Christmas Survived

Am back at work, having successfully survived the Crimble break down in Devon with the family. Given that me ol' pops isn't in the best of health, I was determined to make the best of it, though the usual instincts of turning back into a 12-year-old and bickering incessantly with all family members soon hit in. This is usually caused by my mum's anti-logic, which fuelled by the ample amounts of booze she consumes, can turn into a flat denial of the facts. This can be amusing or irritating depending on what kind of mood you're in, but is usually fairly harmless in the scheme of things. Love 'em I certainly do but can I live with them for more than a few days - nej nej nej.

Dartmouth was a gem, as expected. Previously Lyme Regis has always been the place of choice for a family Christmas and is much beloved in the 'Ding household, but since the early days (when it was a slightly abandoned, slightly crumbling little quirk on the Dorset coast) it has now become rammed, over-priced, and is currently being held up by monumental sea defences, and I fear that some of that old charm has drifted out to sea along with the the collapsing cliffs. Dartmouth, on the other hand, still remains quite seasonal, and is full of lots of weird and wonderful winding steps and alleys and eccentricities. I could have spent days just wandering around, scouting out the oddities, and reading all the plaques, benches and inscriptions. Part of me still imagines I might end up living in a coastal town like this, but the realist tells me that all the important components of the South-West dream are missing - money, a job, and someone to entertain me on a quiet day. Never mind eh, live in hope!

A Christmas Carol

Spent last weekend busying myself in the 'Ding, firstly by attending a most accomplished Christmas party held by Choc Chip, Romba and Monky, where I ate enough cheese and drank enough Bucks Fizz to fell a rhinocerous, and then on to Bassers to visit my Grandparents in their various homes.

I found my Granddad very unwell, only semi-coherent and weak. It was upsetting, and even my mum, who has witnessed some all-time lows with her parents, found it very emotional. I sat and held his hand awhile, and was completely at a loss as to how to comfort him. Having good reason to fear for my own family's health, right now, it reminded me of how unbearable the process of dying can be. I'm hoping my granddad will recover from this bout of illness, but in the long run, we must all try and prepare for the losses that will inevitably come in the years to come.

Me, Monky and Shaggy are in agreement that it is foolish not to talk about death and your final wishes. Some people find it squeamish, but the fear of it should be reserved for when you meet it face to face. I'd ideally like a viking burial, or alternatively a gigantic pagan funeral pyre. But on the probability that there'd be some Health and Safety directive banning this, I'd settle for my ashes being cast adrift, on the ocean, in a margerine tub, and to be remembered every year by a ceremonial procession of paper boats floating down the river.

On a happier note, I found Grandma to be in good spirits (unusual) and her new home very very plush. It didn't have that smell and that atmosphere that most old people's homes have, and they were having a Christmas party which involved a brass band and carol singing. It was a relief to be able to heartily belt out a few classics with no self-conciousness whatsoever, given that most of the residents have no idea who you are or even what day of the week it is.... strangely people who can remember little of their own lives can still recall songs and sing and clap along. As the band played "Silent Night" I found myself on the verge of tears. It was beautiful and sad, and made me instantly grateful for all I had, and frightened about the things I might never have, or lose. But by the time me and Grandma had finished belting out a truly tuneless version of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, I had completely recovered my composure and was actually having a rather good time. Dare I say it, I was actually feeling some CHRISTMAS SPIRIT!!

It also made me think that I really should do some voluntary work with the elderly. It might be difficult but it must also be worth it. There are at least two residents in my Granddad's home who I want to adopt (Sidney and Dot), and Dot never has any visitors, even though she is an absolute diamond, with a glint in her eye that suggests a lifetime of adventure. Which reminds me (whilst I am full of good thoughts) I just LOVE the Salvation Army, and I think a Christmas donation might be going their way this year....

Ordinary World

Well, finally got all my bits and bobs back together, after my handbag robbing. Managed to replace my simcard, and get my old number back (yeh) although am still without the actual phone to put it in! It's quite lucky that I have an innocent looking face as my old sim card had been owned by various members of my family, and was registered under my mum's name, with my sister's date of birth, and the security password was the name of my rabbit that died about eight years ago! I proved basically incapable of answering any of the questions asked of me, but looking like a sad victim of crime, the man in the phone shop agreed to get me my old number back anyway heh heh heh. I borrowed a work phone to check the simcard and then got three phone calls in a row for a bloke called "Christophe". I presume Christophe, the utter cnut, is the new owner of my stolen phone. I tried to subtly invagle some more information from the people on the end of the line, but they clammed up faster than you could say "you thieving bint" and by the time I'd determined that I was going to launch into a curse-strewn tirade against the next person ringing me, the phonecalls stopped. Boooooo. Hope you enjoyed your hot goods, Christophe, and that it doesn't bother your conscious that they were robbed off me!

