Q and B, Part Deux

My, it has been a while. You see, I've been off work, and therefore had things to do other than write my blog. I'm still off work, as it happens, but thought I should write something, in case you're missing me.

So on Friday night I was at the rugby (Ireland vs Italy), and discovered the slightly disappointing fact that the crowd shots at these events are mostly staged. What happens is, the cameraman points a camera at you while you stand in the crowd at a quiet moment (obviously if there's anything remotely interesting happening on the pitch, they'll be filming that, so crowd shots are only used as fillers), and tries to whip you into a frenzy. Obviously one doesn't want to look like a prat live on TV, so one must feign some kind of enthusiasm, but I tell you, that's not so easy after the first 30 seconds.

You'll be pleased to hear we have a further development in the Q&B story (if you're new to the blog, check back around the April/May archives for the first installment of this sorry tale). Needless to say, no one from Q&B ever called me back, so on Thursday there I went to the warehouse to try again. I took my dad too, labouring under the delusion that he might be scarier than me.

So we went to the girl at the kitchen department, and explained the tale, and I said I wanted (a) someone to bring a new cupboard door, (b) someone to fit the new cupboard door and (c) someone to take away the pile of old cupboard doors and the cupboard which, you will recall, was erroneously sent by Steve some months back. She was very sorry about the whole thing and phoned a manager. Then she said I could buy a new cupboard door, and then bring the old one back and get my money back; also, she'd arrange a fitter to come and fit the new door.

Now, I was not so keen to hand over more money (although it was only £4), but my dad seemed temporarily to be possessed by insanity and said 'oh, yes, let's buy a new one, and sure I'll fit it for you. And we can take the old doors to the dump ourselves and you can bring the extra cupboard back'.

Great. So let's let Q&B off the hook and do it all ourselves. Incidentally, how did my dad suddenly become able to fit cupboard doors? Where was that skill when I was handing over thousands of pounds to Q&B to come and mess my house up? As it turned out, of course, my dad couldn't install it, but only because he didn't have a drill with him, so after a brief excursion to my parents' house, the new door is attached, and looking different from all the others, since they appear to have changed how the doors are sealed since I got the last lot. But it's on.

Anyway, I refused to agree to take the doors to the dump myself - they'd never all fit in my car, plus the guys at the local dump get tetchy if you try to dispose of more than a sweet wrapper there. So the lady in Q&B said she'd arrange for someone to come and pick them up. So I'm waiting for them to call back. Ha.

In other news, today saw my annual shopping trip, and I finally managed to get the birthday present from my parents sorted out. I never got round to ordering the jeans in Next, but I got new shoes today instead, so whatever else happens, my feet will not be naked. I also got new sexy underwear and a book called 'The Confessions of St Augustine', which is a sort of 4th Century Christian version of Heat magazine, only it's a book instead of a magazine.

Incidentally, I hear they're bringing Wispas back. Is anyone else finding themselves a little bit too excited about this?

Your challenge....

First, an update. I feel a little better today, thanks for asking, but my tummy is still a little hostile towards food.

Secondly, a number of people have commented on how blogging seems to have dried up a bit over the summer - not just here, but all over. Clearly there's not much happening. Obviously lots of people are away - The Soapbox has been to Peru, Me In My Small Corner is in Hungary, being eaten by ticks... Lilytodd and Voxo have been learning the hard way that if you're going to keep secrets from your parents, then it's probably not wise to confide in your three-your-old.

So since there's not a lot happening, I decided I'd set you a challenge. Please read this story, and supply a context in which the final sentence makes any kind of sense.

Comments may be left below.

Thank you.

Because you have a right to know...

Now I don't want to cause anyone the slightest undue alarm, but your Favourite Smile is sick, and I feel you have a right to know. Before you go out of your minds with worry, I should add that at the moment I expect to make a full recovery; I will of course notify you immediately if that changes.

I woke up this morning feeling OK, but a tad sleepy. I got out of bed to get ready for church and felt the most almighty of all stomach spasms. Of course, being the soldier I am, I carried on getting washed, dressed etc, before finally conceeding defeat and getting undressed and back into bed.

