Yes, it is really, really cold. -4C to be precise! Ok, so everything is relative, I mean the conditions aren’t on a par with North Pole (yet) but the latest Big Freeze is quite enough to give me an insight, and frankly, unless I had my own supply of seal furs, walrus blubber and an Eskimo, I’m quite happy to continue whinging about -4C.
Last night I had the misfortune to travel for two hours on a train with no heating! Everyone on board was wrapped up, grown men were shivering and tourists were pulling spare jumpers from their suitcases for extra warmth. It feels like a real winter – we just need some snow.
In a recent bid to get myself out of the house more often, I decided to go to Life Drawing lessons with a friend of mine. It’s been some time since I sat in front of a naked person (with the intention of drawing them), so I wasn’t sure what to expect.
At previous classes, the model has been in the middle of a large room, with plenty of personal space for everyone. This session was rather more intimate and my low chair meant my line of vision was, shall we say…unfortunate.
Funnily enough, and without consciously deciding to, I managed to omit all traces of genitalia from my sketches. It wasn’t until I started to draw the scenario in cartoon format that I realised what I’d done. Anyway – I’ve just spent most of the day drawing this strip instead of doing my tax returns.
My friend walks past my house most mornings as she takes her daughters to school. And most mornings my cat spends the hour between 8.00 and 9.00am gazing dreamily out of the window, gawping at passersby. Recently, one of my friend’s daughters said she saw ‘fatty’ (yes that’s his name) smiling at her.
I pondered this for a time – perhaps it is like the question – ‘do bears S*** in the woods’? We know they probably do, but we never see it happen. So I reckon my cat does smile at the children as they pass by, but only briefly and not while the parents are looking.
I have attempted a cartoon strip that illustrates how I think it happens… It needs some work, but here is the first attempt.
So, pretty much every woman in history has at some point, looked down at their belly and thought to themselves…”Crikey! Where the hell did that come from?!!”
I am no different…and so with the new year spread out before me, I, along with a gazillion other women have given up my ‘syns’ and taken solace in group therapy for fat people. Yes, Slimming World, Weight Watchers, Fat Burners R Us…whatever you want to call it…January is the signal for women the world over to wave their carrot sticks and commence the annual battle of the bulge.
This is the first time I have tried ‘group therapy’, partly because I was bored one evening and partly because maybe, just maybe it might work. At the very least it is a delight for the ‘people-watcher’ within me. Who are these people confessing their deepest, darkest feeding habits to a room full of strangers?!
Our leader says: “and so how did you do this week Betty?” Betty (this is not her real name): “well for the first two days everything was going well, then my grandson had a birthday party and my daughter left me alone in the room with the chocolate cake…I ate it all”
The group make a collective “aaaah” sound and there are several nods of ‘we understand your pain’.
The Leader: “don’t worry Betty, you had a blip, we all do from time to time. Now you just need to get back on the band wagon and start again”
A round of applause follows
I think to myself – this is just like Alcoholic Anonymous, but for fat people. “hello everyone, my name is X and I am an overeater”.
There is no doubt that the support of a group is beneficial to some people. Last week I lent over to chat to a girl and asked her how she had done this week…’not bad she said’…I pry a little deeper to find that she’s lost 5stone in less than 10 months and is the Slimming World Woman of the year! Well if that isn’t inspiration, then I don’t know what is.
I think this particular group which is heavily weighted (excuse the pun) to the over 50s is seen as a social event. I plonked myself down next to a smiley woman the other week and got into the usual chit chat: ‘how did you do this week?’ , ‘Really! That’s great news – you lost half a pound!’ I could probably relieve myself and lose half a pound but we still congratulate each other on the effort and she starts offering me tips and advice. It turns out this woman has been coming to the group since 1996 and I wonder whether it has taken 16 years to lose the half pound.
I suppose I have to admit that each week I find myself anxiously awaiting the results of my ‘weigh in’ and secretly hoping it is more than two pounds so I can ‘announce it’ to the group and revel in the applause. This week was a bit disappointing, maybe I should have gone to the loo before I went…
Even if you start out with good intentions, at some point down the line, you’ll develop a habit of waking up with just enough time to have a cup of tea and catch the end of the breakfast news before dragging yourself upstairs to start work…in your pyjamas.
