Monday, 25 January 2010

It's been so long...

It has been so long since I wrote anything. I've realised that I'm a mix of total emotions. I'm in a dark place and I can't get out... I've decided to write a blog in direct contrast to this one...It is my sad wonderings... my heart break and torture. Until I am able to see the light I will focus on my other writing and bare my soul...... perhaps there is a reason....

Sunday, 16 November 2008

The return of the sick note!

Once again I have been away for a while... This is partly because I've now lost confidence in my ability to write something anyone will want to read and because I've been ill again!

It all started a couple of weeks ago. I was forcing myself to the gym every night of the week. I was starting to feel smug as I left the office each day with my gym bag over my shoulder and clenching my buttocks as I left in a bid to show all my work colleagues how tight the buns were getting. Unfortunately in my bid to become a gym bunny I was exhausted. Every morning I came in to work confidently plonking my gym bag down and putting my plastic container of fruit that I had bought from the cafe near work onto my desk. But rather confusingly I was being greeted with concerned faces asking if I was alright because I looked ill and tired. I would smile back at them confirming that I was simply exhausted by my work out the night before. As the days went on each morning was the same and by Thursday I was dragging myself to the gym at the end of the day repeating in my head "no pain no gain". By Friday I felt like death. I was now feeling dizzy and slightly spaced out. "This is how fit people feel" I thought. It was very likely my brain was simply rejecting my new found healthiness and was trying to tell my body that I was not feeling well ... in fact I was fit and healthy... and possibly developing proper calf muscles. By lunchtime I was thinking "hmmm maybe I just need some sweets to make me feel less dizzy". I am convinced my body does actually need some bad stuff going into my system regularly and I was obviously detoxing. But I needed to get through the afternoon. I went to the shop and bought a huge bag of sour haribos. These are the sweets that make your eyelids sweat because of the sourness of them but which you can't stop eating when you start. Salt and vinegar crisps have the same effect on me. I did think it was a little unusual I ate the whole bag of sweets in about 10 minutes as despite my love of food I'm not mad on sweets. I prefer savoury stuff.

By 5 pm I thought I think I'll knock the gym and go home for a sleep I was really not feeling very well. I would make up for the gym on the weekend and would go on both Saturday and Sunday. I got in the front door and put on a pizza which I whoofed down as soon as it was out of the oven. I then decided sleep was overcoming me remarkably quickly and I laid down on the sofa. 3 hours later I awoke to a terrible feeling of sickness. I tried to get up but instead found myself rolling onto the floor and promptly started to gag. As I started to be sick I realised how ill I felt and tried to crawl to the toilet. 2 hours later I was still crawling backwards and forwards to the toilet puking all the sweets etc I had eaten. If only I had not eaten so much!!! Eventually I spoke to my mum and decided to call the doctor. I did so and an ambulance then arrived! As I opened the door two young men came in and tried to talk to me whilst I was busy answering in monosyllables between moments of puking into my washing up bowl. Never have I felt so attractive!!! The ambulance men told me the doctor was on her way but they would stay with me in the meantime. They asked if I lived on my own or if they could call my mum. I immediately burst into tears saying my mum lives in England. At this point they asked how old I was and I replied 31. The ambulance man then laughed saying "Oh god I was feeling really sorry for you there I thought you were only 17!". I ignored him.

By the time the doctor arrived I was lying on the floor unable to move continually puking. She informed me that she thought I had the Norwalk virus. She sat beside me as I puked asking me the following questions:

1. "So basically you just woke up and started to chunder?" - The word "chunder" should never be used to someone who is struggling to stop being sick... the word alone makes me feel like something is rising in my throat.
2. "So have you eaten alot today?" "yes" "Oh dear that means you have probably got a good few more hours of chundering!" - This again is not a positive thing to say to someone who is wishing she would just die rather than continuing to be sick".
3. "Well we could admit you into hospital. You could be put in the ward with all the other people who have this virus - we've closed it off - a kind of quarantine. Do you want to go?" "No... puking... I can't think of anything worse... puking... then being with ... puking... a load of people... puking ... who have the same thing..."
4."Shall I give you an anti-sickness injection.. may help but may not... Yes? Ok well you are actually in the perfect position... stay there... just a little scratch." As she jabbed the injection into my bum whilst I had my head over a bowl and my bum in the air I can tell you it was not a little scratch! What a cow!