As for this weekend, it started with some disappointment. Was expecting a visit from Withnail, which I was thoroughly looking forward to. But all my various means of trying to get hold of him (having lost his contact number to that f**kwit Christophe) failed, and he didn't turn up in any case. My only logical route of getting his number (as Withnail doesn't have regular internet access) was to email Foe and ask him. Foe, with whom my relationship is somewhat interesting, singularly failed to reply to either of my emails. I am fairly certain he must be away, rather than deliberately causing me bother, but he couldn't have chosen a worse time to be off the radar. Right up to Saturday morning, I had a haunting feeling that Withnail might have booked flights but not been able to contact me, although given that any logical person would read their snail mail and find some internet access, to check their emails, in that situation, I can only conclude that Withnail was never coming, and in his own rather endearingly vague fashion just forgot to tell me. If I had the techie knowledge, here, I would paste in a little smiley with rolling eyes.

However, weekend definitely improved as the 'Ding match I had planned to miss, I got to go to, and low and behold we beat Liverpool 3-1. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Shallow it may be but a good footie result has the ability to improve my mood tenfold, and I walked away from the Mad Stad feeling very pleased about the world, and my place in it. In the winter months, when there is barely enough light to keep your brain functioning, and your bed is cold and lonely, it seems the world wants to make you ordinary.

Well, Christophe, you are probably quite ordinary. The thieving bitch who stole my bag, you are definitely ordinary. But fuck you all, I will never be ordinary!!

Soggy Bottom

Arrived at work today and was delighted stroke bemused to find the place entirely broken. Courtesy of a leaky radiator gushing water under my boss' floor, some rather important cable to the server had frizzled itself, and every gadget (even the phones) had died. As the IT and Facilities bods looked stressed and puzzled, everybody else sat around chatting, making cups of tea and playing solitaire. But lest I could wallow too much in the comfort of doing fuck all, it suddenly occurred to me that I had loads of very urgent stuff to do. So I ended up walking to the local hospital and borrowing all their equipment for the most of the day, which essentially meant perching myself by a fax and getting steadily grumpier as the stupid thing beeped at me incessantly. I then came back to the office to discover everybody else was being sent home but having still a little work to do I stayed long enough for them to fix the problem and then be about the only person left in the building to answer the bluddy phone (at this point ringing off the hook).

YABBER YABBER YABBER I HAVE THIS PROBLEM YABBER YABBER YABBER I HAVE THAT PROBLEM YABBER YABBER YABBER ARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

Crime Statistic #52738394405

Spent a lovely evening out yesterday eve (dressed as Amelia Earhart) to celebrate young Monky's 27th year. My outfit was rather splendid, and with my home made jodphurs and rubber flying helmet I was a sight to behold. Unfortunately my inability to keep continuous watch on my handbag (a faux pas any Londoner should be ashamed of) resulted in me becoming a crime statistic, as my emptied out bag ended up unceremoniously dumped down the ladies toilet in the 'Ding's Iguana Bar. Given that the villain must have been a lady, and that there were only about 20 people in the bar at the time, no doubt I'd looked at the little shit earlier in the evening. For her troubles, she got £30 cash, an elderly phone with about £5 credit on, and a free train ticket to London. For my troubles, I've spent all fucking evening and day phoning various people to get replacements for all the cards I've lost (including my dad's 'Ding season ticket oops) and will probably be £80 down by the end of it. On the off-chance the heartless crim might listen to my voicemail, I left a message saying "You are an utter utter c**t and I hope you get run down by a bus and your intenstines are spread all over the road". This made me feel better, for a short while.

For all the shit, the staff at the Iguana Bar were absolutely brilliant, particularly the big chunky bouncers, one of whom got rather overexcited ("bruv, let's put out a patch, let's look at the CCTV now, they could still be here..."). Sadly it was all a bit late for that, but they looked after their 'first official crime' victim very well indeed, as did Monky and Choc Chip who supplied me with wads of cash and sympathy, and fed me with a delishusssshhh kebabish come the end of the evening. I must admit, I laid awake obsessing about becoming a Jodie Foster-style vigilante, and about how the villainess might be spending my Boots and Nectar cards on a shopping bender... none of which thankfully has proved true (there's still an opportunity to become a knife wielding maniac however...).

Still, never mind. Moral of this story - be streetwise, and also that ANYONE anywhere who steals someone else's possessions is a low-life worthless cnut. Bahhhhhhh. And also, if you're some trendy little teenage girl trying to push her way past me, as I try to get OFF a tube train, remember that that person you're trying to push past most rudely might recently have been robbed, so don't be surprised when she says to you sternly "EXCUSE ME, DO NOT TRY TO GET ON THIS TRAIN UNTIL I GET OFF IT!!". And even better, if you're her mother, don't tut at me because your own daughter has the manners of a five year old. Mainly, because I am already in quite a bad mood, but also because I am ten times a better human being than you, and have the manners to show it...

And that ladies and gentleman is the end of this week's rant!