Ah the prettiness..... Don't close your eyes!!

This is a shop in Paris, no really, this is a department store. It's called Gallerie Lafayette and we went because my father recommended the food. I want to know where my Dad hides all his money because he clearly has a lot more than he's letting on, man, I would be so much thinner if I lived in Paris....

Please don't let the ornateness (is that a word?) of the building fool you. IT'S SO YOU DON'T NOTICE THE SMELL. This is true, the reason Paris is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen is to distract you from the cornea searing stink of the place. You walk around taking in all the sights and sounds, The Louvre is beautiful and the Notre Dame is beautiful and the Eiffel Tower is beautiful (if a little unsteady) and the Sacre Coer (sp?) is beautiful and if you were blind, you'd just be walking round saying 'Seriously! Pass me the oust! THE FRENCH NEED THE OUST!'.

10 things I learned this week

1. Paris smells of wee

2. Paris sometimes smells of poo

3. The metro in Paris smells very badly of B.O

4. Parisien people are very rude (especially to English people)

5. The reason Parisien women are very thin and very stylish is because you clearly have to choose to buy either food or clothes, I fail to see how anyone could possibly afford to do both.

6. Paris affects my boyfriend's bottom system in some very strange ways

7. The Eiffel Tower sways precariously at the top

8. My feet hurt, like, seriously, even after we'd stopped walking, even two days after we'd got back, they still fucking hurt.

9. I can't use flickr. Does this mean I am in fact, totally technically inept?

10. It really doesn't matter which airline I use, high end or low end, I still hate flying. It just is not natural.

30th October 2003

Two years ago today, a very cheeky chap took me to a tapas restaurant in Cambridge called The Bun Shop, inferred I looked like a prostitute, made me buy all my own drinks, talked about a subject he shouldn't have ever mentioned for about for 45 minutes, he chatted up a geordie girl at the bar while I sat waiting for him to come back, he made me walk in the pouring rain for an hour looking for a taxi and then asked me if he could come back to my hotel because his bed was lumpy.

It was the second worst date I had ever been on.

Two years later and we just got back from four days in Paris. Back to our house that we have been renovating, back to the duvet we claw at each other for, back to the dodgy blind I altered using glue and nail scissors and back to the toilet that doesn't flush.

Happy Anniversary Doofus, it really doesn't matter how much money we (don't) have, or whether the toilet flushes, or how ugly the hedge is, I wouldn't swap our life for anything.

Multiple Choice

You wake up in the morning and for no reason other than a great deal of self loathing, you decide that, despite the fact that it is clearly hideous, you will wear the yellow blouse with the crudely drawn giant red flowers on it, to accompany your masochistic black, polyester trousers with the tappered leg that you think show off your ankles but actually just show off your socks.

You look at yourself in the mirror and notice that you cannot fasten all the buttons on the blouse without leaving giant gaps between each one, exposing a vast expanse of stretch marked skin.

Do you:

a) Change while crying softly into your wardrobe, or

b) Wear it anyway because you have no respect for yourself and besides, people will surely be too busy staring at your stripy black and red hair to really notice.

I think the Gates of Hell must look at least a little like this.

I've thought long and hard about putting this on here and have decided, in the words of Nike, to just do it.

Yesterday I had what some people would call the journey from hell, I would agree with them, had I not had a conversation with my father than will crop up later. I got up yesterday at 6am, I was out of the house by 6.30am and at work in Bolton at 9.15am, I left work at 4.30pm thinking I could comfortably get home for 7.

At 6pm, feeling very proud of myself for making such good time, I encountered the back of a traffic jam caused by a 14 car pile up less than two miles from the junction I leave the motorway at in order to reach my house. It was 8pm before my car moved again and 8.20pm before I got home.

I rang Glenn and annoyed him for a bit, I rang my sister, I rang my parents. I was feeling very sorry for myself and then my father said "well, it could be worse, think of the poor buggers at the front."

"I know", I said, "they must have been sat there for hours waiting for the police to move the 14 cars"

My father sighed the kind of exasperated sigh he reserves normally for news about petrol prices and said "No Hannah, the people IN the cars that crashed, if there are that many cars and they haven't been moved there must be quite a few people trapped."

