The End

I've kept you waiting, and I apologise. I teased a little, and then life got in the way, as life is always wont to do.

Also, I had to take my time, to tell you how I felt, and how I am, and sometimes I thought about coming back here to do it, and then I couldn't, because I can't always find the words to sum up how I feel. You all know that I'd waited for him for such a long time, and I'd never given up on him, and I'm quite sure that most of you thought I was mad.

Anyway,

'Of course I wouldn't see anyone else! Why would I do that when I'm in a relationship?'

I think I need my ears syringing. I'm fairly sure that it sounded like he said we were in a relationship. What word sounds like relationship? Battleship? No, the first bit is wrong. Station pip? That's closer, but it doesn't actually make any sense. 'I'm in a station pip' No, that's nonsense. Did he say we were in a relationship?

'You just said we were in a relationship.'

OK. I could have tried to make that sound like less of an accusation.

'I did, yeah. Well, we are, aren't we? Why? What did you think?'

Well, it obviously wasn't that, was it? Do you think I'd be sitting here having this conversation if that's what I thought? Madman.

'Well I didn't think we were in a relationship. You said at the start that it wouldn't be like that. What's changed all of a sudden? And why didn't you tell me?'

Oh, it was all going so well, until that last bit. Maybe he won't notice.

'What do you mean I didn't tell you?'

Bugger.

'Do I have to tell you? Women are supposed to be good at these things! I thought that you'd know! I didn't think I'd have to tell you!'

Yeah, right, laugh it up, funny guy. But...

'OK, so if you've known this, then what on earth did you think I wanted to talk about?'

'God, I dunno. I thought you wanted us to live together or something. I'm not ready for that yet.'

Not ready for that yet! Not ready for that yet! I've only been in a relationship for about 20 seconds! Let's slow down here a minute, funny guy!

And so it went on.

And so it goes on.

That was over two months ago, and I couldn't be happier. We're just about to go on holiday (to Sorrento), and I'm about to start living some of those dreams I had.

It kind of makes a bit of a mockery of this blog, certainly at the moment. I know life's not always this kind, not always this settled, but I also know that at the moment, I've never felt less like having a tantrum. Although I can't rule out a mid-life crisis.

And let's be honest, no one wants to hear a blogger chirruping away about how happy they are. Do they?

So it might be time to start a new incarnation, somewhere else. But if I do, I'll be sure to tell you where.

As long as you don't mind all the 'raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens' malarkey....

Not Always What It Seems

Hello people, sorry I've been so long. I know I have memes, uus (eh?) and tags to catch up on, and I promise I will soon. But I think I owe you this at least first.

'OK, my reminder's just kicked in. You wanted to talk, didn't you?'

'I did, yes. But I wasn't going to say anything until you did.'
Oh good grief, he remembered. I've changed my mind.

'No, until tomorrow morning, then you would have said something just as I was walking off and it would have been too late then.'

'You might have a point'
Oh my God, I am transparent.


'So, go on then. Say what you want to say.'



'Erm....OK then...ummm.....I don't know where to start...erm....'
Please. If I am ever to be struck by lightning, please let it be now. Shall I fall off this stool as a distraction? Shoot me now.



'Well...er... I suppose....er....I suppose I want to talk about us, you know. I can't really see the difference between what we're doing, and what it would be like if we were going out with each other. I mean, it's like people say, we're a bit like a, you know, thingy. Er... couple.'
Oh people, where are you all now? Look at what you have been saying, and I have been listening. And where has it got me? Into this conversation that has only 2 end results - bad or worse. Or I could die. Make that 3.

'Yeah. I see what you mean. Does it matter though? What people think? Or what we call ourselves?

'Erm. Well, yes. I think it does.'
I am hopelessly backed into a corner. There is no way out of this situation now. I give us five minutes before the shouting starts. Or the crying.

'Why?'

'Well. Erm...'
That's a fine question. That's the very question I would have asked if the situation was reversed. But it isn't. You sure you want the answer? You're not going to like it, you know.

'Because I feel disrespected. That you don't think enough of me to refer to me as your girlfriend.'
Disrespected is a massive word. Just MASSIVE. There's no taking that one back. Could you not have prevaricated a bit you damn fool?

'That's a harsh word, Tine. And that's the last thing you should ever feel.'

'It's right though, isn't it?'
I have been possessed by the spirit of a woman braver than myself. I wish she would sod off.

'I mean, when you're talking to your mates, what do they think?'
This is a top card to play. I cannot lose with this card.

'Dunno. I suppose they think we're seeing each other. Don't talk about it really. It's blokes.'