Your world gets progressively smaller. Every time you leave the house it’s as though you’ve entered another universe (one with people and talking) – even going to the supermarket becomes a mini adventure.
You find yourself daydreaming, talking to inanimate objects, pets or your own reflection for a bit of company. Sometimes you’ll call people for no reason except to hear a voice. Then, when your other half gets home (most likely in need of peace and quiet), you develop verbal diarrhoea.
Physical activity becomes limited to reaching for the on/off button of your computer and walking up and down the stairs to yet another cup of tea or in my case coffee.
Housework can actually be a distraction.
Retired people (and your other half) think you don’t really have a job – you’re ‘in’ so surely you are available at short notice to drive them to the airport, wait for a package or nip to the shop for a birthday card.
Your home becomes your work and your work becomes your home until you don’t know if you’re having a breakfast meeting or just breakfast. That ‘and-relaaaax’ feeling you get when you leave the office at the end of the day is non-existent.
You start to dream up conspiracy theories – ‘everyone hates you’, ‘you’re going to get fired’ or ‘I’m sure they’re all having a meeting without me’. Then, as the paranoia sets in, you become too scared to leave your desk and your computer in case someone calls or sends you an email to which you must respond immediately, or get the chop.
Day time telly sucks (of course I only watch it over lunch, and naturally Facebook, Twitter and the like are reserved for breaks…).
The line between sanity and insanity becomes very, very thin…which is probably why I feel compelled to write a blog and draw pictures of me fighting zombies with a cat for a sidekick.
My friend Newt is gathering quite a following. He doesn’t know it but he isn’t actually a Newt and no-one dares tell him that. He’s happy as he is and you can follow him on twitter @newtydanewt. He often moves between Wales and England so I have drawn him a flag for both countries so he can display either/or, depending on where he is.
So, really? Five years?!!!! has it been that long since I posted? Well without boring you all, here is a brief round up as I re-invigorate my love for drawing and ranting and generally talking nonsense:
The rabbits are deceased. Flopsy caught the lurgy and had to be put down and Clive met an untimely end when he tried to chat to a fox.
After a lot of begging, I was finally allowed to have two replacement pets – cats – one of whom died of acute kidney failure, the other who is the bain of my life, is over-weight and irritates me to death – but I still love him.
I had a brief stint in a design studio but couldn’t hack the pressure of trying to please someone else when our artistic ideas were so different. Art is subjective and my ego isn’t big enough for the big bad design world. So now I only draw and design on my own terms – or when some nice person decides to pay me.
After my failed attempt at being a full time designer, a friend helped me out and now I am a project manager and work from home. It’s not my favourite job as I miss the office gossip over a cup of coffee and the day-to-day commute which is ripe for observational drawing and writing. To top that off, I’m turning slightly insane with no one to talk to except the cat for the best part of the week.
The other half is still around but works loooong hours and spends most of her time driving between hospitals. She’s working her way up the ladder…and surely the end is in sight. Consultancy is but 15 months away…we hope.
I have become an aunty!
So, now my new found enthusiasm for telling the world my inner most thoughts has officially been announced, here endeth my first post of 2012.
Frustrated! Angry! Bemused! and its all down to the NHS which no doubt stands for ‘Not Helpful for Sanity!’ The debacle continues:
Up until 10 days before L was due to start her new job, she still hadn’t heard any details about which hospital she’d be working in, who she should report to, what her contract would be or any of the things one should expect before entering new employment.
Naturally a little perturbed, bordering on concern, L phoned the lady she’d had most recent contact with. After explaining the situation and expressing her worries, the voice on the other end stated, with indifference, that she was no longer dealing with L’s details and didn’t know who was. After a little coaxing, she suggested L contact hospital X (no names just the hospital)!