Eventually she left and for the next 8 hours every 20 minutes I was being sick. In other words there was no maybe about it the injection did not work. I was told I had to be quarantined so no one could visit me. My landlady came in to see me and immediately put her scarf over her mouth to avoid my contagiousness. Over the next week various lovely friends brought over things that I needed... god knows why but I have never needed ice lollies so much. I lived on them. Work called telling me they did not want me in but they would like to cargo some files over to me so I could work from home... how kind of them!! As the days went on my stomach continued to churn and I happily noticed that I was not that hungry.. the norwalk virus diet was working..Note this was only temporary though and as soon as I ate normally the weight attached to my hips as normal!

On Monday I went back into work informing everyone I was no longer contagious and I was fighting fit! I even went to the gym! By Tuesday I felt like I was dying a slow painful death. As I arrived in at work I soon realised I needed to be in bed. I went to the doctor and then drove home. Instead of my normal going to the sofa and lying in agony under a duvet. I went to bed for the whole day. I awoke in the darkness and realised I must be feeling really terrible to not even be able to stomach day time Tv. You know that lovely feeling of smugness you get knowing that everyone is at work and you are under a duvet watching various live television phone ins on the important issues such as "sex for the over seventies", "dealing with the trauma of memory loss" and "gardening tips for a rainy summer" with various experts giving us 30 seconds of advice before cutting off the caller mid question and moving on to the next caller Sue for Somerset.

On Wednesday I dragged myself into work again and spent the rest of the week fighting a bloated stomach after I ate anything at lunchtime. I am finally now starting to feel myself. Well myself minus the gym... my old self! And so it makes me wonder how is that as soon as I start trying to be ultra healthy does it always make me ill? Perhaps I should just embrace my unhealthiness as yet another fault I cannot change...or I can change but which would ultimately make me ill. Hmmm think I'll ponder on that over a bag of crips!

Sunday, 12 October 2008

No one ever wished they spent more time at work

I consider myself to be a fairly driven, ambitious person and yet when I really have time to think about it... I mean I have the time because I am a self confessed lazy person... but when I sit down and think about it I really just want to have nothing to do. I have just spent 2 hours (this is time which I will never get back even if I wanted to!) watching the programme Girls of the Playboy mansion. Now I am not proud of this viewing but I am ever so slightly addicted to this programme. Not because I can relate to it or because I am ANYTHING like the 3 girlfriends that Hugh currently has... although I would happily have their looks and figures (bearing in mind I stopped going to the gym whilst I waited for my official yearly subscription to it through work to start and a month on haven't managed to go back!) but the reason I watch this programme so avidly is because honestly.. I mean honestly that is the life to have! I mean these girls are living a very nice life. Sure they have to occasionaly kiss the wrinkly lips of Hugh Hefner but God we've all had to kiss Nans and Grandads lips and immediately wiped our mouths and minds of the experience so what is the difference? I don't believe any of them other than Holly (the main girlfriend) sleeps with him and so these other girls have it made! Bridget and Kendra basically have dogs to play with, their own rooms which are pink and girly and lots of clothes to wear (ok these are all branded playboy but god so what?It would be a small price to pay!) and they get ready for parties and they get new cars and dress up for fancy dress evenings and hang out with other girlie girls. I mean is this not the life to have? Or is it just me?

We all are in some way selling ourselves for what we want out of life and so their selling of themselves is a bit more basic but I could do the little girlie laugh and play with my hair and kiss wrinkly lips every once in a while for such a nice life! These girls never look tired or jaded... they never worry about money or seem to have arguments. They are emotional so ocassionaly you see them cry but normally because some other play boy bunny has won an award and is so overcome with happiness she cries which sets all the other bunnies off! Their main concern at this time is wiping the mascara from their tear drenched eyes and looking beautiful as they hug and laugh at themselves for crying through the tears. And Hugh just says they are sweet and then they are encouraged to carry on discovering their girlie pursuits. There is no pressure to this lifestyle. Realistically I'm sure I would be a nicer, more laid back person if my only plans for the day were hula hooping, playing with my dogs, bouncing on the trampoline and being nice to an old guy called Hef who actually doesn't seem to be that involved in the day to day activities. It's not a taxing way to live! And if it didn't make me a nice person I could pretend. It would be worth pretending for the lifestyle! God they aren't even expected to iron Hugh's silky pyjamas. Actually I like the idea of a life in pyjamas! What a perfect way to live... constantly dressed for lounging!

