Clowns To The Left Of Me ... Jokers To The Right

All other amusing anecdotes will have to wait. This is a mental elf emergency. I dreamt that I was back at the circus. Those of you in the know will no doubt experience the same cold shiver and sense of doom that I did. For those who aren't aware of the horror, let it suffice to say that the circus is a place which I used to frequent on regular occasions. Not an actual circus, you understand, but a place where things happened that would not be out of place in the big top. Never before has the phrase "clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right" been more appropriate.

Without further ado, I introduce to you, for one night only ..."Billy Bronco's Flying Circus". Starring:

The Magician
Her specialist act involves making extremely important things disappear into oblivion, such as post, bills and last years Christmas decorations. Her only failing is an inability to conjure them back again, but this is a budget operation ... what did you expect?

The Great Cake Swallower
Kind of like a flame swallower, but less talented and marginally less dangerous.If you have cake, you better watch out ...

Nellie ... The Elephant
No circus would be complete without it's very own Nellie. She doesn't do a lot, but she looks the part and she can stomp around the ring when the mood takes her.

The Performing Monkey-Detective
The PMD's specialist subject is detecting. If you have a problem, personal or professional, PMD knows about it (whether you want her to or not). No movement goes undetected. Prepare to be amazed at her abilities, but be careful ... she can be quite dangerous. Think Miss Marple crossed with a venomous rattle-snake.

and finally ... the one you've all been waiting for ...

The Ostrich-Ringmaster
His ability to remain oblivious to his surroundings is second to none. Watch as the chaos unfolds, and you will see him expertly bury his head in the sand. There's really no-one quite like him!!

And you think I'm kidding ...

The Great Complaint

Dear Mobile Phone Provider,

I understand that you aspire to excellence in Customer Service. You fail. Epically.

I tried to renew my contract with you using your website. Your website is not very intelligent. It did not tell me that I needed to call Customer Services. Therefore, I did not call Customer Services. I am sure you will agree that this is a logical progression.

I chose to renew my previous tariff. This cost me £20 per month. Imagine my surprise when my first bill was for £40. Clearly something has gone terribly, horribly wrong.

I felt this was an opportune moment to contact Customer Services. It was at this point that I realised you do not achieve excellence in this area. Your representative told me that nothing could be done, that you have no complaints department and that there were no managers who could help. This lack of advice and assistance is not what one usually expects from Customer Services.

I opted to write a letter of complaint. It was at this point that Miss Customer Service 2010 really came into her own. I was told that as I was now making a complaint, I could be considered a "genuine" customer. I suspect she is missing the point. I would suggest that re-training might be in order, although given your track record, I suspect that this would culminate in a promotion for her, which would be a gross injustice to the rest of your customers.

Eventually we reached a deal and your representative reluctantly agreed to confirm this to me in writing. I can only assume that her reluctance to send such a letter was based on her inability to write in coherent sentences without spelling mistakes. I would stress, however, that most computers have a spellcheck which would have made the letter slightly more legible, if no clearer.

I am therefore still confused about what tariff I am on. Moreover, my bills continue to be priced at £40 per month. I fail to understand how this is still happening. Even more confusing is the fact that you do not appear to be adhering to the direct debit agreement, or contract between us, as you are not actually taking the money from my account. Should I assume that my contract is now free?

I look forward to hearing from you.

Mrs B

Freya The Slayer

It is official. The adorable Freya and I have finally bonded... over a recently deceased slug.

I should explain.It happened during our weekend camping trip to North Yorkshire. I offered to take a turn at walking Freya for a toilet break. There I was, happily walking her down the lane when she spotted something and went charging off to have a sniff. This was not at all alarming ... until I realised that the "something" she was off to look at was a slug. I was even more alarmed to discover Freya attempting to chew and swallow the slug.

I decided that swallowing slugs was something that was just not going to happen on my watch. So, I attempted to chase Freya around, which initially did not go well. I must have looked a little deranged in my sweat pants, hoody and Mr B's trainers, holding Freya's lead in one hand (which was still attached to Freya) and chasing her around. She was clearly looking at me thinking "what is this loon trying to do?" and that running around in circles was a really fun game.

Eventually, I caught up with her. Sat on the floor and tried my very hardest to get her to drop it (by shouting "drop it" a lot). Then I realised there was only one thing to do: I was going to have to retrieve the slug. So I attempted to open her mouth to remove it, only for Freya to swallow it at the key moment. I was distraught.