When L finally managed to track down the HR person in charge of her new post she was greeted with “THANK GOD you’ve called! We’ve been waiting for you to ring us because don’t seem to have any of your contact details. All I have here is your last name and the department you’ll be working for!” Followed by “we still can’t confirm your appointment until we’ve had your references” and “no cause for alarm”!
Can I just remind you that this was 10 days before L was due to start. What happened to all those copies of CV’s, reference letters, online references (through the now non-existent online application service) and details she provided for her interview in MAY? Obviously the Not Helpful for Sanity paperwork Pixies had multiplied and were now wreaking havoc with applications! These being the same Not Helpful for Sanity Pixies that stole L’s paperwork three times last year, preventing the Not Helpful for Sanity financial staff from paying L the correct wage for 10 months! I digress…
Wednesday: on the first day of her new job, L knows which hospital she’ll be working at but hasn’t had any details regarding induction or who to report to. Making an educated guess she arrives at her allocated department only to discovers that the induction is being held at a rugby club several miles from the hospital. Undeterred, she rocks up at the club (late) to be greeted by flustered staff who don’t seem to have her name, staff badge nor, for all accounts and purposes, evidence that she exists!
Those cheeky Pixies!
After an excruciatingly tedious afternoon of health and safety talks and ‘in-case-of-fire’ instruction, she still was no clearer as to her rota, her pay, her contract, holiday allowance etcetera etcetera. She also becomes a little uneasy after a hearing several other examples of the Not Helpful for Sanity’s expertise in disorganisation. A the Trust employed 6 new doctors – Two didn’t have up-to-date working visas therefore, four people will now be covering the work of 6. Worse still, one poor girl turned up for the induction only to find that the clinic she was contracted to work for had closed but no-one had bothered to let her know. Several people were still being interviewed 2weeks before their job started (I feel sorry for those with children). L still hasn’t seen a rota or contract…
Thursday: second half of induction, still no contractual information. A rota is apparently being ‘drawn up’. It’s becoming clear that the Not Helpful for Sanity Pixies have tied up the entire HR department, kept them in a dark room with no access to a calendar, paperwork or a computer for the last two months.
Friday: First tentative steps into the department – L is developing a nervous tick and after encountering several severe traffic jams on her journey to and from the hospital (3hours travel a day), she has a slighty maniacal look about her.
4pm Friday Afternoon: Still hot from the printer, L receives her rota. She must now cancel all arrangements for the weekend as she will be on call from 8am Saturday morning! I feel the anger welling up and another grey hair spring from my scalp so I can only imagine how L must be feeling. More bad news, she needs to start at 7:30am at least one day a week over the next four months meaning a 5am start to ensure a timely arrival.
Monday am: Phone call from L….”they want me to start at 7:30am every day…” pause “WHAAAAAAAAT!” L’s new consultant is apparently unsympathetic to anyone’s travel issues. On the spur of the moment he decided to change the rota.
Unsurprisingly I am feeling disgruntled. I have seen L (awake) a total of 15minutes since Saturday. She will not be home tonight deciding it was easier to stay in a hotel near the hospital instead of attempting a 5am start. With our house on the market and the aim to move to a bigger house before Xmas, I’m glad we’ve made the decision to stay in and around Beeston. For the next year (minimum) I will be on my own quite a bit and the idea of being alone, in a new house somewhere in the countryside, miles from friends and everything familiar is not all together appealing. We wait with baited breath for news that the two non-visa doctors are re-employed and the rota becomes less intense…. We could be waiting sometime.
I’ve just been looking back at the post from April. What seems like eons ago, the sun was glorious, bright and bursting with warmth. The BBQ season came early, the birds were singing and everyone was preparing themselves for a major heatwave.
Well – HOW WRONG WE WERE! I can’t, in fact, remember what the sun looks like – It’s the middle of summer yet all over the country billions of pounds worth of damage has been caused by torrential rain and flooding. We now have a rubber dinghy and two life savers strapped to the side of the house in case we have to abandon ship and ride the waves.
The tomatoes L planted with enthusiasm in spring have become waterlogged and are rotting in their pots, the bathroom is constantly draped in damp clothes that can’t be hung out to dry and the new outdoor run for the rabbits is sadly rusting after minimal use.
