TheCatGirlSpeaks

Holiday

2008-07-05T21:36:00.002+03:00

Yesterday I finished work for a six week holiday. Actually, not quite six weeks. I am owe them three days because my start date was mid-way through the holiday year. I kept quiet, thinking I've given them quite enough, but they sussed me out.

It finished with a whimper, not a bang. No big night out for my department. No office sweets or biscuits or champagne. I left just after 5pm, walked home, had a bath, then watched Big Brother.

I'm glad to be off. But I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with myself. My friends will all be working, and I'm not planning on jetting off anywhere glamorous.

Will I return after summer? Probably. After a few weeks, my room-mate's husband suggested that she didn't continue with the job if she wasn't enjoying it. As she sees the job as a route to maternity leave and then working part-time, she declined. If I had that same offer, I'd have jumped to it in a heartbeat. But, until I can find something else, I'm stuck.

Maybe the break will do me good. At the very least, I am planning a lot of lie-ins and long lunches, catching up on the friends I've completely neglected for the last six months. Let's just hope I don't gain back all the weight I've lost through stress and generally running around like a maniac.

Holiday - Madonna

Legal Man

2008-07-03T23:32:00.005+03:00

I spoke too soon.

I have spent the last two days serving on a jury. And let me tell you, it was no fun. No fun at all.

The trial concerned football violence, which meant it was mainly conducted in a language that I didn't speak. And I don't mean the legal terminology. Other than being dull, my IBS went into full swing after lunch on day one - greed, through boredom, or greasy food? who knows - and I sat, afraid of breaking wind, and even more afraid of having to stop proceedings to dash to the loo.

Today, at 4pm, a verdict was reached. Not proven. Which meant that despite smashing a man's face to the point that he needed titanium plates and has no feeling in his jaw, the accused walked free*. I was all for guilty, but eight of our number disagreed.

There's justice for you.

On returning home, I was pleased to discover that Paypal had upheld my complaint about the non-appearance of my three tubes of Benefit Pineapple Facial Polish, discovered on eBay last month. I was less pleased to discover that while the complaint's been upheld, I'll get no money back. Apparently there's nothing they can do unless the naughty seller has funds in his or her Paypal account.

Again, there's justice for you. I have no product, and am £30 down.

Rubbish.

* I should clarify here. The fact the accused assaulted the victim to this extent was never in doubt. The question was whether or not it was self-defence.

Legal Man - Belle and Sebastian

In the Company of Women

2008-07-01T21:53:00.009+03:00

How many friends do you have?

I ask, because today at work, my room-mate told me she had more than 100 friends on Facebook. Now, I don't do Facebook, but I know enough about it to understand that it can be a bit random, like blogging. So I assumed that these were people who shared a mutual interest in the Star Wars films or the like. But no, these are more than 100 actual, real, friends, who just happen to be on Facebook.

I don't think I even know 100 people.

We talked about friends. And, as I've mentioned here before, we are very, very different people. I like a cosy one-to-one, she likes a big gang of folks at the same time. But it still came as a surprise to learn that she has around 25 people she could call on at 4am in a crisis.

I have four 4am friends. And I think myself very lucky.

I consider myself even more fortunate to have a wide network of people I can ring for a drink or a film, or email to set up lunch or a wee saunter round the shops. I have friends who I've not seen in months, but can meet and it's like we were together yesterday. I have friends who live here, and friends who don't. I have friends who I mainly communicate with via email, and friends who I write actual, honest to goodness letters to. I have friends from university, friends of friends, and many friends I've picked up through my various jobs. I have one friend who I've known since I was 13. And then there are friends I've never met, who've come into my life through this blog, and perhaps never will.

You know who you are.

Like I say, I consider myself fortunate all round. But there are only a small number of people I'd feel happy to call on in my hour of need. I always thought this was enough. I always thought this was normal. But now I wonder.

So, as always, with my room-mate, I feel utterly, woefully inadequate. Yes, yes, I know I'm just jealous. And I know I'm horrible.

I am so looking forward to being on holiday. Meanwhile, I'll return to my original question. How many friends do you have?

In other news, and in case you're wondering, I wasn't selected for jury service on Monday. But I do have to go back tomorrow, just in case. I will be bringing my book.

In the Company of Women - The Long Blondes

Everybody's Fool

2008-06-29T13:18:00.003+03:00

Approximately every 29 days, I have my period. And because I am useless with numbers, there are a variety of helpful signals that it's on its way. My skin breaks out, my stomach bloats, my boobs hurt, and I alternate between weeping at adverts and feeling like I could murder someone.