So now is this normal for me to feel like this? Is it something to aspire to? I mean should we be encouraging ourselves and our loved ones to go for a life like this? I accept it is not ideal! But let me ask you this... do you think these girls will look back on their time at the playboy mansion fondly? Sure! Why wouldn't they? They live is a bundle of pink fluff, it is fun and they are pandered to... so what is the problem? It is not something I had aspired to as a child but maybe that's because for most of us we never think that we will be able to have this kind of life so we don't bother seeing it as a possibility. Plus I can't imagine telling my parents when they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up with any convinction "I want to be a playboy bunny of course!" and they would look on me with pride in their eyes and say "wow what a wonderful career choice darling!".

Recently my Mum stayed with me in Jersey for 10 days. It was great to have her around and I took 2 days off work to hang out with her for her birthday. The whole time she was here though I was having to do work at home in the evenings and on my two days off I had to work for 6 hours in the day and one day I even went in to see a client for 2 hours. I had no other option. By the end of the week I was exhausted! So I soon felt like the walking dead. I was snappy and distracted by the work I had to do. One evening my mum insisted on watching Coronation Street (for American readers this is our longest running soap opera... as far as I know there is no American equivalent... all I can tell you is some of the actors no longer have to act because they have been in it for so long!) I can't stand Coronation Street. I don't know what it is ... but as soon as the music comes on it makes me feel thoroughly irritated. My mum however loves it and on one night it appears to be on twice on the one night... hell for me when my mum is here! As my Mum wanted to watch the second show I told her I would have a little half hour sleep. A snooze. A power nap if you will. I gave her strict instructions to wake me after Coronation Street and she promised she would with a cup of tea. I was asleep on the sofa in seconds. I was awoken by mum putting the cup of tea down on the coffee table. As she did so I jumped up and said "Shit Mum it's nine fifteen!!!" "So it is." She replied and calmly put the biscuits on the table. I jumped off the sofa and bounded up the stairs two at a time towards the bathroom undoing my jeans as I did so and trying to pull my jeans off without falling over. I put the shower on and jumped in. As I frantically scrubbed myself I realised it was 9.15 pm and not 9.15 in the morning. I hadn't over slept. I had no need to be in the shower rushing as if I was late for work. I stepped out of the shower and sheepishly returned to the living room. My mum looked at me concerned and confused and asked "you ok?". I was ok, I was just over tired and delirious..ok I wasn't delirious but it makes me wonder if my panic over being late and having so much to do at work is normal.I had basically slipped into a coma for 45 minutes on the sofa. This can't be normal. For the rest of the week my brother and sister kept saying that Mum said I was working really hard and long hours. I'm sure she is proud of me but I also knows she worries about me. And so if I told her now I was retiring to be a playboy bunny do you think she'd really mind? If she knew it was a better life? I doubt it. And so I dedicate this to Hugh .... Lots of love your next girlfriend! xx PS If any of you dare tell him my age I blame you for my lack of happiness!!!

Monday, 29 September 2008

Everyone needs a great financial advisor.

My natural instinct in life is to hate financial advisors. I have met a few in my short (yes short) life. I have normally had to resort to taking advice from these "sorts" when my financial life has turned to disaster. Most of the time when I have had to deal with any kind of financial institution this has normally ended with me either crying or feeling slightly suicidal... at times this has been replaced by pure hatred for the person who sits behind the desk gently tutting at my financial incompetence as they delve through the depths of my various credit cards statements questioning how I spent so much in such a short amount of time. Red faced I try to justify myself by stating that bank account had been emptied and I was forced to use my credit cards 2. I have a problem. I literally can't stop spending. It was either visit a financial advisor or go to a mental institution (I probably should have picked the latter) 3. I had no idea what had happened having been struck down by amnesia in the preceeding months. I could feel the judgement of me and my spending habits literally oozing out of the pores of this man. He looked disappointed in me without even knowing me and seemed bored with my excuses. Sure he'd heard them all before but there is a code of politeness. I do it with client's all the time. I listen to them knowing that they are justifying their actions and making themselves feel slightly better but the reality is they are lying and it's appropriate for me to seem to believe them at the very least in the first meeting!

