Things not to announce to a roomful of people #1

"I have got piles"

Yes. This was announced to me yesterday by someone who should know better. Surely ANYONE would know better wouldn't they?

Headline of the Week

Chris De Burgh healed my withered arms - you couldn't make stuff like this up :-)

Girls in songs

Listening to the radio every day, it strikes me that they must have passed a new law making it compulsory for song titles to have girls names in. The Zutons are mostly responsible for this with "Oh Stacey look what you've done" and "Valerie", now there's "Sophia" from Nerine Pallot. Then there's "Chelsea Dagger" by the Fratellis which I always think is a reference to Prince Harry's girlfriend when it's more probably about gang warfare in Chelsea. And of course "Jenny don't be hasty" by Paolo Nutini.

I'm getting fed up with it frankly. Unless someone does a song with the name Barbara in it, I'm vetoing the radio. So there.

Gambling is a Bad Thing

I have discovered that I have inherited the family Gamblers' Curse. My Dad is infamous for this - whenever he had a flutter on the Grand National (probably the only time he ever gambled apart from the Pools and that doesn't really count) - you could put money on the fact that the horses he backed either died or never raced again. In the end we had to persuade him to stop betting on it. Last night me & hubby went to the dogs. Hubby loves a flutter, he'd bet on your nan making it to the postbox without pausing for a rest, and it's quieter in the week, not so full of chavs, so I agreed to go. I usually do ok at the dogs, win a couple of quid and go home happy. But to my horror, last night the Gamblers' Curse struck me down. My first dog finished about 10 minutes after the others, the second one finished lame, the third and fourth were last, the fifth had a fight halfway round the course and so finished last, the sixth was bumped and finished (you guessed it) last. I put 50p (last of the big spenders me) on the dead cert and cursed it completely. We had to leave early. I can only hope it was a one off, or we ain't going to Vegas again!

Write to your MP

Or don't. I did, in a new scheme I found called "Write to your MP" where you can email them directly about any concerns you have. My current gripe is that our borough has stopped ante-natal classes and is instead publicising a course which costs £80 per person (run by midwives who have gone pro incidentally). It makes me mad, how am I supposed to know what I am supposed to be doing - and I ain't paying for the privilege of being told nasty things that are going to happen to me. So I emailed our local lady MP with my concerns. Her response? (I suppose I should be grateful that I got one) "Oh I didn't realise the Council were responsible for providing such classes!" ????? I replied saying "Oh I don't think it is the Council, I'm pretty sure it is something to do with the NHS but as my MP I thought you might be able to do something". Clearly not. The woman is an idiot.

Neighbourhood Watching

We have been invited by our nice local bobby to form a Neighbourhood Watch. I can only assume that he hasn't met our neighbours. We have lived here for over a year now and nothing - that is NOTHING - gets past our neighbours. In fact, I think one nice lady a few doors down has made it her mission in life to watch her neighbours. I think forming a NW would be a little like bolting the door after the horse has legged it. The only benefit of joining would be that you can get together at monthly meetings and drink tea and get all the gossip instead of standing outside in the cold. "She did what?" "What time did they get home last night?" etc etc. I have over time figured out the best way to get the word on the street. Befriend the local windowcleaner and also the nosey lady I mentioned before. Between them (they live on opposite sides of the road and have slightly different agendas) you get the goss on everything that has happened since you last bumped into each other. The latest scandal is a single lady who seems to have a lot of gentleman callers of an evening. And as a bonus the windowcleaner tells me what we are supposed to have been doing (or not doing) according to the neighbours. Mainly not opening the curtains on a weekend - this seems to drive them to distraction which entertains me no end :)

But who is going to tell the poor keen policeman all this? He will think we are all rude anti-social not caring about our neighbours people. Maybe we should join just to appease him, we might get biscuits out of it!

I'm sorry I just can't wear that catsuit dear

This made me laugh today - apart from the whole almost being murdered thing obviously. A woman allergic to latex met her murderous other half on a fetish website. When things soured he then stuck a latex glove in her mouth to try and kill her. A fetishist who is allergic to latex?! Whoever heard such a thing! He could have done a goldfinger on her and used that spray on latex stuff instead.