This has been the way for a massive 23 years, with the exception of a few brief flirtations with running packs of the pill together. Something I do not recommend. The fallout is brutal.

So. In the light of this, why is it that every single month, without fail, I find myself rootling around in the dark, in the middle of the night, hunting through handbags in the hope of coming across a stray tampon?

Why, why, why can't I get my act together and be even a tiny bit organised?

Everybody's Fool - Teenage Fanclub

Crush

2008-06-26T20:39:00.004+03:00

Since the beginning of the year, I've been nursing a rather inappropriate crush on a chap I come into contact with at work. He looks a bit like Alex Zane, so it's entirely forgiveable. And as well as being cute, he's also rather clever, and knows a lot about music. A combination I find hard to resist.

I've been mercilessly ribbed by my colleagues, and told, on more than one occasion, that the Child Protection Agency would have to be called in.

Really, it was all very harmless. For one, I would never have acted upon it. I am a professional, after all. There was nothing sinister about my intentions. Honest. And for two, it just made my day a little, tiny bit brighter when I knew I was going to see him, which is the point of these things.

I'm sure we've all been there.

Today, I found myself in possession of some forms with my crush's details on them. And, it transpires that he's actually 32. Which is just a smidgen younger than me, and not quite so inappropriate after all.

But now he's gone. I shan't see him again. I do have his email address, but that would seem just a little bit like stalking, so I won't use it, despite receiving a rather lovely note from him today, thanking me for all my help this year.

I'll have to find a new object for my work-based affections when I return from the holidays. We all need something to perk up the 9 - 5, hey?

Crush - Jennifer Paige

Chasing Cars

2008-06-24T20:22:00.003+03:00

I am a good sleeper. I go to bed, I quickly fall sleep, and I generally don't wake up until my alarm clock heralds the new dawn. And this is good news, because the older I get, the more sleep I seem to need. 15, or even five, years ago, I could happily go to bed, get up four hours later, and feel great. Now, I need a minimum of seven hours just to feel human. In an ideal world, I'd have eight, but I'm not willing to go to bed before 1130, otherwise I feel like I've had no evening. At weekends, I can happily sleep for ten hours.

If I don't have a decent amount of sleep, I feel rubbish. I am grumpy, and snappy. I get a sore head. I look rubbish too. It takes a bit more Benetint than usual to get a rosy flush on my cheeks.

So. I was less than pleased to be kept up by car alarms last night. While I don't own a car - and thus know nothing about alarms - I do live above a garage. This garage sells lovely, posh cars, all of which are alarmed. Sometimes, their alarms suddenly shriek - stop, thief! Generally, this lasts a very short time before they are quiet again. Annoying, but bearable. Last night, it lasted a long time. From 1130 (when I went to bed) until 1.30 (when it either stopped, or I fell asleep, regardless).

Two cars cried - one with a bipping noise, and one with a screech. Perhaps they were mating calls. Either way, their high pitched wailing was like a fork being stuck right into my skull.

Tonight, I hope the cars are quiet. Because the lines around my eyes are looking somewhat less than fine today.

In other news, I did two brave things today. Firstly, in a session with HR where my bloody not done training came up, yet again, I mentioned that I had my own concerns about this, and had already raised them with my line manager to no avail. I didn't mention the parapet thing, deeming it a bridge too far. The HR lady made a note on her pad. I am certain this is going to land my manager in it. But don't care.

Secondly, I wore jeans to work. Black, skinny jeans, which kind of look like trousers, unless you squint, hard. I wore them with black pumps, under a short black dress with yellow polka dots, and a black cardigan. I accessorised with big, round, royal blue plastic earrings, and a matching blue plastic necklace. I probably looked completely inappropriate and unprofessional, but I felt like me. What's more, either no-one noticed, or no-one cared. I will be wearing my jeans again, with pride.

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

Nobody's Twisting Your Arm

2008-06-23T00:51:00.003+03:00

This weekend I have been mostly thinking about work. I have been working, because I need to have everything absolutely clear by Friday, as I have not been able to get out of the jury duty, despite my best efforts. And I have been completing, but not posting, job application forms.

I have been wondering. Am I a quitter? I never thought so before. In fact, one of my least endearing qualities is my ability to persevere with things, regardless of whether or not they're going to come good. The horse may be decomposing, but I will continue to prod it, just in case. Am I a failure to be thinking of giving up on this after just six months?

Do I owe it to myself to stick at it a bit longer?