"OH!" I said, feeling more than a little embarassed, "yes, how awful....."

Anyway, so yesterday was a 14 hour day, which is not unusual. Except someone had asked me recently if I had seen Neighbours. Apparently there is some 20th anniversary thing going on at the moment and all the old cast members from when we were kids have been on it, and I am ashamed to say that my head nearly exploded last night remembering that conversation. All I could think was 'some people get to watch Neighbours, and these Neighbours watching people get so much more money and holiday than me AND WHY AM I STILL SAT IN THIS GODDAM FUCKING HEAP OF SHIT CAR?'

A few months ago, I wrote something on this here blogamathingumy about how it's really important to find the good grace to be proud of people's achievements and happy for their successes, even, and perhaps especially, when they surpass your own. I am trying to be that good of a person, I am trying to be that good of a friend. It's just that sometimes, when you're sat in your car 14 hours after you left the house and Neighbours is something reserved for sick days, no matter how excrutiatingly proud of someone you are, it's a lot harder than I think it should be.

NB: Please don't anyone post a comment about how I should get another job, I AM TRYING.

Dream Weaver.....

So last night I had this dream, me, my friend and my mum were on a day trip to this church, and my mum said that it would be a nice place to get married, and the weather was nice so I should get married there that afternoon, and then there were all these people, and my friend was in a bridesmaid dress (in a fetching shade of primrose yellow), I had a wedding dress on and Glenn was coming in the car so we could get married but I kept crying and saying 'but I can't, it's not time, my sister isn't here and she's supposed to be a bridesmaid' and Glenn arrived (who was not Glenn but someone called Toby who I went to school with) and he was saying 'you can't let me down, everyone's waiting' and I was crying and saying 'I'm sorry but I just can't, I don't understand, we only came to look at the church, how did this happen?'........ And I woke up in a mad panic and was greatly relieved to find myself not engaged.

Weird.

Told Glenn and he told me to remember that panic I woke up in for at least the next five years.

Today I am sat a desk belonging to a woman who works part time and I am surrounded by at least 8 photo's of her baby girl, so tomorrow expect a post about a dream that involves walking into Baby Gap to look at the prettiness and then finding myself giving birth later that day, OH THE HORROR.

Email I received today (because when you can't think of anything to write yourself, you should steal other people's stuff).

Subject: I haven't got a blog...
Date: Wed, 19 Oct 2005 12:22:42 +0100 (BST)

...but if I did I would write:

Colleague 1: I feel really old today.

Colleague 2: You are thats why! I'm only 26 and Gareth is only a year older.

Colleague 1: Blimey chief, are you really only 27?

Me: Yea

Colleague 1: I thought you were much older than that, what with the grey hair and all.

Me: Yea I've had a hard life. 'I had a heavy paper round when I was younger!'

Colleague 2: Did you carry it on your face?

Me: Fuck you.

Letter to anonymous

It can be very difficult sometimes to realise that even though you are the centre of your own world, and you may even be centre of someone elses world, that you are not the centre of everyones world. That even though you occupy some lofty position in the workplace, to your friends and loved ones, you are just you, the spotty teenager they knew, all grown up.

And sometimes you don't have any great power when you're at work and it's difficult to remember that you are held in great esteem at home, your confidence takes a few knocks professionally and suddenly you can't make decisions because you doubt yourself. Someone makes a sarcastic comment in the pub about your status in the office that raises a meagre laugh, and you're in tears in the loo.

It's important to remember though, whether you are the office dogsbody, the Grand Poobah, or somewhere in between, that your place in the universe is valued beyond measure.

And I love you.

Email

Him:
Forget anything?

Me:
My phone, I realised as I was driving past the Sutton turn off of the M42, by which time it was too late to go back. I'll have to ring the house this evening from the hotel to talk to you but could you email me your mobile number just in case because I don't know it off by heart.

Him:
I know your mobile number off by heart, does that mean I love you more and Sunderland are playing Newcastle on Sunday.