So my experience of financial advisors is that they are generally judgemental, slightly smug people who look down their noses and sigh at the level of debt you have got yourself into as they wipe imaginery dust off their Rolex watch. Generally speaking they are making money out of your misfortune. This I don't mind as such as any advisory role does just that. If all was going well they would need you alot more. They would probably downplay your wealth and talk about wealthier client's they see and how to achieve this level of wealth. But the run of the mill people ... people like me... commonly known as "debt ridden scummers" are the ones that they can really vent their anger on without worrying about complaints. After all we need them much more than they need us!

Last Christmas as I stared at my credit card statements and spent alot of time trying to juggle my money in order to pay the minimum payments I knew it was only a matter of time before I would find myself again knocking on the door of the local financial humiliator to try to resolve my financial difficulties. I'm honest when I need help but there is something so very mortifying about going to someone and confessing your financial sins. I am the typical person who earns a decent wage but has a massive ball and chain that I drag around with me. The ball and chain is years of living on a low wage, student loans and credit card therapy. I needed help.

My friend suggested that I go and see someone at a place called Acorn Finance. I was slightly concerned that Acorn suggested they expected people to have little debts. You know the size of an acorn. I was a financial loser. The worst kind. As I had ignored it for far too long. I went to see Andrew (although I'll call him Andreas as the mediterrean name makes the process seem sunnier and alot less dark and painful). Within minutes I was in tears. I told him I was in a mess. Andreas was different from other financial advisors I had seen. He certainly didn't appear to be judging me and I felt as if he had heard it all before. Inside I have no doubt he was thinking "oh my god you financial incompetent!" but he hid it well and was friendly yet I totally believed what he had to say. Before Christmas I was sorted and relieved to think that I would be able to deal with my debts and not get myself into such a situation again.

So 7 months later when I was forced to get in touch with Andreas again I couldn't really see what I could say other than "I've really screwed up!" Ok so by the time I saw him he was a little more judgemental but this time I didn't cry. What was the point? He knew I was a loser so why become a pathetic loser? I wasn't crying when I was building up the credit cards again. And this time I had to accept real responsibility. It was hard. I took it on the chin... Ok I didn't. But I knew that I was just an idiot when it came to money and I would have to deal with my idiotic behaviour. IF there is ever a next time I know he will use 2 words and the first one will begin with P and the second word will be off... This alone makes me fear him. And I'll be honest this is not the sort of man you fear! He's funny and I suspect a bit of a party boy but the difficulty with this sort of person is you know that if you let him down again you would feel really bad! One evening after work I went to see him to discuss the loan arrangements for my new consolidation I arrived at the office after work to a barrage of bad language being shouted through the office. I was sitting in the waiting room as I listened to various c, f and sh words being shouted to a colleague and knew that this was the sort of unprofessional firm I needed to be involved with! These people were perfect for my financial needs! They were approachable and human. They hated their clients and therefore me and it made me love their ethos all the more! A rather embarrassed Andreas came round the corner and greeted me saying that he was unaware I was sitting there. But the reality was it sealed my loyalty to such a ridiculously helpful and hugely unprofessional approach. Now don't get me wrong I'm sure they can be very professional for others. I mean only today Andreas cancelled my appointment to go and hob nob on a golf course with some of his more important clients. His complete honesty immmediately made me feel like I'm in on a secret. I know the flaws, their professionality is wasted on me and I think they know that.

Now to bring a new element of interbreeding to Jersey I then happened to tell Andreas that I was looking for a flat. He told me that his business partner David had a flat to rent. He called him in and I met David who looked like he had just woken up (it was 5pm) and told me his wife deals with it all. After Andreas telling me it was a whole £200 cheaper than it actually was (the lack of accuracy of figures may worry some when it comes to a financial advisor but it appealed to me... why should we get bogged down with accuracy anyway!!).I visited the flat and I now live in it. It is all a bit weird! I wonder if they really wanted me close? Did I have to commit my soul to Acorn now that I've messed up for the second time? Every purchase I make I now think about knowing that I will have to walk it into my flat past the house that David lives in. They've lent me money I have to be seen to be being sensible. It is the old saying of keep your friends close, your enemies even closer... I wonder if the same goes for debtors? It would seem also that Andreas has been to visit David at home and has seen my crap car and then because he knows that he has no real professional image with me he had the cheek to tell me it was crap! He back tracked soon after I told him I was willing to borrow more money to buy a nice car and all we had to do was re-hash the figures. Suddenly my little passion wagon was not so bad! Funny that!