I know that my finding another job - if and when it happens - is going to be extremely inconvenient for a lot of people. Not because I am brilliant, and would be a hard act to follow, but because the recruitment process takes forever. Leaving would be letting those people down. I don't do that well. The very idea makes my stomach churn.

And then I think back to what I was told last week. That the pressure will be eased when my colleague returns from maternity leave. In March. Except, I know for a fact that she's not returning. And March is nine whole months away. In nine months, I could, in some dream world, have grown a baby of my own. Realistically, I could also be in the nuthouse, and have lost all my friends, through wilful neglect.

Do I owe it to myself to find a job which will allow me to claw my free time back? Am I letting myself down by living a life which begins and ends with work?

I really don't know. I wish I did.

Nobody's Twisting Your Arm - The Wedding Present

Who Do You Think?

2008-06-21T20:55:00.013+03:00

The other day, my room-mate at work and I enjoyed some unexpected bonding time. Our menstrual cycles have synchronised, and we moaned about period pain, PMT, and the amount of weeks a woman would spend in the company of "Aunt Flo" in her lifetime. I commented that my mother had started the menopause at 43, so at least an end was in sight.

"Oh", said my room-mate, "You definitely don't think you'll have children, then?"

Now. I know she's possibly right. But she's also possibly wrong. Lots of women have children in their 30s and early 40s. At 35, there's still time, and hope. And if my mum and P are anything to go by, I could meet a man tomorrow, move in with him, and be talking wedding plans in less than six months. (If biology was on their side, I've no doubt they'd be announcing baby orientated news right about now.)

Either way, it was a wholly inappropriate thing to say, and one which I can't shake from my head. It's not the first time. I am sure it won't be the last.

Off the back of Thursday's appraisal, I have made the decision to begin job-hunting again. I need balance between work and my life. In fact, I just need to have a life outside work again. Finding employment can be an arduous task, but there were a couple of things in yesterday's paper which I've now thrown my hat in the ring for.

I will not be keeping in touch with my room-mate when I leave.

Who Do You Think? - Interpol

Pissing in the Wind

2008-06-19T22:11:00.008+03:00

Today, my appraisal at work. And I am delighted to note that it was all very positive, which is nice. I was less delighted, however, when we moved on to the thorny subject of training, which I have not had time to complete.

I decided that this was a good opportunity to express my concerns about my workload. I explained that the way things were looking for after my holidays, I would be worse off time-wise than I've been up until now. I suggested that unless my workload was reduced slightly, I would remain unable to undertake the necessary training. I noted that the only way I'd been able to keep on top of things was to give up my social life. I commented that while I was happy to do that in the short term, it wasn't possible to sustain that way of living indefinitely.

While my job gives me a lot of pleasure, it is definitely not enough to replace the rest of my life.

I was told, and I quote, that it was best not to raise one's head above the parapet.

Excellent.

That, coupled with the fact that I tripped and spilled a whole cup of tea over the kitchen floor this morning before I'd even had a shower, means this has been a Not Very Good Day. At all.

Pissing in the Wind - Badly Drawn Boy

Hazy Shade of Winter

2008-06-17T20:19:00.003+03:00

This morning, I went to work wearing opaque tights. Midway down the road, it started lashing, and I reached into my vast bag, and pulled out both a hat, and an umbrella. The heating's been put back on in the building. Despite that, my room-mate nipped out at lunchtime and bought a jumper. And I have a cold.

It's the middle of June, for goodness sakes.

I'm not sure if we have a freak weather system going on here at the moment, or if this is global warming, but whatever it is, it is rubbish. I've gone from having rooms full of people with streaming, hayfever eyes, to rooms full of people sniffing and sneezing and spreading their germs. Including myself.

My new hair is not keeping my head very warm at all.

Someone please tell me - how is it possible to flip from flip-flops to boots in a fortnight?

Regardless. The weather is proper bobbins. I'm off to skulk in the bath with the week's trashy magazines. At least it will be warm there.

Hazy Shade of Winter - Simon and Garfunkel

Good Feeling

2008-06-13T22:20:00.012+03:00

I'm guilty of posting a lot of negative stuff about my work here.

So let's have a happy story instead.

Today, a young lady came to my office. She gave me a very sweet card, and a gift. She thanked me for the help I've given her over the last six months. She told me that on the strength of the time we've spent together, she has completely re-thought her future career.