Me:
So? don't understand why you just told me that....

Him:
Because it's at 1.30 and if I have to pick you up on Sunday then I'll miss it. However, I will of course pick you up if so wish.

Me:
I see what you're doing, 'I'll miss it if I have to pick you up but if you insist on making me miss it then I suppose I'll have to...' what you should add on the end of that is 'and I'll be in a horrible mood for the whole entire week afterwards...'

Him:
No I won't, I will be in the best mood ever.

Me:
Lies, all lies... What would you rather do

a) Stay up in York with your mates and watch Sunderland v. Newcastle

b) Came home, bring me my car back, take me home and ravage me.

Him:
I see what your doing there Davis and I refuse to play your games.

Me:
You choose A by default ad therefore I no longer wish to go out with you

Him:
Okay then, well I'm keeping the blinds.

Me:
well I'm sure you and the blinds will be very happy at your mothers.

Marilyn Manson

I bought the Best Of album the other day, I don't know what I was execting but sometimes I am just in the mood for a man dressed in drag with black lipstick and fake blood dripping down his chin to shout obscenities at me while I drive.

It is so gay.

Seriously, if white, middle class americans who voted for Bush really think that he has influence over their children, then they should be far more worried that their kids are going to discover a penchant for a bit of bum than shooting up their school.

He does so love his 80's British electro pop.

Last night

I got in from work at 6.30, I made dinner, ate dinner, that finished at about 7.30, went upstairs, washed and dried my hair, packed bag for two days away, that took me until 8.30, update blog and sort expenses and now it's 9.00. Checked work email, answered anything important took me until 9.30. Went down to talk to Glenn who by this time was wondering what on earth I was doing, watched a bit of TV and at 10.00pm went to bed because I had to be up at 5.00am this morning.

So tell me, where do people with children get the time to do anything? How do these children got clothed and fed and cleaned? And if the people who have the children have time to feed and dress and clean them, then where do they get the time to earn the money to do any of those things?

It struck me last night that even if my Dr could give me a cast iron guarantee that everything is working now and I could have kids (and this is the same Dr who told me back in March that I have to have them in the next two years or else) then I don't have the time or the money to have them.

It is demanding being a grown up.

Update

Apparently, we saw Brad Oscar in the role of Max Bialystock.

And very good he was too.

Not Random Photo

Glenn and I spent the Valentines Day weekend in London this year. He organised the hotel room and I got tickets to see 'The Producers' with Lee Evans.

I booked the tickets in November and when I did, the lady at the box office said, 'if you want to come and see the show in a couple of weeks, there are cancellations for a preformance featuring Nathan Lane and Lee Evans'. I told her that I was sorry but I didn't know who Nathan Lane was and that seeing the show Valentines Day weekend was more important, she said it was the first time she'd heard of anyone not caring about seeing the show with this Nathan Lane person in it since the show opened and laughed.

So I booked the tickets but couldn't help but wonder who Nathan Lane was, why I apparently should have been desperate to see him and why the name was strangely familiar.....

So I looked him up on imdb.com and it turns out that Nathan Lane...

'Won two Tony Awards as Best Actor (Musical): in 1996 for playing Pseudolus in a revival of "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum;" and in 2001 for playing Max Bialystock in "The Producers, the new Mel Brooks musical." He was also nominated in the same category in 1992 for playing Nathan Detroit in a revival of "Guys and Dolls."

...and that he has just completed the film version starring Uma Thurman.

I don't know who the hell played Max Bialystock when we saw it.

I suppose it was nice seeing it on Valentines Day.

Anyway, thought this was a nice photo. It was a beautiful day when we went on the eye. The weekend around Valentines is the busiest day of the year for it and they tried to get rid of people by saying there was a 3 hour wait but we were on it within half an hour.

This is my punishment for the unnecessary underwear purchase last week

How humiliated would you be if you walked across a very busy office only for someone to approach you moments later to tell you the hem on the bum of yourtrousers was undone and everyone had just seen your knickers? I mean, luckily your knickers match your bra which matches your shirt because you are obsessive compulsive, so it was a very co-ordinated HUMILIATION.