'What about your mom then?'
That was a rubbish card. But this one is better. I would stake my life on the fact that his mom has said something about it. And other people's lives too. Absolute certainty.

'I don't know, she hasn't said anything.'

I am doomed, I need a minute to regroup. I need to phone a friend. I need someone to have this conversation for me. Where is everyone? Hello? People?

'OK then. Tell me this. Doing what we're doing now, would you see someone else?'
I have nothing left. Nothing at all. I'm seconds away from giving up on this conversation. I don't even know why I'm having it. I LIKE being with him, and if this is all it is, then where's the harm? I have just ruined something that was fun for no good reason at all. He's going to tell me now that he's seeing someone else. And I can't deal with that. Especially if it's Juliette Binoche. Although there's no reason why it would be, but that's the way that this conversation is going.




And then he turned towards me, from his new casual position at the door, cigarette smoke melting into nothingness, and said...

You Couldn't Make It Up

It's ridiculous. Really it is. And it stretches credulity to its absolute breaking point.

Men and women eh?

Both credited with the gift of speech, but communication between the two almost an absolute non-starter. No sign of any common ground at all.

In fact, no sign of any ground.

"I thought we were going to..."

"Oh yeah. I forgot...."

"Shall we next time? We could...."

"Maybe. Or perhaps we should..."

"Definitely. Or...."

You see, I wish I had something to tell you here. But it looks as though my complete lack of conversational skills are going to keep you waiting a wee while longer.

Cryptic, isn't it?

Or do you all understand it better than I do?

psst

More news expected.

Maybe next week.

I know you've waited patiently.

Just for a little while longer?

The Tuesday Tantrum

Good evening everyone, and welcome once again to The Tuesday Tantrum. Beg pardon? I'm sorry? Yes of course I know it's Wednesday, I'm not a buffoon. Do you want to make something of it? Do you want to come here and say that? Are you talking to me?

And anyway, its not my fault that I'm a day late doing the Tuesday post. It's Sir Alan Sugar's fault. If he was a bit more of a man, he'd have said 'No. Stuff off. I'm not moving to a Tuesday night for The Apprentice to be on television, and I don't care what sort of football match is on. It's not Tottenham, is it? Stupid television controller, you're fired!' That's what he'd have said, I reckon. Also, it's not my fault that I was really tired, because I haven't been sleeping very well, because when I'm at work I drink too much coffee, and in our coffee machine, you can have it extra, extra, extra, extra strong, and then that means that when I'm at work, I'm all whizz bang tiddly pom, and I don't seem to be able to come down at all because of the caffeine and I talk a lot and sometimes it means my sentences are really long, because I'm still a bit thingy.

And also, it's not my fault, because I can't be held responsible for everything round here you know, it's not like someone died and put me in charge of the world and made everybody do what I say and all of a sudden no-one can do anything without checking with me first, and if things don't get done then all of a sudden everyone's looking at me and going 'Well I was waiting for her and look at her, she's meant to be doing a blog or something and she can't even do that when she's meant to, so I don't see why I should have had to do the washing.'

Anyway, if you haven't already guessed, this week's Tuesday Tantrum is about whining.

Dear GOD, the whining. I work in an office for heaven's sake. Not a kindergarten. Not a home for people with challenging and debilitating illnesses, or even mildly irritating ones. Some of the people are mildly irritating. Some of them are like Olympic Irritants.

In case you ever work for me, I'll give you a few ground rules:-

I am a very caring team leader. But if you are late every day, I will lose patience, and I will not be interested that your alarm clock has broken/your girlfriend has dumped you/your car has broken down/you have a bad stomach. Just get up a bit earlier and do us all a favour.

I am a very caring team leader (see the theme here?). But if you have not done the work I asked you to, and this happens consistently, I will not care that the systems are slow/the telephone is busy/you've lost your pen/it's too noisy/you thought someone else was doing it/the moon isn't in alignment with Venus. Just get your finger out and earn your damn money.

I am a very caring colleague (ah, a subtle difference), but I am not interested in sitting and watching you bumble your way round the computer, hoping to stumble upon the right thing, while I'm POINTING AT IT WITH MY BLOODY FINGER, while you say that no-one's ever shown you, and how did I know that, and is it your job, and did you ought to speak to someone about it, despite the fact that you've been there years longer than I have, and that's what you get paid for.

Anyway, I think I'm done now. I might have been a bit whiny myself. Sorry about that.

Anything on your mind?

Well, That's Done Then

Bank Holidays then.

People are always campaigning for more Bank Holidays. Or random days off work. Or days to commemorate some obscure saint, a person of interest or Leona Lewis getting to Number 1 in America. I can understand it, really I can.