Dinner or tea?!

One of the complications that arises out of marrying a southener is the language barrier. I realised today that I have had to adapt my northern ways to be understood by hubby and his family. It has made me cross. It is mainly in the meal department, for example:

I call the meal you have at midday "dinner". The southeners call it "lunch"

I call the evening meal "tea". The southeners call it "dinner".

So you can imagine the difficulties when I asked hubby at 12.30 - "what do you want for dinner?". He would always reply with "sausage and chips" or "chicken curry" or "pizza" which left me mightily perplexed when I was planning a cheese sandwich. Then I realised the language barrier. And despite me telling him thousands of times that when I say "dinner" I mean "lunch" he doesn't get it, so I found myself using "lunch" against all my northern principles. I also used to say "butty" instead of "sandwich" and "ought" instead of "anything" but more and more I sound like a bloody southener.

I worry for my child I really do. I am going to have to have regular visits oop north and expose Baby Babs to the most northern old chap I can find in the pub. Otherwise it is going to grow up a southern softie - and an Essex one at that!!

A passage to India

My friend Miss S has gone on her hols to India for 3 weeks. I'm not sure if Lady L and me were more excited than she was. Now I have to live my life vicariously through other people I get super excited about other people having fun. Yesterday I was asked about catching night buses in London and my response? "My days of night buses are long gone". Anyway, Miss S was on the email and the only advice I could think to give her? "Ride camels and haggle if anyone tries to sell you a rug". Her brother warned her about stampeding elephants. The poor girl will be highly paranoid about wildlife and shopkeepers now, I hope she still enjoys her holiday!

Oh and if anyone is wondering, Baby Babs is kicking the crap out of me. It's either a boy or a very butch girl. Joy.

Scary husbands...

I have had a week of comedy conversations. One of my colleagues has a very needy husband who rings about twelve times a day to speak to her. This pees the rest of us off as he always phones the desk, not her direct extension, which means one of us usually has to run down the Library to answer the phone, or stop helping whoever is at the desk. But the nicer side of me assumes there must be a good reason for all this phoning. Yesterday I had an insight, and it wasn't good.

The phone went and it was matey. For once, his wife was busy so I said could she call him back? He got very stroppy, "no she can't ring me back! That's just no good!" to which I paused, thinking about the best way to handle this, then he said very grumpily "oh, I suppose I'll just have to remember to tell her we have no teabags when she gets home then!".

Whilst trying not to pee myself, I said "oh I am sure I can tell her that when she's free!".

I was so tempted to say "Your husband says you need to buy coffee" and mess with their heads but life really isn't worth trying to explain myself to them afterwards.

Tin foil helmets all round please!

Today I met the world's Most Hypochondriac Barrister. The Library has recently come out of the Dark Ages and got a wi-fi signal so people can use their laptops for internet access. So, said barrister comes up to the desk and asked me about the wi-fi signal. I told him how it worked and said if he wanted to use it he had to sit in a certain area of the Library. In true Librarian style we have a laptop free zone - other hypochondriac barristers in the past have complained about being disturbed by loud typing! Anyway, today's nominee for crazy customer of the week said "oh doesn't the signal go down to the other end then?" - at this point I thought he was trying to flout the rules! - so I said "oh it probably does but we don't allow laptops down there". He then looks pained and says "oh, but the wi-fi signal gives me a headache!" to which I went "oh! Well I am sure if you sit at the very far end you'll be ok!". Man whatever next? Does he avoid coffee shops now too, they all seem to have wi-fi signals. And certain parts of London do too don't they? He should really move to the countryside. Or the Moon.

I saw stars...

As if going to the hairdressers wasn't torture enough, today surpassed my expectations. The music in hairdressers varies quite alot. Today when I got there they had some kind of instrumental jazz thing going on in the background. Quite inoffensive and easy to block out. But while I was having my hair dried someone obviously changed the cd...

The hairdresser switched off the hairdryer and I was suddenly listening to Simply Red. Loud. And it wasn't a single. Oh no. It was the whole album.

It was all I could do not to go, "Thanks that looks great, must dash!", with half my head looking lovely and half a bit shit and run out of the shop as fast as I could. Do hairdressers know no boundaries?