We have managed to catch a few bright spells here and there but I can quite honestly say that I’ve managed to wear my shorts a maximum 5 times this year – four of which were in April. Alas, my legs are as pasty as the day I was born.
Last week we braved the weather to go camping in the Peak District – are we mad you ask? Well… Yes! But, because it had been booked for over 3 months, we felt we couldn’t let our friend down on her 40th birthday!
Donned in waterproofs jackets, trousers, wellies and with umbrellas for back up, 16 of us drove through torrential rain to pitch our tents on a mini outdoor swimming pool.
Camping has got to be one of the weirdest activities we folk choose partake in. I mean, why would anyone want to spend several sleepless nights on a hard, lumpy ground, being eaten by all number of blood sucking creatures and unable to make a cup of coffee without having to sit for 20minutes with a kettle over a flame no bigger than a large candle?
Inevitably the tent is pitched a peculiar angle because in the rush to get out of the rain, you paid little attention to the instructions. You then spend 40 minutes adjusting, readjusting, tightening guy ropes, altering tent pegs and swearing under your breath because the once dry interior is now developing a large, muddy welcome mat and you are far wetter than you would have been if you’d taken your time in the first place.
To make matters worse, the toilet is always a five minute walk from camp. So, if you’re like me and you’ve been woken at 4am by the birds singing, the cows bellowing and the sound of torrential rain on your tent, you then have a ten minute dilemma about whether you should ‘hold on’ until the morning or trudge half a mile up the road in your pyjamas and wielding an umbrella.
Personally, I refuse pee behind the tent unless it’s in the dead of night under cover of darkness. But during the summer, it’s already light by 4am so this isn’t an option. And besides, if you did decide to mark your territory at the end of a guy rope there’s always the fear that someone will hear you – god forbid!!
I rant on about it like I hate camping but actually there is something quite good fun about waking up and taking the first peek out of your tent to see what the weather is like even tho you can hear the rain. Then you totter stiffly to your friend’s slightly bigger tent to help prepare breakfast for 16 people over a teeny-tiny gas powered stove. There’s a sense of camaraderie and ‘community’, not just with you and your friends, but the whole campsite when you’re all suffering from blood-shot eyes, bad backs (if you have a poor quality bed roll) trench foot and the sense that you haven’t slept a wink in weeks. Its FUN!!
I have to mention that we did benefit from some great sunshine (for a WHOLE day) which meant we could charcoal slabs of meat and vegetables on a huge BBQ and sit around our make-shift campfire for several hours singing songs and telling jokes. It was certainly worth the effort – we hardly complained at all when we packed away our sodden tent under another rain-cloud! Nor did we bear any hard feelings towards our friend (the birthday girl) who spent the weekend in a B&B!
I have a fan!! Well I’m assuming he’s a fan – yes he may be a friend, and yes he may spend far too much time on the computer, but when he asks why there hasn’t been an entry for 2 weeks then suggests I crack on with it, I think he officially becomes a fan, don’t you?
The problem is, I was not born a writer. This stuff doesn’t just splurge onto parchment from my feather quill – I have to wait for inspiration and sometimes it doesn’t hit for weeks on end even with the copious amounts of coffee and the thinking I do. Writing also requires a good deal of brain power of which I have very little to spare. And lastly, I have to live a life! But seeing as my fan base has chided me into writing something – and you know who you are – I suppose I should get on with things.
Hmmmm what to write about?Well it’s been three days since I hit the big THREE OOHHH.I found another wrinkle, L has been tweezing out some grey hairs (mine not hers) and my boobs have moved another notch closer to my kneecaps but all in all I still feel the same!I have however, started to spend way too much time considering the meaning of life? Why do we spend so much time working to pay the mortgage, raise the kids, buy snazzy cars and go on fancy holidays when life is over before you can blink? I know it’s a bit morbid but if, lets say, I live to 60 then…. I’m now officially MIDDLE AGED!!!!