It quite brought a tear to my eye. Because while this doesn't entirely make up for the weeks on end where I've worked 12 hour days, and spent my Saturday nights with my nose in books, it certainly shows me that I'm doing a decent job. And that I'm making a difference to the people I'm dealing with.

That makes me feel quite proud of myself.

I have since been reliably informed that I have committed two fairly major faux pas. Firstly, accepting the gift could be deemed a bribe. And secondly, I gave the young woman a hug as she left, since I won't see her again. (In my defence, she hugged me first - I could hardly leap back, shrieking about inappropriate behaviour.)

I'll possibly confess to those misdemeanours on Monday. Maybe. Tonight, I'm going to be guzzling her Thorntons, and basking in my own glory.

In other news, the hair got a huge thumbs up. I received more compliments - as well as second glances - than I have in months. I am pleased to report that no women made passes at me.

(Photo added by request, and now removed!)

Good Feeling - Travis

Mirrorball

2008-06-12T23:25:00.007+03:00

Today, a visit to the hairdresser. I'd picked out a style from one of my numerous magazines. It was a kind of halfway house between my usual bob and a crop. My rationale was that if I hated it, it wouldn't take too long to grow back.

Instead, my hairdresser persuaded me to do the job properly. I now have a fully fledged Agyness Deyn Crop. Alas, I do not quite have her bone structure.

I'm not a hundred percent convinced. It's cute and pixie-ish, but I do worry it's borderline bull-dyke. I'll need to make sure I select my most feminine outfit for its debut tomorrow. My head feels light, and it's really odd not to feel my hair swishing around when I move. When I pass a mirror, I barely recognise myself. My face is completely exposed.

On leaving the hairdresser, I nipped in past my local record shop. The record shop man literally did a (comedy style) double take. But was very complimentary, which was sweet. I'm yet to see anyone else, so the public jury's still out.

One thing's for sure. My morning routine time's going to be cut by about 90%. Extra minutes in bed can only be happy news. And the good thing about hair is, it grows. Meanwhile, it will be the perfect incentive to keep an eye on my calorie intake. Because this is not a cut which will forgive my gaining a single ounce.

Mirrorball - Elbow

The One and Only

2008-06-11T19:55:00.008+03:00

Part of the pleasure of reading blogs is that little window into someone else's life. Someone else's real life. I love reading fiction, but I'm also very nosy, and I like to read about real people more than I like to read about characters who have been constructed in someone's imagination.

Part of the pleasure of writing this blog is having a forum to chuck all the junk that's in my head out into the open. Sometimes I want to share things which have amused me. Other times, I want an outlet for something which has upset or frustrated me. That people tune in to read it is a huge bonus. And something of a surprise. That people actually offer their thoughts and opinions is like hitting the jackpot.

Some time ago, Peach picked up on how special the way blogging and blogs connect different people is. She decided to put together a book to celebrate this, as well as raise money for charity. She invited submissions. I submitted. And on Sunday I was delighted to discover that my submission had been accepted.

I'm Cat, and I'm your page 17.

I should have posted about this sooner, but my laptop's still playing up. I've been feeling very proud of myself, but also a bit sad that I've not really been able to tell anyone in my real life. Few people know I actually write this blog, and that's how I'd like it to stay. (Also, being a bit of a luddite, I'm not sure how to get hold of the nice graphic of the book, so if anyone can enlighten me, that would be fab.)

Anyway. You may have read it all before here, free. But you won't have read the other hundred or so posts by some other lovely people. For a bargain £12.50, you can do just that, and also give a donation to a very worthwhile cause. So. Buy the book. Now.

In other news, this time tomorrow, I am having my hair lopped off. Next time we speak, I will either be gorgeously gamine, or look like Rhona Cameron. Let's hope it's the former, hey?

The One and Only - Chesney Hawkes

Rescue

2008-06-08T23:50:00.006+03:00

I've had a brilliantly girlie day today. First, there was lunch in a lovely restaurant. And, of course, top notch gossiping. Then there was shopping. And a dress and a top, both from Topshop. There followed a glass of wine, and some ice cream. And finally there was Sex and the City.

Did the film meet my expectations? Yes, and no.

It was lovely to see the girls again, and it was a pleasant couple of hours. But I also felt a bit cheated. Because part of the thing which made the television series stand out was the fact that it wasn't just about sex, or men. It was about friendship. The subtext was always that it was fine to be single, provided you had fabulous friends and fantastic frocks. Those would win the day, while the blokes could come and go. But in the film, it was happy endings all round. (Okay, so Samantha's wasn't quite the typical Prince Charming scenario, but then she was never the typical Cinderella.)