And so I find myself for the first time feeling responsible for ensuring I don't let these people down. I owe it to their honesty and their lack of professional image. I will never find another firm like it I am sure. And ok so they have bothered to move me next door to them to keep an eye on me... which is a little over the top! But I guess it's good for me too... as the guilt of buying is more overwhelming than usual. I may start carrying purchases into my flat in the dark under sheets or black bags when everyone is asleep... it may be the only way to keep the shopping addiction going! The truth is that this is the kind of advice I need... no judgement but the fear of disappointing Andreas and David. However the commitment of a five year loan and living in this flat for possibly five years is not something I can envisage. I may have to escape the cell and move elsewhere at some point... I just pray I don't fall off the wagon. We all need a great financial advisor... but if you can't find one ... get one that at least has a lack of pompousness and the ability to make you feel comfortable. The best kind is one that really just acts like a friend who seems to be mucking around a bit. There is really no need to be all serious about it... we all know it's pathetic that I'm in this situation so let's just accept it... slightly scared I'm now thinking though I may have lost my freedom to these people...They are watching me... Acorn don't stifle me I want to be an Oak tree. Note to self I must read the small print and just make sure I don't have to hand over my soul as collateral for my loan.... oh so what if I do it'll be worth it I guess!

Monday, 22 September 2008

Excuse me... I think I'm lost on the road to nowhere....

As you all know I am now in my new flat. I have also mentioned it is gorgeous... I have a few problems like sky is not working yet and my internet is tempermental (stop muttering "let it go Clare" - I can't ok? Deal with it)but I am a little further away from work and therefore from town then I used to be. It is picturesque and quaint and most people will remark on what a lovely area it is! It is not unusual to regularly see a person riding their horse past my window and the sound of birds cheeping but PAUSE hang on just one second! I am not used to this!

I awake in the morning to the sound of these noises accompanied by the sweet sound of quite a busy road in front of the house. As you all know country roads mean one thing! Men driving like loonies, way to fast and swerving in and out. So I hear this noise and get out of bed cursing the world as I go and when I finally get in my car to get out on to that busy road I'm constantly dicing with death. The entrance to the road is a concealed entrance and has no visibility to see traffic coming either way. I should go back a step to say that the driveway is on a very tight corner so on maneouvering my way to get out of the gateway I'm then faced with a wall that is directly in front of me. With no power steering I huff and puff to move the wheel and reverse two inches, turn the wheel, go forward 2 inches, reverse two inches whilst turning the wheel and go forward again until I have cleared the entrance. This immediately leads me to being hot and bothered as I then risk my life to get onto the road. Honestly I am not exagerrating you cannot see a thing from either direction. This morning I decided to open my windows to see if I could hear a car and then nearly killed myself as my own heap of a car makes so much noise from the engine it drowned out the sound of oncoming vehicles! To be honest it's a game of russian roulette and it involves straining my neck and generally talking to myself saying "can I go, shall I go oh what the hell just close your eyes and go!!!" You can imagine my mood then by the time I get to work. To say that it is not worth even saying hi to me is an understatement. For future reference if you say hi at this point on my arrival I won't answer. Sorry I'm just not capable. Wait an hour and a latte and you may get a grunt... apart from that it's just not worth it. I'm being honest and I'm warning you.

Being Sunday yesterday I decided that I would have a little drive around to get to know the area. I was hoping to drive and come across a nearby shopping mall that no one had mentioned existed and maybe a big supermarket like Tesco which was open all hours of the day and night. The dreams in my head filled my heart with delight as I risked life and limb to get onto the main road. I drove aimlessly whistling to myself. I stayed straight first of all and then did a few right and left turns. Easy enough to remember on a small island? Twenty minutes later I realised that I probably should have bought camping equipment as I was totally lost. I didn't recognise anything as I drove through country lanes covered with trees and wondered what would happen if a spaceship lifted me up and took me and my car into space. No one would have seen me to know where I was. It was completely deserted. An hour and a half later I had discovered two things. One - I have no sense of direction whatsoever and in fact I was tempted just to leave all my possessions and rent a new flat and start again as I would probably never find my way back to my current home and Two - I live in the middle of nowhere! There is no shopping mall. No secret big supermarket. In fact there was not much of anything. How could I get constantly lost on an island that is so small? I always pretend that I am pretty good at directions. I often impress my mum with my ability to get places (though not when I offered to drive her and my auntie to my cousin's wedding and due to a few unfortunate turns on my part they ended up arriving half way through the ceremony! They were the first ones out though so this meant they were the first ones to the reception.... so don't think they had anything really to complain about!)