The only positive thing to come out of the situation was that Freya became my new best friend for a while... and decided to turn me into her personal bean bag.

Mr B : Chicken Man

Whilst away on our "spring break" last weekend, we stayed in a caravan which had a lovely view out over some fields. In the field directly next to our caravan were two horses, some kind of rabbit / cat cross breed (we never actually managed to work out what breed of creature it really was) and a lot of chickens. I say a "lot" of chickens because I don't know what the technical term is for a group of chickens, and I am far too lazy (and uninterested) to bother googling it.

On our last morning at the caravan, whilst the rest of us were coming to terms with morning and getting ready for breakfast, Mr B decided to go out and torment the chickens. This consisted of him flapping his arms around and making chicken noises whilst running towards the chickens. He is a very strange man. We all thought he was bonkers. Clearly, the chickens did not agree. They all came running towards him, without exception and at great speed, causing much amusement for the rest of us.

It was quite an amusing moment, captured most brilliantly in the words of LB: "Mr B ... chicken man ... known to his friends as Mr Ken Tucky". And she managed that before breakfast. You have to award extra points for such a fantastic sense of humour at such an unsociable time of the day!!

Office Etiquette : A Guide For Those Who Have Forgotten Their Manners

A couple of things happened today which really boiled my blood. They were not particularly significant incidents, but they were incredibly rude. This led me to thinking about all the other rude things that happen at work, and the way in which people should behave but don't. Without further ado, I present to you my guide to behaving appropriately in an office environment.

1. If I am holding a door open, you can be fairly sure that I intend to walk through it at some point in the immediate future. Therefore, if I am holding it open to allow you to pass through first, you should not stand in the doorway having a conversation and preventing me from getting through the door. I am not invisible. I know that you can see me standing there. It is not part of my job description to hold the door all day for your personal convenience.

2. Do not (under any circumstances) approach me whilst I am eating my dinner, lean over what I am eating, sniff what I am eating and then screw your nose up in disgust. If I am eating it, I obviously like it. Moreover, unless you are invited to sniff my food, this is an invasion of my personal space and you should avoid invading my personal space on pain of death.

3. If I ask you a question and you respond with a snappy "WHAT?", then I am fully entitled to be annoyed at you. You should not then continue as if you have not just attempted to decapitate me. It makes you look forgetful.

4. When the phone is ringing, it should be answered, and you should take your turn at answering the phone if you want me to continue liking you and not have daydreams about wrapping the phone cord around your neck.

5. The same applies to the door bell. If it is ringing, someone is standing there expecting to be let in. The bell does not ring itself.

6. On the subject of phones, if I am ringing your extension this generally means that I wish to speak with you. I do not have a fettish for pressing random numbers on the phone. Therefore, if you are sitting at your desk and not otherwise engaged when I call you, you should answer the phone.

7. On answering your phone you should say "hello" or at the very least "yes?" You should not remain silent. Your silence is not very conducive to holding a conversation.

8. Unless you are a part of my team, or a personal friend, do not come into my room whinging about your problems, whether they are work related or personal. You may be fooled by my cheery disposition, but I do not care.

9. If there is anyway that I can help with a work problem, then ask. Do not stand in the background whining on about it like some kind of damsel in distress expecting to rescued. I may look like a superhero, but I am not one.

10. When I go to the bathroom, I am generally intending to use the facilities. Do not follow me to the bathroom to discuss work. Wait for a more appropriate moment.

Spring Break

You thought this post was going to be about something exciting, didn't you? You were wrong. Well, not entirely wrong : I find it very exciting, I suspect you will not, however I could not pass on the opportunity to share my excitement with the world.

Tomorrow I am going on an impromptu weekend break to North Yorkshire!! Wooooooop. I can barely contain my excitement, although my left-over work headache is certainly helping to take the edge off it.

Our lovely, lovely friend CA rang Mr B at lunch yesterday to enquire as to our weekend plans. We didn't have any. CA then informed Mr B that they had booked an impromptu break at a caravan in Pickering and asked if we wanted to join them. We said.... HELL YES. We go tomorrow. I am very excited.

I will, therefore, be taking another break from blogging to spend a few days in the middle of nowhere with my lovely hubby and lovely friends. I'm telling you this, so you do not panic at my absence and assume the worst. I'm reasonably confident that all the people I know and care about are safe and sound.