Does the happy ending only happen when we happen upon true love?

It's not just the cinema. It's also my mother. A couple of weeks ago I was trying to explain how I was feeling to her. How I feel like I've lost part of myself since starting this job. How all I do is work, and how I feel lonely and remote from my real life. My mum commented that she'd felt the same way until she met P, and that her life had completely transformed. She reassured me that it would happen for me, and my life would change too.

Which is all very nice, but I'm not entirely convinced that having a man around would actually solve my problems. I don't believe that being in a relationship is going to "fix" me. I'm not sure if it's just that my mum's madly in love, and wants everyone else to be too. There's no doubt that her life has totally changed since she met P, and that's wonderful, but surely he's just given her the tools to do what she wanted to, anyway?

Or is it really that she believes that without a man in my life, I'll always feel "lost" and "overwhelmed", which is what I was telling her?

Don't get me wrong. I want the meringue frock as much as the next girl. But that's not suddenly going to reduce my workload, clear my debts, or cure my depression.

Is it?

I could go on. But I won't. A Very Bad Thing has happened to my laptop. It is suddenly unfeasibly slow - I'm typing whole sentences before anything appears on screen, and navigating the internet is quite hideous. In fact, just getting Word to open took about 20 minutes. Now, this laptop's just over a year old, so this is not right. Any ideas, anyone? (Ideas on anything I can run to sort it out would be particularly welcome.) I have the fear that some of the people I allow to save things on my memory stick at work may have been infected.

Rescue - Echo and the Bunnymen

The Kids Don't Stand a Chance

2008-06-05T22:04:00.004+03:00

Tonight, for the first time in weeks, I have done, and plan to do, no work. None. Not a single bit. It feels brilliant.

Instead I have:

1) Coloured my hair;

2) Exfoliated to within an inch of my life;

3) Fake tanned;

5) Dyed my eyelashes;

6) Painted my toenails - Chanel's Rouge Noir - and my fingernails - Nails Inc's Victoria and Albert. (No matchy-matchy here.)

No. I am not going on a date. But I do plan to wear a skirt tomorrow. Which is something of an occasion at this time of year, without the protection of opaque tights. It's a glorious full, red, vintage skirt, patterned with huge blue and white flowers. Usually sported with the knee-high boots and black polo necks, tomorrow it will be worn with a navy t-shirt and white sandals. I am sick of trousers. Let the HR woman comment on how "cheerful" my costume is. It's happened before.

I don't give a damn.

And still on the appearance front... I've had my signature blunt bob on and off for years and years - I alternate it with a crop, which I then painstakingly grow back. Since my hair started thinning, I'm dithering. Should I go for the chop again? Or should I hope a stress-free summer brings back my lustrous locks?

I've canvassed opinion, and it's been mixed. I feel like a change, but I also fear looking like a lesbian. Which is a look there's nothing wrong with, at all, if that's your bag, but not one I'm really trying to cultivate.

So. Girls with short hair? Confident and sexy, or jail-house bunk up?

The Kids Don't Stand a Chance - Vampire Weekend

My Little Brother

2008-06-03T22:43:00.003+03:00

I'm Cat, and I'm a reality TV addict.

I am a shameless consumer of trash telly. The trashier the better. Last week, I was in Britain's Got Talent heaven. Sundays, I'm Shipwrecked. Winter, take me to the jungle with I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here. Anything will do. Hell, I even watched Cirque de Celebrite on Sky. Possibly I was the only one that did. I'm not so keen on anything involving characters from musicals, or dancing, on or off ice, but I'll dip in if I'm desperate.

The big daddy of reality TV has to be Big Brother.

Over time, my friends have fallen off the Big Brother bus. In fact, some of them were never on it. But I've remained firmly seated.

So, I've relied on work colleagues to talk telly with.

For the past five years, I've organised an office sweepstake involving housemates which has been fun for everyone bar me, as I always pick the one who departs within the week. One year, my housemate lasted mere days before being shipped out for mental health reasons, or his own protection. I forget which.

This year, it's just me and my room-mate at work. And naturally, she falls firmly into the "nothing redeeming about reality TV, at all" camp. Which is fair enough. If we both liked the same thing - on any front - I might just keel over. But it does leave me high and dry in the chat stakes.

It starts on Thursday. Big Brother fans - join me? Or has everyone finally jumped ship on this one?

