Hair today

Eldest adopted niece will shortly be turning 18. Where does the time go? I can date the time when I first properly got to know her as it was her last year before starting high school.

The reason I know this is because of the following (by now apocryphal) tale:

Over that year or so I’d become increasingly good friends with her parents (and now count my blessings regularly to consider them some of the best sorts of friends one could ever hope for). At some point in this year they decided it would be hilarious to get their three girls to start referring to me as “Aunty 1iz who we love lots and lots”, in the mistaken belief that my lack of desire to have my own children, combined with my vocal dislike of kids squawking in public, signified a general dislike of children and therefore the opportunity on their part, for good sport.

In reality, the former condition is a dislike of the 24/7 thing – I quite like other people’s kids as long as I can give them back after a few hours, and the latter is I believe a crime that should be levelled at the parents not the brats, sorry I mean children, in question.

Sure I may from time to time ponder about whether "Children Farms" are the way forward...but I'm only partly serious.

Being “Aunty 1iz”, who they love lots and lots, let’s not forget) is actually good fun and my three adopted nieces each delight me in their own uniquely different ways.

Come the summer of that fateful year, the eldest, K, was allowed to come to Greenbelt and in the course of the week spent a degree of time with her Aunty 1iz (WSLLaL). We got on great – she’s ace to spend time with.

On the final day I get her enraged father on the phone, demanding to know “what have you done?”.

I, entirely genuinely, explain that I know not of what he speaks.

His response: “K has dyed her hair red to be like Aunty 1iz. It won’t wash out and she starts high school this week!”.

I can only reaffirm my innocence in the matter and suggest that this might be what is called “having the last laugh”.

So that dates it I guess. Seven years down the line and K is turning 18.

Aunty 1iz (who has come to love all three of them lots and lots) is now at a loss as to what to buy K for a birthday present.

In passing conversation, her mother relates that K wants to “go blonde” for her 18th party. I suck my teeth and observe that given she’s been dying it darker of late she needs to be careful and to make sure she doesn’t go for a cheap salon.

Her mother replies that what K would ideally like would be to use Aunty 1iz’s colourist, but this of course comes with a decidedly “working adult” price tag.

An idea was born and two birds were slain with one stone this afternoon as K joined me in enjoying the artistic mastery of my colourist S.

It feels like an appropriate present, a coming full circle, a coming of age ritual. Grown up hair care for a young woman who has grown up so beautifully.

Still we’re both also still young at heart…as can be witnessed by our giggling as we go for a few post-hair cocktails in Zinc (well her ID says she’s 26 after all ;-) ).

Shopping, hair, cosmos...as K texts to her boy - living the dream.

Lake

Sometimes it's easy to forget about the hidden treasures that exist on your doorstep; or in this case, my office doorstep.

Wallabee Crop Circles

This rather wonderful story on the BBC, recounts how Tasmanian Wallabies are eating opium poppies and creating crop circles as they hop around "as high as a kite".

The story is made all the more fabulous by the assortment of comments people have left.

My favourite is probably "I have seen a stoned wallaby but I don't know about them making crop circles. The one I saw was slurring his words and asking me for a dollar as he was trying to get the boat to see his brother in New Zealand - he looked in no mood to be formulating a series of complex agricultural design patterns. I could be wrong - they might have masterminded the twin tower attacks, who really knows?".

Marvellous.

Bay

I'm starting to think I really like G's lifestyle.

Captain Pugwash is into yachts. He has his own racing yacht and has taken full advantage of the Cardiff Bay Barrage's maritime revolution.

When the barrage was being constructed, my then employers (who shall not be named, because it's entirely possible that if you say their name 3 times they come back and take over your company again...) were involved in the construction management and I did a site visit of the part constructed earthworks.

It being another fabulously sunny day, Captain P and Aunty G suggest we head up to the barrage and take a walk. A chance for me to see the finished article close to .

No sooner have we parked and walked up to the locks to see the yachts coming in, then the Cap'n spots his friends bringing in their yacht after a night over in Bristol.

They call up that they're going for a drink on the other side of the bay and would we like to join them. Dismissing our plans to drive round they direct us to a hidden pontoon and the next thing I know we're sailing across the bay.