Dear Pigeons

I noticed that a substantial number of you have taken up residence in the trees opposite my house. I would like you to know that this is not appreciated.

I have noticed you staring into my living room window during the evenings, when I am trying to watch the television in peace. It looks creepy, especially when there are hundreds of you doing the same thing.

I also do not like it when you poop down the side of my house and on my driveway. It does not look pretty.

Mostly, I do not appreciate you being my 3am alarm clock. You see, as a human, I have the presence of mind to set my own alarm clock. It goes off at 6.45am. This is three hours and forty-five minutes later than when you start chirping. I don't understand why you have to start chirping at 3am. There is nothing to see at 3am. The sun isn't even starting to shine.

If you could arrange to pack it in so that I could get some sleep, that would be fantastic!

Mucheos Appreciado,

Mrs B x

Supersize Vs Superskinny

I am about to reveal a rather disturbing fact (or two) about myself. If you are not prepared for scary revelations, might I suggest you look away now.

I am petrified by the television series "Supersize Vs Superskinny". I'm not even kidding. In case you haven't seen it, the doctor steals a really really huge person off the street and puts them in a house with another stolen person, who is so skinny you can barely see them. This in itself is quite scary.

He then makes them switch diets for a week. This week, for example, the supersize person ate nothing for breakfast, about ten pasties for dinner, a tonne of spaghetti with thirty meatballs for tea, followed by a huge bag of crisps and a packet of biscuits as an evening snack. Now, I love my food, and I admit to being able to eat quite a lot of it, but this diet takes the biscuit (no pun intended). The thought of attempting to fit that amount of food into my body on one day scares the living daylights out of me. Never mind eating that amount every day of my life. I don't know how they do it. If it wasn't so dangerous, I'd say they deserved a medal.

The superskinny person had a piece of toast for breakfast, a dry pitta bread for dinner and then something really tiny like a small jacket potato with a piece of cauliflower cheese for tea. It scares me that there are people in the world with diets like this. Especially when they think these diets are healthy. I don't know how they manage to function adequately on that little food : I don't think I could even make it through to lunch on that.

I can't watch the programme without reaching for food. Any food will do, just as long as I can eat. I suspect that this makes me a very bad person.

When I was at university (because I had a brain once you see), I did a huge essay on literature about eating disorders. It was not pretty. As research, I had to read at least fifteen books written about young adults with eating disorders. I couldn't read without having something to snack on. I put on at least a stone in weight whilst reading these books. It's as though something in my head told me that if I ate, the superskinny people would put on a little weight. Clearly this wasn't the case. I was getting fatter and they, according to the literature, were getting thinner. Something was going horribly wrong. The interesting thing about it all is that these superskinny people were also being forced to eat a supersize diet to make them "better". So, in order to stop yourself fading away, you have to eat enough food in one day to feed an entire village. That makes sense (or not).

I've decided it all comes down to chips and mars bars: the supersize people need to stop eating them, the superskinny people need to start. Simple.

In Awe Of The Human Body

I am totally in awe of the human body. I have decided it is an amazing thing. No, I have not suffered any kind of trauma to the head, I have merely had a revelation.

A few days ago, I cut my finger with a pair of scissors. I appreciate that this makes me sound a little crazy, so I am going to elaborate. I was actually attempting to cut the scraggly ends off my hair, with a pair of scissors. They were not particularly sharp scissors, and therefore, probably not really up to the job of cutting my hair properly. However, as I explained to Mr B, I had just got my hair into the correct position for trimming, only to realise that the only scissors within reach were paper scissors. I decided to have a go at cutting anyway. I managed to cut through my hair, and also through a chunk of my finger.

The scissors met my finger, removed a chunk and there was a lot of blood. Hardly any pain, but a lot of blood. I am yet to decide whether the lack of pain is a good thing, or whether it may be hiding something more sinister. Today I noticed that the crevice in my finger had started to heal around the edges. That was at about 5.30pm. It is now 10.30pm and the crevice is almost entirely healed. 



So in precisely five hours, the human body has managed to turn a crevice into a little scab. I told you the human body was awesome, didn't I?

* Disclaimer: Please do not try this at home. It is not a good idea. It hurts and it makes a mess. *

Situation Desperate: Reasons Why I Need To Win The Lottery

1. I am fed up with saving for a things. First we spent a year saving every scrap for a wedding. Now we have spent all the time since the wedding (almost another year) saving for a house that we aren't even convinced we really want to buy, but equally cannot be arsed to pack up and move out of. This sucks. A lot.