My Little Brother - Art Brut

I Fought the Law

2008-06-01T14:41:00.004+03:00

Yesterday, I woke at 7am, and reminded myself that no-one ever died from period pain. I foraged around for drugs, made a hot water bottle, and returned to bed. My slumber was interrupted by enthusiastic banging on the door at around 10am. The postman. And he wasn't going away. Optimistic that he might have my Benefit Pineapple Facial Polish (thank you, eBay), I struggled from my pit.

He didn't. Instead he had an official looking letter, and muttered something about a court summons.

I went back to bed.

Eventually I surfaced, and discovered the letter was indeed a court summons of sorts. I've been selected for jury service. The joys. And just to make things better, the jury service date is the week before we finish up for the summer holidays. The week that I've already been warned is one of the most intense of the year.

Having checked my contract, I understand that if no exemption can be granted (a hint, no?) permission can be obtained to attend, provided a written request is made to the toppest of top men in the organisation. I think it's illegal to actually refuse, but I may be wrong.

Alternatively, I could visit my GP and claim stress (which wouldn't really be a fib) in a bid to get a medical note. This would cost me £15. And I'd need to get the time off for the appointment in the first place.

What to do?

It's a worry. In fact, it's a worry I don't need at the moment. Just like I don't particularly want to have to either frantically catch up, or be a week ahead of myself.

Man, nothing's ever simple, is it? I'd better get an interesting trial with a hot solicitor is all I'm saying.

I Fought the Law - The Clash

Veiled in Grey

2008-05-30T21:45:00.003+03:00

The week that was, in a list.

1) Marks and Spencer's cherry tomato and camembert tarts. My new favourite thing.

2) The discovery that my office room-mate and I do, in fact, have something in common after all. Our menstrual cycles have synchronised. And although she's an all-round superwoman, I am meanly gratified to find that, like me, she suffers when her "special friend" visits. There must be a hormonal haze in the corridor outside our office this week.

3) Period pain.

4) My hair, departing my head, still. I've invested in a new range of shampoo and conditioner from Aveda as an alternative to the current lot, and am cautiously optimistic.

5) The great British weather. Sun, rain, thunder and lightening and fog. That's fog outside, and in my head, both.

6) Payday, finally. But, alas, nothing in the shops I want to buy. Perhaps a good thing?

7) Thank goodness for the internet, then. This lovely frock (to be worn over jeans, natch) and this kitsch but cute necklace are currently waiting for me to rescue them from the sorting office.

8) A realisation that no matter how far in advance deadlines are set, and how frequently those concerned are reminded of them, there are people who will never, ever meet them. The fact that this is beyond inconvenient for me matters not a jot.

9) Sex and the City, the movie. But not a ticket to be had. The girls will not be going to see The Girls this week, after all.

10) It's Friday. And while I may have to work this weekend (see number 8), I will, at least, be working in my pyjamas, with the stereo cranked up, loud. And there are only five more weeks, and I'm on holiday for six. For that, my friends, I can't wait.

Veiled in Grey - The Mystery Jets

Bigmouth Strikes Again

2008-05-27T22:48:00.005+03:00

I've had a mobile phone for years now. I actually don't like talking on the telephone very much, but I am a big time texter. And yes, I spell everything out in full, with the correct punctuation. I really am that anal.

I'd miss it if I didn't have it, and obviously it's very handy in certain circumstances - if you're running late, for example. But in other ways, mobile phones are more of a curse than a blessing. Being contactable - if you choose to be - 24 hours a day can be a bit intrusive to my mind. Of course, you can always switch it off.

And other people's mobile phones? Definitely a curse in my book. Annoying ringtones and snippets of conversations you don't really want to hear. No thanks.

At work, mobile phones are banned in certain locations. I carry mine in my bag, on silent, in case of emergency - the number of actual telephones proper around for staff to use is very small. In the short time I've been in this job, I've had a number of mini-emergencies, such as being technologically inept, and having to either call in help, or be talked through something. But, in the unhappy event of a genuine crisis - someone being taken ill, for example - I'm boy scout prepared.

In the office, though, there is no rule.

But what's the etiquette?

I've always worked in places where common practice is that mobile phones have been either off, or on silent. And if you absolutely had to take a call on your (silent) phone, you would leave the room. I think this is reasonable. Because who wants to hear about what someone's having for their tea, or discussion on their kitchen improvements? Especially in an office the size of a shoebox. And is there anything more annoying than someone's phone incessantly ringing when the person's out of the room for a couple of hours?

In my experience, no. But I'm conscious I'm a bit of an irritable old cow. So I'll throw it open to the floor. Anyone?