So here I am in the middle of nowhere. I realised whilst I was driving that probably one life skill that is pretty essential to be successful in life is to have a good sense of direction. I mean we are ruled by directions. Not just to get us from a to b but also in life. Where is this relationship going? What direction in your career are you taking? Answering direct questions. They are all about routes that are taken and they get us to where we need to be. The problem is my sense of direction does cause friction in my life. As I am constantly lost it means I take longer to get there than anyone else. This is whether I'm going to work, trying to grow up or in relationships. I put the time in. Everything takes longer than I'd expect and when I don't know the right directions I guess (with some confidence) normally taken the wrong route first. I do though eventually find my way and upon arrival I find the rest of the world has not only passed me by but they are waiting for me and slightly pissed off about my late arrival! But does it really matter how I get there? I don't arrive in style, I'm normally stressed and bedraggled, late and frowning but I make it. Isn't that what's important?

It is quite nice though living in the middle of nowhere. It's quite anonymous and makes me feel like I'm a little bit of a secret hiding away in my little flat... But to be a hermit like Howard Hughes I suspect it is more appealing if you have lots of good stuff to keep you amused like SKY TV for instance.... I have a need people! Until this need is met I will continue to moan! Or even internet that is reliable. Maybe even a nice car to drive round nowhere in! It's the little perks that make nowhere bearable surely?

And so as I get back on that road tomorrow... sorry IF I get back on that main road tomorrow... it really is that dangerous!... I know that the only direction I'll travel at 8 am is towards work but on the way home who knows? I will continue my quest to find something remotely civilised on this island... remotely modern... It's like being in a desert and seeing a mirage and praying it stays there by the time you get there... that's how I feel about shopping malls or supermarkets.... it looks like it's there... you can see it... you imagine getting out of your car and wandering the large expanse of aisles and aisles of various food, drink and if you are lucky books, clothing, stationary and DVDS but as you approach it disappears before your very eyes... You don't know what happened to it or why it is not there anymore but it's gone... God giveth and god taketh away... the problem is often it leaves us with being on the road to nowhere.

Thursday, 18 September 2008

I want my life back... sky tv I miss you!

Once again my poor blog has been neglected and I have probably lost all my readers in the process ... so for my brother and sister who are no doubt reading this and already know this information I'll bore you again.

In recent weeks I have moved out of my flat and into a new one. My new flat is a lot bigger than the previous one and upon viewing it I immediately decided that it would change my life. No more lying on the floor with my lap top plugged in with lots of wires. This time I was going to do it properly! This time I would have the ability to sit on my sofa (did I not mention it came with a sofa in the flat which is large and soft! -I wasn't aware that sofas could be soft and that you could lie out on them!) I moved in with excitement. The flat is a two storey one bedroom flat which also has a mezzanine floor (a posh word for a half floor which is kind of pointless but nice)in the living room. The first question I asked was "does the flat have sky tv?". As the landlady nodded I knew I had found a HOME!

I have now been living in this flat for 2 weeks and to be honest I'm confused. Don't get me wrong the flat is a dream but somehow I have managed to get myself in a situation where I am no longer lying on the floor next to my laptop but I'm sitting in a dark corner underneath the staircase to the mezzanine floor between the sofa and my tv. There is no room for me to lie down. There is honestly no room for anything. This is the only place I can put my lap top as I don't have wireless. This means that whilst I'm writing this my feet have gone to sleep as they are all caught up underneath my legs. I'm also surrounded by wires and I can't watch TV at the same time.

So has Sky changed my life for the better?... the answer is no. Why I hear you cry? Well my miniscule TV has been moved to my bedroom! Someone at work was selling a 26 inch TV for £10. I assumed it must be broken or else a gift from god. When I arrived to pick up the TV I realised that it weighed as much as a man with a serious obesity problem and as I lugged it down the stairs in high heels and put it in my car I realised that the chances of me getting it out of my car was unlikely. However I managed to get it out several days later after of course, I noticed that the car was struggling to go uphill from the weight of the TV in the back which I had cunningly covered in the back seat with a sheet. I did not want anyone breaking into my £160 car to steal my £10 TV! After getting the TV into the flat I whistled lightly as I prepared for Sky to immediately come on. In my head I started to plan my evening of watching MTV and american sitcoms. So why could I not get it to work? Why does god giveth and taketh away? Surely this was too unfair?