I mean, what could be better than a day off work, chance to do all of those jobs you've been meaning to do?

Get your decorating done, get out in the garden, catch up your chores? Go away for the weekend, do something touristy, go for a picnic?

All you people out there who've done just those things, you are my heroes. Really you are.

But did I really need another excuse to sit on my fat arse all day?

The Tuesday Tantrum

Good evening one and all, may I welcome you into the haven of all that is to be despised, spat at and generally moaned about. For today is the day of the tantrum, the day to let your hair down, and the day to poke someone in the eye, if that will help (which sometimes it does, but only if you can run really fast, and if it doesn't hurt them very much). If I can just make one small comment before I start, this is a weekly malarkey, but that doesn't mean I only have a tantrum once a week, it's just that I like to, well, focus.

When I read the comments to my last tantrum I was literally stabbing my finger on my desk and going 'Yes! You're right! That gets me too!' and I had a whole thing planned for the way that people can't even seem to speak properly now, and have a language of their own, and don't even get me started on the spelling, and even a topic as dear to my heart as that has been superseded by today's tantrum.

Public transport.

Now first of all, because some of the readers here aren't from the UK, I'm going to need to do a bit of an explanation. First of all, I have to catch something called a bus. You'll note the use of the word 'catch'. That implies that it is something elusive, something you have to work hard to get, something not always within reach.

That is a bus.

It's quite a big vehicle, which seats quite a lot of people, you can stand up on them too, and sometimes they have an upstairs as well, but there are stairs, not an elevator, to the top bit. It generally smells a little bit like a public toilet and so do some of the people on it. It travels on roads.

The other one is called a train. It is made up of a number of carriages, the people tend to smell a bit better, and it does not have an upstairs. It does however have a First Class, which you do not go in unless you are travelling on business and someone is paying for your ticket, or you are frightfully posh, in which case you have probably got your chauffeur to drive you instead of having to mix with those ghastly people. Some of them also have something called a Quiet Zone, which means you cannot use a mobile phone, talk loudly, play music or generally disturb your fellow commuters. And if you sneeze at more than a moderate range of decibels, you are instantly shot. It travels on tracks.

I should mention that where I live, there is technically a third option, called a tram, or the Metro. This is a sort of cross between a bus and a train. It goes on tracks, but the tracks are on the road. It is slower than a train. It is slower than a bus. If you are a brisk walker, it is slower than you.

Today's tantrum was inspired by my little jaunt yesterday, which turned out to be not so little after all. I caught the bus (on time-ish, not too smelly, no spitting), and then went to catch the train. I arrived at the station 15 minutes early - when you are a commuter, you find that you will leave your home approximately 5 hours before you need to, which allows for delays. So I built in a buffer for the bus being late, it wasn't, got to the railway station in plenty of time. The train was late. 30 minutes late, so I had 45 minutes to kill at the station. Apparently the driver hadn't turned up in Manchester, where the train started. Oh well, that's all right then. It's not as if we were depending on him. Oh, we were?

So of course I arrived late for the meeting, had the meeting, no lunch (oh that is SO another blog post) and got on the train to come back. It was on time. In fact I even had to do a little woman commuter jog up the platform. This is instantly recognisable as being the jog that a woman in a suit and high heels does to catch a train, and ultimately means that it is slower than actually walking, but you pinwheel your arms a bit more. Marvellous. On the train, train pulls away, no smelly people, buy a sandwich that is approximately equal in price to the National Debt, and settle in. Train pulls in at the first station, stops to let people off, let people on, and then pulls away. Except it doesn't. The pulling away bit. Because someone, further up the line, has thrown themselves in front of the train in front of mine. This is disturbingly more frequent of an event than you would imagine. We are made to get off the train. The line is closed. Nothing to be done. No offers of alternative transport, the swell of commuters ever increasing until we are packed like sardines on the platform, with nowhere to sit.

For two and a half hours. TWO AND A HALF HOURS.

When the line re-opens, I find that my train, my lovely train, has disappeared off the face of the earth. No train to Wolverhampton. I could go to Glasgow. Or Manchester. I expect if I set my mind on it I could go to Venus. But not where I live.

And that's why this week that my tantrum is about public transport. Because it's late, it makes me stand in the cold, and it doesn't drop me off at my house.

It's like being married again.

However on a much brighter note - the lovely David at Authorblog has awarded me a Post of the Day for Work is the Curse of the Drinking Classes. How lovely! So get yourselves over to see him, and see what other blogs he's mentioned too, they're fab.

If I were you though, I'd get a taxi.