On a completely different note, is it just me who's out of synch this week? No Chris Moyles yesterday morning - English bank holiday - and The Apprentice this evening. I'm losing track of which day it is.

Bigmouth Strikes Again - The Smiths

The Nurse

2008-05-25T03:05:00.005+03:00

It's been a bit of a rum old week, not helped that for the most part, the only person I've really spoken to has been my office-mate. The love between us is not growing with time. Today, I woke, knowing work loomed large for the bulk of the day, but looking forward to a night in with RS.

Our plan was simple. We would watch The Eurovision, get takeaway delivered, drink wine, and generally bitch and giggle.

Generally, I'm not much for making an effort with my appearance to sit in the house. Especially with RS, who's seen me at my absolute worst, and in times of crisis - hers and mine - has come to the Cat House to find me in pyjamas. But, tonight, I decided that I needed to feel pretty. Or as pretty as I can feel. So, I put on some makeup and straightened my hair. I dressed in navy skinny jeans, a cute blouse - one of my recent purchases - and some white leather flip-flops.

Over the course of the evening, I noticed RS's gaze kept dropping to my feet. Eventually she asked, were my shoes new? They were new-ish, I confirmed. And, she asked, were they comfy? Not so much.

I thought that was the end of it. But still she kept staring. Eventually, she told me. The flip-flops reminded her of orthopaedic shoes. Or at best, the footwear sported by nursing staff.

Brilliant.

I am happy my friends feel comfortable enough to tell me my shoes are ugly. I smiled more this evening than I've done in a fortnight. Sometimes one needs a night of dreadful music to gain a bit of perspective.

But I tell you what. Those flip-flops will definitely be resigned to home-wear from now on.

The Nurse - Whitestripes

Up Against the Wall

2008-05-21T21:04:00.005+03:00

When I started my current job at the beginning of the year, I went through an intensive induction programme. And during that time, I was enrolled on a number of mandatory training courses. As soon as I realised how busy my timetable was going to be, I decided that I needed to choose my battles, and those weren't one of them.

I contacted the people concerned, explained that I would prefer to defer the courses, and then promptly forgot about them. I heard no more about them.

Until today. When I received an email telling me that the final submission date was on Tuesday. Before then, I am to fight with lions, jump from tall buildings, and write reports about my endeavours. That's on top of the piles of other stuff that needs to be done by Monday.

Two chances. Slim and none.

I emailed the person concerned and explained that I was unable to meet the deadline. News travels fast. Almost immediately, I was called to my line manager's office. She sympathised with my situation, and said she understood that I was in a completely different position to other members of staff, but basically, too bad.

Now. I should explain. I'm not sitting on my arse doing nothing all week, meaning I'm playing catchup in my own time. Nor am I shit at my job. In fact, feedback sheets I received yesterday from the people I spend most of my week with almost made me weep with their kind words and encouragement. I arrived in a department which had been largely without staff for several months, and was thrown into a completely different situation to other new starts. And a tough one even for established personnel.

Had I arrived six weeks later, my room-mate would have been in my place, and the roles would have been reversed. I know it's not fair, or kind, but I can't help but feel hard done by when she talks about being awake sweating booze after the weekend, while I've been awake in a cold sweat, worrying.

But I digress. I've risen to the challenge, but have had to sacrifice my personal life in the process. I simply can't take on more. And definitely not by Tuesday. An unhappy impasse was reached, with my line manager saying she'd have to discuss it with the powers that be, and commenting that by not doing the training, I'd be putting myself in the line of fire.

Bring the fire on. It's clear to anyone reading this blog that while I might not be in The Depressions with both feet, I'm definitely teetering on the edge. Work may not be causing it, but it's certainly not helping.

In short, I'm ticked off. And may yet get a ticking off to boot. I'd love to say it's tough at the top, but I suspect I am never going to get there.

Up Against the Wall - Peter, Bjorn and John

Pay For It

2008-05-19T21:30:00.004+03:00

I keep my credit card in the freezer.

This is partly because I don't trust myself to carry it in my purse. Storing it in the freezer means there is, literally, a cooling off period if I have the urge to splurge. And it's partly because I've been burgled before, which was beyond horrible. I figure it would be a brave thief to tackle the frozen wastes and ice-encrusted lasagnes to hunt down my plastic.

Over the years, I've had several credit cards. I've moved balances to zero percent interest deals, paid them off, and closed the account. As well as the card in the freezer I have another active account which I use for purchases on Play.com, although the actual card was cut up long ago. I clear the balance each month, and can't use the account for anything else.