For the next 3 days I tried everything I could think of ... unplugging various leads, cords and plugging in various wires to anything I could find. I invested in a long plug extender thing so that I could have more than two things plugged in at once in the hope it would help with all the items I intended to plug into the area next to the TV (ie my laptop and stereo). But nothing... no sky. I could get up the menu titles but then it would say no signal. I contemplated moving out there and then but I am faced with reality - Sky and I are not meant to be together. I just don't understand it. We are perfect for each other. The mindless programme watching suits my numb brain perfectly and I long to spend quality time with cable tv!

Apart from that my new flat is lovely. I am still at the stage where everything is kept perfectly in place. I even bought new sheets for my bed to make it look extra nice! Ok so the bedroom is about quarter the size of my previous bedroom and therefore I feel a bit like I'm sleeping in a box... but still it looks nice.

Along with that I have no microwave which is a big problem for someone who is as lazy as I am. I wonder how anyone lived without a microwave before? Thank god I didn't live in a time before microwaves! And yet I somehow feel as if I'm living in that time zone now.

I have a place to park at my new flat too! This is an amazing feeling! I no longer have a ten minute walk to get to my car! I just look straight out my front door and there it is...the little car! And ok so I did tell everyone when I moved here I would get the bus to work to save money rather than paying for car parking near work and OK so, as of yet, I've not managed to get the bus as the temptation of hopping into my car and getting to work without having to deal with looking at other people on the way to work on a bus is just too appealing! I can't stand the thought of sitting on a bus listening to some woman (you know the kind the one with the incessant chatter? The one who names people you have never heard of and assumes the person she is talking to knows who she means. So she'll say "Pat is going to come and stay and I said to Julie you know you really must come and see me soon" and some poor sucker will be listening politely wishing she could find the off button for the obnoxious woman who just can't stop spouting out crap particularly as she has never met Pat or Julie or in fact this woman!) You see even the thought of it makes me irrate so why would I put myself through it! Why not just admit that I have not got the patience or the inclination to sit on a bus?... or even run for one as I'm sure to be on the brink of missing it every morning and I will then have to half heartedly run for it before giving up and deciding I may as well just be late for work again!So as long as my car continues running I will be in it on my way to work scowling but in the privacy of my own car!

And so I've realised that everywhere you move has it's own problems. After complaining for a year that I was always lying on the floor in front of my laptop I am now doing the unthinkable which is so much worse! I'm sitting upright at my laptop... it's like torture. Someone save me from a life without wireless and sky tv! I've done my time... give me my life back!

Tuesday, 26 August 2008

I want to be Gym Bunny!

If you have the Rocky theme tune anywhere in your CD collection please insert and play Eye of the Tiger or the Rocky theme tune to the first few paragraphs

You are probably wondering why I've suggested that you listen to the Rocky anthems and it is for one reason only...your blogger is getting fit! Well I say getting fit I'm not necessarily getting fit but I have joined a gym! This is a huge feat for me as many of you will know my natural instinct is to be lazy. This means that every one single thing I do in life is an effort or a chore. However, in a bid not to become one of those people who is confined to their house as they are too large to get through the front door I have decided drastic action needs to be taken. I need to at least try to get a body that I'm remotely proud of! At age hmmm hmmm, ok at age 31 I've decided this may be my last chance!

So 2 weeks ago I found myself walking into my local gym red faced and exhausted just looking at the men pumping their pecks in the room nearest the reception desk and asking how to join up. Assuming that I would no doubt not be a member for a great deal of time I decided to join up for a month with my friend. This prevented any possibility of me being locked into a 12 month contract for a gym membership that I am unable to cancel and which then causes huge amounts of guilt every time I walk past the gym. Which as it happens would be a regular occurence as the gym is approximately 13 steps away from my office where I work and next door to the place that supplies my daily lattes! As I signed up for the month I immediately decided the lifting of the pen to fill in the relevant form was enough work and exercise for the first day and my friend and I decided we would go to the induction the following day! The next day arrived and I was exhausted just thinking about it let alone walking the 3 flights of stairs to the changing room but after an hour long induction on the various machines from rowing machines, tread mills to cross trainers with their complicated computer screens and about 45 buttons to play with per machine I had managed to get through the induction which ended with a series of stretches... which I should add hurt somewhat!