2. I am desperate for a holiday. And I do not mean this in the whiny "Oh it's been a whole month since my last holiday". Mr B and I have been together for seven years. I can count the holidays we have had in this time on one hand: a weekend break in Edinburgh, a weekend in Paris, a weekend in Chester, and 5 days away in the Lake District for our honeymoon. Now don't get me wrong, all these holidays have been fabulous, but I would like a nice long holiday somewhere exotic and warm, and I think a lottery win could really help with that.

3. I need a new job. Not just any job, but a job I LOVE. This is not going to happen because I did my degree in reading. And there are no jobs out there that will pay me to read all day every day. Believe me, I've looked.

4. If I win the lottery tonight, I don't have to go to work tomorrow. This means I don't have to get up at 6.15 to travel half way across the county to take the minutes of an extremely long and boring meeting. This has got to be a very good reason for the lottery fairies to look kindly on me.

5. I could buy Mr B a new car. This is needed because his current car, affectionately named Phoebe (as in Phoebe the Peugeot) or F**king Rust Bucket for short, is literally falling to pieces. She has cost approximately £400 since the start of the year with various parts falling off and disintegrating. Most scarily, the brakes failing to work as Mr B attempted to come to a stop behind a police car. Fortunately he managed to pull it off.

6. And if those five reasons weren't good enough, then how about this : I will share my millions with my lovely friends and take you all away on a nice holiday?!

Now do I get to win?? Pretty please?

That's What You Get For Buying Cheap Machinery

One Wednesday evening (fairly recently) whilst Mr B was away for the day, I made plans to go to the cinema with our lovely friend CA. We had been shopping a couple of days before and wrote "Mrs B's exciting tea" on the shopping list for that evening, but somehow managed to forget the ingredients to make the exciting tea. "Never fear", said I, "I shall make a concoction". And so the Orange Wednesday did arrive (cheap cinema tickets you see), and I spent the day pondering what treat I could concoct myself for tea (it was rather dull at work). I came up with the quick and easy solution of making toasties. But these would not just be any old toasties. These were going to be super exciting toasties made with lovely creamy cheese, a nice piece of gammon ham and some pineapple chunks. They were going to be yummy!! My illusion of the perfect toastie was somewhat destroyed when I arrived home to discover that we had the smallest piece of cheese ever (it was about the size of a table-spoon) and that it was quite hard around the edges. Once cut, I managed to grate little more than a tea-spoon of cheese for my toastie. Things were not looking good. 'Never mind,' I thought to myself, 'there's still the ham and pineapple'. The ham was not looking great either. A little past its best, but still edible. And so I proceeded to stack my toastie into the wondrous toastie maker (a bargain at only £3.50, I thought). I piled in extra pineapple to make up for the lack of cheese and the disappointment of the ham. I placed the second piece of bread on top (butter side up for a super-crispy toastie) and pushed down the lid. That was when things got worse. Much worse. I heard a rather loud crack from the toastie maker. Upon further inspection, it transpired that the handle had snapped off, as had the handle casing. The toastie maker was, to put it mildly, buggered. Picture the scene: I am stood in the kitchen, half dressed (having been ironing a pair of jeans whilst the toastie-maker warmed up), staring at the most abysmal toastie ever made, holding the handle of the aforementioned toastie-maker in one hand. The situation was not good. Then the phone began to ring : Mr B calling to check all was okay. So I hopped to the phone, pulling on my jeans as I went, then returned to the kitchen with the phone propped against my ear as I tried to figure out how to cook a toastie in a broken toastie-maker, all the while assuring Mr B that I was perfectly fine alone. I briefly contemplated sitting on the toastie maker, but realised that broken-toastie maker, melting cheese and clean jeans was probably not a great combination, and so I spent the next five minutes pressing down on the toastie-maker, praying for some kind of food related miracle. After five minutes of hard pressing, I decided to wrestle the toastie from the machine. This did not go particularly well either, as the bread had not joined together around the edges. So I had to scoop my toastie out of the machine in pieces. Many pieces. Finally, I sat down to eat it, thinking that it would taste good, even if it didn't look it. I was wrong. I was effectively eating warm bread with a crispy exterior filled with cold pineapple, barely melted cheese and a seriously suspicious looking piece of ham. Thankfully the cinema sells Ben and Jerrys ice-cream ...