But it appears there's another, phantom card somewhere in the system. Back before Easter I bought a couple of things on eBay - some Tweezerman tweezers and my Ugg boots, which may or may not be genuine, but have very good fake branding if they're not - and used PayPal for them. When my credit card bill arrived, there was no mention of them. Or the next month. Or the next. Which means that my PayPal account must be linked to a card which no longer exits.

And so I wonder. How long before this catches up with me? If it's an account I've paid off, but not actually closed, is my credit rating being blackened with each passing day? The balance must be something like £60, so it's not that I can't pay it. I just don't know how. On the other hand, was it an account that I have actually closed? Surely the transaction would have been declined in that case?

So. If anyone knows how to track it down, I'd be grateful. Equally, if anyone knows whether I've just scored myself some free stuff, I'd be extremely happy to hear that too.

Pay For It - Lloyd Cole

Pace is the Trick

2008-05-17T23:58:00.003+03:00

By some happy accident, payroll at my work showed us the money a week early this month. Happy at the time, that is. Less happy now, with almost a fortnight to go, and almost no cash in the bank.

Times are hard, here in the Cat House.

Now, you'd think that in the absence of a social life at the moment, I'd be quids in. Not so. Because my life has been swallowed up by work (it's 10pm on a Saturday night, I've been working since 12 o'clock, and am going to be at it again tomorrow) I'm not feeling very happy. And when I'm not feeling very happy, I shop.

This month, I have been mostly shopping, a lot.

I've bought some cute summer clothes. I've bought some perfume - necessary to replace flagging stocks. I've bought the uncomfortable but sweet black ballet pumps, and a much kinder pair of white leather flip-flops. And I've bought a number of cosmetic-y items.

In short, I've bought far too much. I am far too old to be living like a queen for five minutes, then eating toast for the rest of the month.

The problem with not currently having a social life is that there's nowhere to wear my nice new clothes. And I'm loathed to wear them to work, at least until they've had one outing for pleasure purposes. So, hanging in my wardrobe are three tops and one dress which have yet to see the light of day. That, my friends, is something of a waste.

I need to learn to budget. I need to learn to say no, to myself and to other people. I need to learn that working on a Saturday night is for losers, and that there must be more to life than this.

Pace is the Trick - Interpol

Help

2008-05-14T22:51:00.005+03:00

Once upon a flood, I happen upon a product which suits my skin down to the ground. I may be a bit of a tart when it comes to brand, but when I find something I like, I am oh so loyal. And about seven years back, Benefit's Pineapple Facial Polish was recommended to me. I was instantly converted. My skin liked it, the packaging was cute, and it smelled fab.

What's not to love?

I'll tell you what's not to love. The fact it was discontinued at the beginning of the year. So when I went to re-stock at lunchtime today, there were no more to be had. Of course, had I known it was being discontinued, I would have bulk bought. But I didn't. Know, or buy. And so, by the weekend, I will go from being scrubber, to scrubless.

I've tried their website. None. I've tried other websites. None. And so, in a repeat of the Great Blue Jumper Hunt, I call on you. Please. If you're passing a big Boots, have a quick look at the Benefit counter. If you spot it, snap it up, and send it my way. I can pay - Paypal or cheque, whatever suits.

My skin will thank you for it. And God knows, it needs all the help it can get.

Help - The Beatles

Hold On

2008-05-13T19:50:00.002+03:00

It's said that stress manifests itself in different ways in different people. For me, the signs have always been clear. My IBS flares up, and my skin follows suit. If you see me sporting a stack of spots, it's a fair bet that I'm feeling under pressure, as well as ugly and self-conscious. I know, when these things happen, that I need to try and take better care of myself. To slow down, and worry less.

Sometimes, though, it's not possible to do that. Sometimes, the only option is to keep on keeping on, and hope for the best. Sometimes, hoping for the best is not enough.

My hair's falling out.

I feel ashamed just typing that. And I don't know what to do. It's coming away in clumps. Every time I shower, I am having to clear the plug-hole. Being a complete domestic slattern, usually once a fortnight, or even once a month, is plenty for that task. It's clogging my brush, and coating my shoulders. It's everywhere.

It's a worry.

I'm for the hairdresser on Thursday, so we'll see what she says. It might be that a top crop's the order of the day, before I end up having to resort to a comb-over. Meanwhile, I hope summer hats make a comeback.

Only six weeks 'til the holidays. I am counting down the days.

Hold On - Hot Chip