it's for the best, and I know I'll get over it. Currently, it's Ben and Jerry's all the way, though.

I Always Cry at Endings - Belle and Sebastian

Say Something

Observations from the week that was, as a list:

1) An email from an ex-boyfriend sent me into a bit of a spin. I've ignored it.

2) I can't shake this bloody tonsilitis. The antibiotics finished on Wednesday, and I still feel crap. Perhaps I went back to work too soon.

3) Britain's Got Talent's been fab. I'm excited about the final this evening, which I'll be watching with GB, and pizza. I don't think that little girl should have got through last night, but never mind.

4) A colleague of mine left yesterday. As is tradition, we clubbed together to buy him some decent wine, and brought cakes into the office. When I arrived back from getting my lunch, looking forward to a cake, they were gone. He'd taken them. Perhaps he thought they were part of his leaving gift?

5) I have yet to wear my new leather jacket.

6) Despite mainly wearing flat (but cute) shoes, I have developed a corn on one of the toes of my right foot. It is very sore, and ugly. If anyone knows how to get rid, I'd appreciate it.

7) The new Maximo Park album's growing on me, but still failing to live up to my (perhaps high) expectations.

8) I've done the dirty on my hairdresser, and gone off with someone else.

9) My mother's single-handedly keeping the economy afloat with home improvements. This week, a new patio and garden shed.

10) Only four full weeks (plus one) until the summer holidays.

Oh, and the sun shone.

Say Something - James

Rainy Days and Mondays

Is there anything more miserable than a Monday? What about a Monday with payday looking a long way off and basic rations on the menu*? A Monday when the rest of the country has a bank holiday? Or a Monday when you're rattling with pills, feeling rubbish, but back at work nonetheless?

Moan, moan, moan. I still feel crap. But as I was being sent yet more work to do from my deathbed (or, in reality, death couch) on Friday, I figured my services were urgently required. No thanks for it, right enough, and my job doesn't exactly lend itself to throat infections, but I am a mug. Five weeks on Friday and we've six weeks off. I. Can't. Wait.

On the plus-side, it's the semi-finals of Britain's Got Talent. And Big Brother's on its way. I know, it's dire and we should all stop watching it immediately. I also know, I won't quit, even if it fills me with self-loathing.

And on a completely unrelated note, it's GB's birthday next week. Presents for boys, especially boys you've only known for a short time, and are still wary about getting in too deep with, are tricky. I've decided to buy him a big bowl thing from John Lewis, which I think will look brilliant on his currently empty hearth. His flat's completely bare. I told him my interior design ideas, including the bowl thing, and he got confused and thought I meant a cauldron, but I do think he'll like it. If not, he can always bring it back. I've also ordered him a book, but I'm stumped as to what else.

Any inspired ideas, gratefully received.

Rainy Days and Mondays - The Carpenters

* I confess. The real reason I'm on basic rations is this. Gorgeous, no?

The Kids are Sick Again

Today, I'm being naughty. I'm off work, sick.

I've felt off all week, and yesterday morning work to find my tonsils had grown huge white lumps on them overnight. I could barely talk or swallow, and felt generally rubbish. I was fortunate enough to get an appointment with the doctor at lunchtime, who confirmed that I had a particularly nasty dose of tonsilitis. Apparently the usual presentation is a milky white coating over the tonsils, so my vast spots are quite impressive. I was given a prescription for antibiotics, and told to take a couple of days of complete rest, preferably without talking.

I dithered. The culture at my work doesn't lend itself to being sick. And as I was off with tonsilitis in the first week of December, then went home midway through the day a few months back because of a stomach upset, being off now means I get referred to HR. But, I worked straight through my last bout of tonsilitis in March, and got absolutely no thanks for it. I felt lousy, the antibiotics upset my stomach, and it took me far longer to get better than it should have.

So, I went back to work, spoke to my manager, and told him I'd be taking the rest of the week off on doctor's orders. He was great and very supportive. He told me to leave immediately, and get myself well.

There was a problem though. I'd been asked to look at some work prior to a big, important meeting on Monday. A colleague had been asked, repeatedly, to give me the work, over a period of weeks. He didn't. Finally, I got the work at 4.30pm on Tuesday. I called him yesterday and explained my situation, and said I'd bring the work home with me, and look at it over the weekend. He said he wasn't happy about the work being taken out of the building (which is fair enough) and would have a think if someone else could do it. About 15 minutes later, I received an email. My colleague said he couldn't think of anyone else, and if I wanted to go home, he would pick it up from my house first thing this morning.

Er, hello? One, I should have been given the work weeks back. Two, I was ill. And three, I was planning a long lie. I read the email to my office-mate, who was outraged - he said to forward it to my manager, and leave without passing go. I didn't, of course. I dutifully sat at my desk until 4.30 making notes, then typed everything up last night, emailing it to my colleague at about 10pm. He has not even acknowledged this.

The whole thing's left a bit of a nasty taste in my mouth, that goes beyond my tonsilitis bad breath. Lovely to feel valued, no?

The Kids are Sick Again - Maximo Park

Nothing to Worry About

I am a useless girl. So once again, I call on the internet for help.

My PC is doing odd things. When I try to browse the internet, a page pops up which says "Navigation Blocked - Reported Insecure Browsing! Insecure internet activity. Threat of virus attack." It gives me the option to fix the problem, or to continue to an unsecure site. (Which obviously, it does not recommend.) And, lo, clicking to fix the problem wants me to spend $100 on some sort of software.

Now, it would be understandable if the sites were dubious. They're not. It started off with things like blogs and Facebook. Now it's things like my online banking, my work email access, and the jobs page at the local council. None of which pose any threat to me or my machine. Initially it was the odd webpage. Now it's every webpage.

It's annoying and inconvenient and any advice would be much appreciated. Especially if it doesn't cost $100.

Nothing to Worry About - Peter, Bjorn and John

Hand in Glove

Finally, spring is sprung.

The sun's been shining this week, and the summer wardrobes are out. Mine's creeping in, gradually. The fabulous new gladiator style sandals from Office have had an airing, and I've been sporting some flirty frocks, albeit over leggings. Others are taking a less cautious approach. I've spotted vest tops, shorts, and even people with burnt shoulders today. I suppose it's a case of catching it while you can.

Walking home this evening, I observed the varying degrees with which people were embracing the warmer weather. And while I may be taking a softly-softly approach to shedding my winter layers (ne'er cast a clout 'til May's out, as my granny would have said) others are taking this to a whole different level. In front of me, a couple walked hand in hand, both wearing black leather gloves. Now, we may be in Scotland, but isn't this a bit extreme? Initially I wondered if they had something wrong with them, but I think that they were just cold, and odd. Perhaps they were trying very hard to avoid coming into contact with germs? And is it just me, or is there something rather sinister about black leather gloves on men anyway?

Hand in Glove - The Smiths

Something is Squeezing my Skull

Today, I am consumed with The Rage.

The reasons for this:

1) On the roof of the flats opposite me, seagulls are nesting. This means that they squawk, horribly, for hours on end. It sounds like babies (human babies) are being brutally slaughtered. Once the baby seagulls start flying, they will shit all over the place, and the parents will attack anyone who passes.

Excellent.

2) My work. Is driving me absolutely crackers.

3) My hoover's broken. It won't even switch on. I tried to change the fuse today, and the whole plug fell apart. I couldn't get it to go back together. I sat on the hall floor and cried.

4) My mum's still not talking to me.

5) It's six weeks until the summer holidays.

Tomorrow, I know, is another day. But today has been proper bobbins, and I would very much like someone to come round and take care of me. Please.

Something is Squeezing My Skull - Morrissey