Y O Y did I enter the A 2 Z Challenge?
Dude. Why did I sign up for this? Am I out of my mind? This challenge of a blog a day for 26 days almost killed me last year so what possesed me to sign up for it again, particularly as I know I won't have as much time as last year and my blogs will be inferior?
And while I say now I don't care, at some point around "M" it will hit me that my writing is inferior to last year, I'll have a hissy meltown and wander around the back yard muttering about the direction or lack of it my life is taking. Because if there's one thing I hate it's regression. An Italian tank may have 9 reverse gears and one forward gear, but I'm the other way round.
Sadly this runs counter to the ageing proces that suggests at some point in our lives we'll all be sitting in the corner of some godforsaken old folks home, drooling on ourselves or muttering "winning" like Charlie Sheen, every time the nurse mashes up our food.
I had forgotten about the A-Z challenge until someone emailed me about it this week. They suggested I keep blog entries short which is rather good advice but not advice I always heed.
I decided to narrow it down to a more specific theme. The first thing that popped into my mind was parts of a toilet cistern. Don't ask me why? It's been that kind of week. My laptop that once seemed a ticket to freedom has become a sinister jailer. And an image of the guy who stole it recently occasionally pops up. He looks like such a friendly sort, sitting there on the sofa, idly caressing his colt 45 and running his hand lovingly through the matted her on the head of his pit bull. I digress.
I discounted the cistern idea due to the quite practical fact I can't name any parts of a cistern, apart from the ball cock, and I don't even know if that's it's proper name. You have to pity plumbers, though.
"Good morning Mrs. Jones. I am here to check out your defective ball cock."
The good news is I now have a theme for the A-Z challenge. And I do feel it will be easier than last year. And I do hope I will gain more followers even if they don't come back any time soon. Because life is a big numbers game. Only then are we winning, Charlie.
Enjoy the A-Z ride.
And here's an entry from last years. Just because.
B is for Busybodies
When Jackson attended a daycare closer to home I used to have time to drop into Starbucks. I didn't have much time but 30 minutes in the morning was a great interlude to chill with a book before work.
I like Starbucks, even though you can end up remortgaging your house to pay for a triple cherry, quadruple fluffed mattressochino if you are not careful.
I always order a small house coffee and make a beeline for the comfy chair. While Starbucks was seen as an extension of American cultural imperialism back in Britain because the company would take over all the nicest historic structures. over here it feels rather sophisticated and abstactly ethical for a chain.
However, Jackson's daycare was switched up a couple of months ago. I no longer pass Starbucks. The best I can hope for is a roadside 7-Eleven.
Now 7-Elven coffee is a strange concept. The first time I found one I was rather excited by the choices that include Colombian, Mountain Roast and a number of other exciting sounding brands.
It's only after trying them all that you come to the conclusion there's one basic flavor; and it's dessicated camel poo.
So now I am under no illusions. I am there for the caffeine fix; nothing more, nothing less.
Except the 7-Eleven I am frequenting in Suffolk has one other factor going against it, the resident busybody.
I'm moody enough knowing I'm going to work and am about to ingest camel poo. As if that weren't bad enough, this individual, a rangy middle aged employee with oversized hair, is always at the coffee counter with a rancid looking cloth in her hand, pretending to be doing something.
When I move to the left to grab a coffee pot she'll move to the left; when I move to the right, she'll move to the right. I daresay if I performed an amazing leap to the ceiling I'd find her blocking my way to the strip light.
"Oh, I'm not in your way am I?" she'll say as she again blocks my path to the stirring sticks and starts refilling them one by one with the speed of a tortiose coming out of hibernation.
"Not at all."
Of course I want to say: "Can't you sod off Doris and stack some mints somewhere else."
I don't actually know her name but if it's not Doris, it should be. That or Doreen, certainly not Paris.
Now my coffee coordination skills in the morning are not at their best as it is, mainly because I am caffeine deprived. I have to get out my notebook and draw a flow chart that links pouring to milk to lid etc. So imagine my consternation when the busybody is blocking Route One to the lids.
Yesterday she was grabbing the creamer container, mindlessly refilling it, even though it was almost full. A guy almost got into a circular kind of altercation with her as he pulled it one way and she pulled it back again.
I couldn't even dispose of my sugar wrapper down the chute without her throwing herself into my path with her manky old cloth, wiping the rim. Note to self: Resist the urge to scream out 'please stop cleaning my hole'
I'm not sure what's with the 7-Elven busybody but I'm starting to get a complex that she lies in wait in some busybody recess and ambles over to the coffee counter as soon as she sees me getting out of my car. This is probably exess paranoia on my part but busybodies can do this to you.
I'm not sure if my definition of busybodies is the same as that of the national debate which seems to equate the term with liberals who are taking away our rights.
U.S. Senator Rand Paul’s toilets don’t work. And, he says, it’s the government’s fault, reports Bloomberg.com, for example.
This seems to relate to low energy flushes and efficient lightbulbs.
But frankly I don't care too much about that. I'd just like this infernal woman to stop getting between me and the miserable jar of coffee that might keep me awake for a couple of hours longer.