So I am now in bed feeling rather sorry for myself, because of course Dozavtra is not here so I am all by myself. I am getting intermittent stomach cramps and feeling very tired. Just half an hour ago I got up to go down for some Bicarbonate of Soda (my mother's suggestion), but my legs seem to have turned to jelly so I got straight back into bed.

So there you have it. I was considering posting hourly bulletins on the front gate, such as happens at Buckingham Palace when the Queen is ill, but I'm not sure the front gate is up to it.

In the meantime I am staying in bed reading, sleeping and crocheting popcorn.

Break in transmission

Apologies for the break in transmission there. It was due to essential maintenance work. Namely, I was trying to maintain my current status as an employed person, by doing some work. I succeeded, so that was good. But the blog suffered, as you saw.

I have also become addicted to Facebook. I still don't really understand it, but I managed to throw some sheep at people and have started a game of Scrabble with Lilytodd, so all the important agnles are covered. I found this application that allows you to add books you're reading and have read. Needless to say, I intend to add every book I've ever read, in an attempt to get my picture on everyone's profiles as the most prolific reader of all time. I've got a good 100 or so Enid Blytons alone, so we're getting there.

Not much other news. I've been making a large banner for church - it says 'I am the Good Shepherd' and has a picture of a shepherd and some sheep (or at least it will do and it will have once it's done), so evenings have been spent cutting and sticking and sewing. It's like giant Fuzzy Felt, for those of you from the 80's.

I may post some thoughts at lunch time, but for now I wanted you all to know I'm still alive.

I'm back

I do apologise, it has been far too long. Not that I have much to tell you, even now.

The big event this week is that I am OFF WORK - woo hoo way hey!!!! Score!!!!!!!!! So happy. No need to drag myself out of bed at 7am (who am I kidding?), fight back that sick and tense feeling, crawl to the bathroom, gulp down breakfast, drive through traffic and be at my desk for 8. No phone calls for me to screw up (answering phones is not one of my greater talents), no emails, no chaos, no clock-watching, no stress, no rising sense of panic as the boss approaches....

So I wonder whether I am really in the right job, and to this end, have been updating my CV and reading books entitled things like 'how to get a job that doesn't make you feel sick every time you think about it'. I'm at that stage of life where I wonder where the last 10 years went and what on earth I'm going to do next. You see, I never really had a career plan that went beyond 'get job for several years, get married, have kids, leave work for 20 years, get job for several years, retire'. Now, this is all well and good, and is still Plan A, but since we are missing one vital component, I'm thinking maybe I should try out Plan B for a while.

So I need to make a Plan B, and this is where we're at right now. So I'm trying to find the perfect job for me. It needs to have the following components:

• Be interesting with lots of fun things to do every day. These may include things which are considered to be actual 'work' as well as things which are not.


• Involve nice, sane people. Nice more important than sane.


• Pay enough money for me to have a mortgage. The necessary amount is rapidly increasing, but last time I checked I think I need to earn about £300000 per year.


• Provide opportunities to meet nice guy. One who is single and lovely.


• Be near my house, or within cycling distance. Or even better, not involve me getting out of bed at all (in a 'working from home using my laptop' sense, not in the sense of any other type of job which can earn you money for staying in bed).


• Involve at most 37.5 hours per week, and at least 23 days off per year. Preferably less hours and more days off though.

So if you hear of anything, please let me know.

Onto Facebook. It used to be all Friends Reunited, but not any more. For today's cool kids, it's a well-established battle between Facebook and Bebo. Now, I am on both. Bebo I like, it is simple and you can draw pictures for other people and I like that. And you can see what celebrities you look like. But, you know, it's for kids. So I should really be investing my time with Facebook - the choice of the grown up, sophisticated technophile. But I'm afraid I just don't understand it, and that scares me. People keep sending me pandas and flowers and ice creams and things, and just the other day, I think Voxo threw a sheep at me. I have no idea how they're doing it. Is this a sign that I'm getting old?

One final thing and then I'll go. The final Harry Potter book. I had a marathon Harry Potter session last week, reading the entire series in one week, leading up to the grand finale on Sunday. I loved it. I cried.