A couple of drinks on the balcony of a cafe bar and they taxi us back.

Now that's what I call a Sunday morning.

Barry

Saturday, G treats me to a day out at Barry Island (and buys me a Gavin and Stacey inspired fridge magnet to remember it by). Barry is...well...Barry. Often with seaside towns, phrasing like "faded former glory" spring to mind, but that doesn't quite work here..."faded former tackiness" is perhaps a little unkind but closer to the truth.

What remains of the pleasure park is possibly in want of condemnation by the relevant authorities. It feels like everyone has just given up. Rides stand abandoned, those still open are run down and tatty, with rubbish and mess characterising the spaces inbetween. It's like it woke up one morning, looked in the mirror and just decided to give up making any effort and has ever since kicked around the house, unwashed, in a dated, dirty velour leisure suit, eating left over food from discarded take-away containers.

Of course none of this prevents G and I from acting like teenagers and going on the log-flume and the dodgems.

The beach itself is actually rather fine and if (inlike the masses) you can be bothered to walk even a couple of minutes along it, you can enjoy plenty of space even on this a Bank Holiday weekend. Getting into the spirit we do of course go for a paddle. It's the law you know.

Back in Penarth we decide to take advantage of the continuing fine weather and have a BBQ. G's new man Captain Pugwash joins us and very lovely he is too.

One of those days that make you just smile at the memory.

Cardiff Weekend

After a last minute cancellation of plans, I find myself with a free weekend.

Originally my plans for the weekend involved an Ops Social (in Alsager - don't ask!) organised by myself S and N. It was very eleventh hour, but we hadn't really expected that none of the 13 "yes we'll probably come" respondees would actually follow through.

The instruction to those wanting to come was to make their booking and let us know. In the week leading up to the weekend we hadn't heard from anyone, so we cut our losses and cancelled our own bookings. Maybe next year.

So, with a last minute cancellation of weekend plans and a training course that found me in Cardiff on a Friday afternoon it seemed like too good an opportunity to miss and I phoned the lovely G in Penarth.

Sorted.

We kick things off in fine style with a night out at Cardiff Bay with the lovely S (who G and I continue to try and tempt to the dark side). Chinese banquet, drinks in an old port building bar and exploring around the Welsh Assembly Building and the Millenium Centre (no sign of the Torchwood crowd though). S's husband M even comes and picks us up at the end of the night, rescuing us from the very amusing rantings of a drunken Kiwi lass...let's just say that the phrase going at it like Billy-O took on a whole new dimension...

A text did land early in the evening from wonderful R.

"We're in the bar".

Hmmmm, now why would R be sending me such a text? Oh bugger...

I respond "Please tell me you're not in Alsager?"

The rest of the tail can be found here. Whoops!

Cardiff Training

I've been delaying posting blogs because of being behind with downloading photos from my camera. Given I'm clearly not finding time to get that sorted, I figure I'll just go ahead and post the drafted entries regardless. Sorry.

So, Cardiff:

Things you don't want to hear from your training department regading training courses they want you to run:

a) the trainers and half the delegates are having to travel some considerable distance and they've schedules the course for Thursday and Friday; and
b) last minute confirmation that several of the original delegates won't now be attending as they have just been made redundant.

I mention my concerns re the latter to my co-trainer. The remaining delegates worked in the same offices as those made redundant - it could make for some fairly low morale.

His view is somewhat contrary - perhaps the recent events will focus those remaining on training and development. Hmmm and I thought I was cynical.

As it turns out they are a fantastic bunch and I think we ran one of our best ever courses. It felt really positive and productive and the feedback sheets bear this out - we rocked ;-)

Eurovision 2009

Annual Eurovision party time. I think it went better than last year...well being in the correct country was a good start (always helps when throwing a party at your house).

Little bit of a blip when the impressive efforts of a friend to get the BBQ really blasting courtesy of a hairdryer, proved to be a bit more than the extension lead with all the outside lights on,had left to give. Still we managed to restore power just as Mr Norton kicked off proceedings, so all was well.

Food was consumed, cocktails were downed, flags were waved, bonkers entries were enjoyed and sweepstakes were won.