The following day dressed in our gym stuff (which is not flattering to anyone unless you are fit first! I will never understand why lycra is a necessity for every gym goer regardless of the cellulite creeping through!) my friend and I went to the room that we decided would be the room we went to each time. This room is perfect for every self conscious, body image hating, depressive gym goer as it is a room in semi darkness save for the small disco ball which flashes lights around the room in various colours. The best thing about this room is that it is dark which disguises any lumps and bumps and your red face that is glowing in the light of the disco ball.

I decided I would start with the bike. I optimistically got onto the bike and started to pedal. "This is not too bad at all" I said to myself as I watched the screens playing the latest euro pop dance anthems. Ok this is not my preferred choice of music but my normal choice is lazy and slow like my mood and therefore not exactly conducive to sweating and exercise! After 2 minutes of cycling I reached for my water and thought to myself "hmmm this is getting a little harder now but I must keep going". I glanced up at the screens focusing on the bikini clad bodies dancing around in front of me in the music videos. Just got to keep focused! I want a body like that! By minute 3 however I had decided that God hates me and that electric shocks were being pumped into the muscles in my limbs. My body started to cease up. I tried to mentally focus and tell myself the lines Rocky once used "NO PAIN, NO GAIN". I repeated this in my head a few times until even my brain was struggling for energy. I'm in hell! My chubby legs tried to continue the fluid motion of cycling but every repetition caused further pain and I wondered if I had actually got any fitness in my limbs at all! I tried another tact. I focused on the idea that my muscles were pushing through the chubbiness... itching to get out and be lean. But after 5 minutes I was losing the will to live and staggered from there to the cross-trainer whilst guzzling the whole bottle of water I had with me. I turned to look at one of the other girls who appeared to be wearing a pristine pink track suit with what I can only describe as the most perfectly formed pair of buns I had ever seen and her pony tail bobbing up and down whilst my sweat soaked hair stuck to my head. Without even a shortness of breath she bounced up and down on the cross trainer looking as though she was actually feeling no pain whatsoever and it was quite fun! Immediate thought... weirdo! What is wrong with her? She smiled at me. But my own lips were sticking to my teeth from all the exercise so I just about managed to raise an eyebrow before realising that even my eyebrows now hurt.

After 40 minutes of sheer hell and hatred welling up inside me I left the gym with my friend. We decided we would do our stretches in the main room with lights! How brave! As we arrived at the part of the gym where people do floor exercises and stretches we were greeted by a very flexible elastic band type of woman who was lying on the floor and throwing her legs over her head. We immediately looked at each other in horror and decided that we would do our pointless stretches in the dressing room.

Arriving at the dressing room we started to stretch out! God I sound like a gym bunny already! As we did so I noted from the corner of my eye someone walking out of the shower. Now don't get me wrong I am entirely comfortable with people loving themselves and feeling comfortable in their own skins but is it really necessary in gym changing rooms for women to leave the shower completely naked whilst holding their folded up towel in their hands rather than covering up their bodies? I tried to avert my eyes but as soon as I did this lady immediately stood directly in front of my eye view and proceeded to moisturise every part of her body. I mean every part. No crevice was left unmoist. I could not do anything other than to pretend to close my eyes whilst feeling the stretch! But even with my eyes closed I felt as though I had seen something I shouldn't have. A vivid image. I hadn't even seen my own body in that much detail and to be honest I wouldn't want to and yet here and now I had a full front, back and almost insides of a woman I had never met! Worst still who I would no doubt see again as it is such a small place in Jersey! Oh my God what if she came in one day and was one of my clients?

From that first visit to the gym I made a conscious effort not to change anywhere in the vicinity of "nakey women". I now go in to the changing rooms eyes half covered to protect them and walk into the toilet, lock the door, cover my eyes, put my stuff in the locker, cover my eyes and walk down the stairs to the safety of the dark room. I'm telling you now if I see Ms perfect buns naked I will probably shoot myself but for now I'm covering all my bases in the hope that I don't have to see anymore flesh and will for the foreseeable future cover my eyes until I least feel my buns are half as bulbous as they are now.

I have now been to the gym 6 times. It is getting marginally easier and I'm forcing myself to get my one month money's worth. I can honestly say I'll never love it but I want to be that person. I want to enjoy the gym and feel naturally energetic. I don't think it will ever happen but I desperately want to be a gym bunny!