But really, how humiliated would you be?

An appeal....

I need to take up some kind of sport. Hopefully two kinds of sport really, to relieve the monotony. Now the weather is getting a bit rubbish, my already non existent motivation needs something to up the ante so I am appealing for someone, anyone, of my lovely, wonderful and helpful friends to recommend some way for me to do it.

Now this has to be cheap, and I have to keep it up. It's not specifically a weight loss thing (although that would be nice), it's also a fitness thing, I'm 24 for gods sake and I get out of breath running up the stairs. Having never done any exercise willingly in my life before and not being able to afford gym membership, I need something which I can do in or near my house, that I can also do while I'm away from home and that I will be able to keep up long after the novelty has worn off.

Does anyone want to be my personal trainer? You'll get your rewards in heaven....!

But seriously, cheap and easy suggestions please, and no smart arse comments about sex. I already know that one......

Two reasons why I am a genius...

Reason Number One;

I just cooked a roast chicken, with roast potatoes, stuffing, steamed carrots and brocolli, and gravy. Truly, I am your dream girlfriend.

Reason Number Two;

Check out the above - I did it! Technology will not phase me!

(with a little help from my friends.....)

Here Goes... Random photo #2

Can someone PLEASE tell me how to turn the flippin' thing round so you don't have to turn your head in some unnatural, gravity defying twist?

This is me and Nic, I met Nic at uni and she is also the daughter of my boss, the Big Boss, the Boss of my Boss's Boss, the CEO, the Grand Poobah, his Royal Exhaultedness. When I met him, it was at Nic's birthday about three years ago. Nic, myself and another pretty lady called Jane were reminiscing about back in the day when we were wild and free and His Grand Majesty was asking what we were talking about. He was not actually my boss at this point and I had no idea he ever would be so I said 'we're talking about when Chris and Ian used to do the woman', what's the woman? he asked, at this point Nic kicked me under the table, you know, like thay do in the films. I looked at her and she had this pleasedon'tpleasedon'tpleasedon't look on her face. I did anyway because frankly, I'm not that good with other peoples parents, I tend not to care too much.

This was a mistake.

So I explained that while living in the Halls of Residence (Thwaite Hall, it was so beautiful, it had botanical gardens and a lake, yes, a lake.) two lads called Chris and Ian used to wait until about 1 or 2am and then torture the first person who had gone to bed that evening by banging on their bedroom door until the poor sod was forced awake and had to open it to make the banging go away. When they opened the door, not only were Chris and Ian nekkid, but they had tucked their genitals in between their thighs and as far back as was possible without cutting off any blood supply to anything essential, so that they looked like.... a woman. Now, this is funny to the person looking at them doing it when that person awake and aware, but it was just hysterical if you were looking at the person who had just been woken up and could not for the life of them understand how it was possible.

So I explain this to The Lord On High and Nic is slowly sinking further and further into her chair, and at the end he sort of smiles a little bit and then excuses himself. Well screw it I think, he wanted to know, so I told him, oh how we laughed.

(later that evening, at a club in Sheffield, a drunk girl having a row with her boyfriend at the top of some stairs, threw an entire pint of cider over Jane and I who were standing underneath aforementioned stairs, I like to think of this as the Universe's (comma?) way of saying 'oh foolish, foolish girl... SHUT UP!)

So now it's three years later and I CAN'T BELIEVE I DID THAT. Everyone at the company is in awe of him, very intimidated by him and there was me, shouting my mouth off about the woman.

The Woman.

Everytime I think about it, I just want to die.

(however, it was the next day that I had the phone call inviting me for the interview for my currernt position, a job I hadn't actually applied for, so maybe that's how you get jobs, just humiliate yourself to the nth degree and let it happen.....)

Incidently, the dress I am wearing in the above picture was bought 20 minutes before I had to be at the champagne reception that evening, after weeks and weeks of looking. Nic said it was not sophisticated enough when I tried it on and that's pretty much the reason I bought it. I am nothing if not argumentative.