Lead Astray

This afternoon a phone call from my neighbour brings the news that she's interrupted three young lads (she reckons all of about 12 year's old) relieving my porch roof of its remaining lead.

Just when I thought it had quietened down and it was worth getting the already missing strip replaced...

Toerags.

Still my neighbour should be honoured for her ongoing vigilance and intervention. Verily a septuagenarian one-woman crime-fighting machine.

Facebook

A conversation from this evening, between myself and Stuart:

S: "It's amazing what people put on Facebook isn't it?"

L: "I don't know I don't use Facebook."

S: "Apparently Quentin* can't decide whether to have a glass of water or go to the loo."

L: "And there we have the reason I don't do Facebook"

And yes the irony of such intellectual snobbery on a blog full of waffle is not lost on me.

Hey I find the writing cathartic, what's your excuse for being here?

* name changed to protect the inane (and I'm fairly sure neither Stuart nor myself are likely to really know anyone called Quentin...)

Code

Today Google is commemorating someone's birthday in a very appropriate manner.

Black Books

Geek Night redux: this time joined by G and L to watch selected highlight episodes from the three series of Black Books.

And a fine evening it was too (though I think I put too much apricot and honey in the tagine and it was a bit over-sweet).

Somehow it seemed wrong to watch this pinnacle of British sit-com genius without at least a little bit of red wine. Risking a migraine I succumbed - man I miss that stuff.

Maybe I've grown-out of the problem...hmmm rather high risk odds and definitely only one to try out when you have nothing planned the next day.

Happily and happily...

Red Chilli

K Snr from the Dog Collars and Rabbit Corpses household has been working far too hard on her uni work. Final year pressures have brought dissertation deadlines, assignments and final exam preparations. Together with the usual busy nature of diaries, it's been far too long since the three of us caught up.

A birthday day meal seems like an excellent excuse.

Chinese transpires to be the intersection of our various culinary desires and recalling the recommendation from the excellent Cal, we decide to try out Red Chilli.

And pretty good it was too. The Beijing dumplings were divine and a chicken dish comprising sun dried chillis was delicious (and fiery hot if you bit on a chunk of chilli).

Definitely up for a return visit to discover more of the menu. Say the word Cal ;-)

Back to mine and it's time to try the Chinese liqueur recently procured. Hmmm maybe this is a cheaper, substandard brand, or maybe I was just more sauced last time?

Bluebells

In an out of character moment of spontaneity, my father suddenly suggests a morning excursion to a section of the North Downs Way, which is potentially mobility scooter friendly.

My mother loves bluebells and the woods are resplendent in their spring finery. The views out towards the south downs are magnificent against blue skies and bright sunshine.

It's a wonderful and pleasantly argument free and companionable way to spend my birthday morning. The thought of "I ought to be in the office right now" making the day off ever sweeter.

We're not the only ones out to enjoy the sunshine, adjacent to one gateway onto the open downsland, an adder lies coiled, soaking up the rays.

It's not clear who is most alarmed, my mother or the reptile.

To be fair, I think mum had the advantage with the mass of metal and pneumatic tyres at her disposal.

Weekend

To balance out taking Dad walking last year it’s time for a mother and daughter long weekend.

Mum felt that a west end show was more than her energy levels could handle, so we’ve settled for going through wardrobes, painting nails, decanting perfume, shopping, being ladies that lunch, looking at clothes catalogues, giggling, chatting and generally just loving being in each other’s company.

My brother, sister-in-law and the kids met us at a country pub on Saturday and we toasted my birthday in style (comments of “well the kids quite like a Harvester” were purposefully ignored)..

As the food took a while to appear the kids were starting to get restless and the downside of the lack of Harvester style kiddie entertainment was becoming apparent.

A veteran of adult curries accompanied by the youngest Radlet, I had the solution in my pocket, “R? J? Do you want to play with my iPhone?”.

Problem solved.

Early

I don’t like early mornings. My brain just doesn’t function well first thing.

So if you absolutely insist on having meetings at remote locations at 8am, could you like actually have the meeting? Only it’s bad enough to have forced my self out of bed at an unearthly hour, but to discover it was done unnecessarily can really take the shine off my whole day.

2009 Year of the Weasel?

Why do some people find it so hard to be honest and straight-down-the-line?