In our relatively short lifespan, what contribution do we actually make to the world?We take much, much more than we actually give.We use more than our fair share of natural resources, destroy the existence of other living creatures by removing their habitats and killing off their food sources, we over fish, over farm and pollute the earth with allsorts of waste such as methane, C02, plastic, dead skin and god knows what else. Then, when we’ve taken all we want, we just up and die. “goodbye and thanks for all the fish”I’ll leave you to mull this over…
Now, on to something more light-hearted…. L took me to Crufts last week! For those of you who don’t live in the UK, Crufts is the biggest dog show in the world (is that right?). They have competitors from Europe to Japan with over 22,000 dogs shown over 4 or 5 days. Now, pretty much everyone I mentioned this to, rolled their eyes and pretended to be happy whilst secretly thinking “I can’t think of anything worse” and “POOR L”.
I have to say, when L gave me the tickets I was shocked, not because of the nice gesture but because it had to be her idea of HELL.I’m afraid I have an uncontrollable reaction to animals of any sort.Anyone who knows me well will vouch for this but on discovering something cute and fluffy, I can’t stop myself grabbing the closest person to me, pointing to the animal in question and saying “isn’t it CUUUUUTE” in a pitch which is best suited for dolphin communication.I don’t know why, but the words are out of my mouth before my brain can engage.I have often been left stroking a stranger’s puppy and cooing while L saunters on pretending not to know me.
So now you can understand why I was so shocked at the gift – In actual fact, the day turned out to be great fun.Even L seemed to have a good time.The venue was huge and sprawling – after 6 hours of traipsing around we couldn’t possibly have seen everything.L remained patient throughout even though I screeched and pointed for most of the morning.But by midday, after seeing up to 60 dogs of the same breed, when there were over 56 different breeds, even I couldn’t muster an “aaah how cute”.
We amused ourselves watching people brush and fuss their dogs.Some wore ribbons, others had bibs on to stop the drool ruining their hair dos.Collies were practicing their heel work, and Great Danes were looming over their owners but mostly they all looked worn out and fed up with being poked, prodded and mauled by the judges.
We joined the crowds to watch the agility heats and developed a new found respect for Poodles. Don’t knock ‘em, they may look poncey but boy they are masters of the agility course. We ‘Oohed’ and ‘Ahhed’ when the dogs did a round in a particularly fast time or got eliminated by jumping over all the wrong jumps in overwhelming excitement. I cried at the doggy dancing and laughed at the police dog antics.It was all thoroughly enjoyable. And for your perusal, here are just a couple of pictures:
Above: Poncy Poodle “look at meeee”
not a great pick but it gives you the idea
above: This Dog is famous!! She was one of the
Corgis in the film The Queen!
above: with a face like that, is there a
reason for living?
above: some people prefer dogs that don’t
require much looking after.
above: this bearded collie was one of the stars
in the film Holiday and some other movie I can’t remember.
Watch the video to see what happened when he completed his round!
Over my Birthday Weekend, (this has since been extended to a Birthday Week) I was graced with the presence of BOTH my parents.It’s extremely rare to have a visit from Mum and Dad at the same time! So in preparation for their arrival, I spent two solid days cleaning frantically and chastising the bunny for moulting everywhere.I screamed at L for not doing her fair share, grumbled at the lack of space to hang washing out to dry, and had restless nights worrying about the sleeping arrangements.
By the time they arrived I was worn out and there was still bunny hair floating around!However, we had a lovely weekend filled with fine dining, walks, card games and a trip to the world’s smallest cinema. With 21 seats and barely enough room to sip your luke warm tea from a polystyrene cup, it couldn’t help but maintain the air of the seedy, peepshow room it once was.
Cinema aside, everything was good fun and the weather added to the occasion by being bright and sunny for the full three days.By the end of it, I was sad to see my parents go… that’s odd. Aren’t we supposed to sigh with relief when our parents leave?
Anyway, now that I have satisfied my one fan with another entry, I shall get back to sorting out my portfolio for an interview next week! Yes, some paid freelance work with a design agency no less. If all goes well I might be inspired to tell you about it.So until next time….
Big Hair Metamorphosis 