Of late I’ve seemed to have instance after instance of people deliberately saying one thing and doing another and boy does deception and devious manipulation push my buttons.

I just don’t know what enables someone to do that. I think maybe I was born without that capacity. In my world, working as part of a team means that if you don’t like a decision you state your case, but if you don’t persuade others around to your way of thinking you suck it up and get on with making the team decision work.

Likewise if you have bad news, well sometimes being a manager means you have to step-up and do the deed. To hide behind half-truths and outright deception is weasel like and sooner or later the weasel, like my respect for you, goes pop.

Wafer thin

I woke up at 5am this morning with the first symptoms of a migraine.

On auto-pilot I reach for the migraine meds, swallow one tablet and place a special super-wafer in my mouth to dissolve.

I reset the alarm to allow the maximum possible sleep that will still see me make my 8.30am meeting and turn over and try to relax.

Happily sleep comes, until 90 minutes later, when I wake suddenly, in that half-world between sleep and awake, between logical and insensible, I have the urge to attempt to spit out a dissolved substance from my mouth, convinced I’ve poisoned myself. As realisation encroaches and its fingers wrap themselves around my woozy brain, I start to laugh.

The part of the story which is missing, and the reason for my laughter despite the early hour and my complete muppethood, is the dream that was underway as my alarm sounded:

Ok, so I was putting on a new top and for some reason it came with one of those little sachets of silica gel. Even more bizarrely, this sachet was for some reason stitched into the side seam with the washing label.

As I pulled it free, the sachet opened and without thinking I emptied the contents into my mouth (look it’s a dream, when do things ever make sense in a dream?).

As quickly as I’d done that, I realised it was a stupid thing to have done and tried to spit it out, but struggled as it appeared to have dissolved almost instantly, leaving only the merest residue and taste in my mouth...

On the plus side, the meds had done their job , and the migraine attack had been halted in its tracks.

On the downside, can’t even blame mad migraine brainstorm activity for crazy woman behaviour.

Easter

I had pondered about maybe going to church this morning (well it is Easter and it has been a while since I darkened the step of an ecclesiastical enterprise…and when I say a while I mean years); but whilst Christ may have risen this glorious morning, 1iz didn’t quite manage it.

Which is rather pathetic isn’t it?

On the compensatory side I won’t be eating any chocolate eggs either.

Also, on the urging of others, I have started reading The Shack, but I’m not really sure which bit of it is supposed to be revelatory let alone revolutionary.

So far gone I can't even spot what things some might suppose heretical.

Ho hum.

Alco-nesia

I like a drink as much as the next person (possibly a little more if it's rose flavoured liquer), but whilst I can get "quite pissed", I never seem to cross that boundary into utterly drunk.

I can only recall two occasions when alcohol has been the likely cause of being sick, only one occasion when I had a hangover (hideous experience - I mean really why would you drink if that happened everytime?), never committed grand misdemeanours whilst under the influence (snogging unsuitable blokes doesn't count right?) and I don't think I've ever lost time or been unable to remember parts of the night before (though admittedly by definition one can never be totally sure...let's just say I've never been surprised by the recollections of friends, been unaccountably sacked after a work do or been surprised by unexpected photos on the internet, that kind of thing...).

I partly suspect this is because the control freak in my recoils in horror at the very prospect, but whatever the reason, the only thing I find beyond "quite pissed" is sleep.

There are advantages (continued employment) and disadvantages (never can truly drink to forget) to this.

For my drinking compadres there are also advantages (someone who can function sufficiently to hail a cab) and disadvantages (total recall of what *you* did as well).

So should you ever go drinking with me (say to a little pub in Didsbury) and buy me doubles that were in fact triples (maybe vodka) whilst simultaneously downing copious amounts of booze yourself (maybe beer), best to remember that whilst I may get quite pissed, you may get even worse and come the next time me meet only one of us may remember what was disclosed.

And then you'll be left trying to decide is 1iz:

a) open minded and forgiving, but still evil enough to keep alluding to the latest shameful disclosure from your mispent life,
or
b) just plain evil and happy to allude to some disclosure that may never have actually happened.

In this pantomime we call life, you may never know...