Oh hi chums,
So, with a good 10 day absence from my blog (I’ve been spending time on design and waiting for a new laptop to arrive), I am back with a post that is slightly different for me and something I’d like to become a regular thing.
This week, I’ve been noticing a few little things I’ve done or thought which to some, might verge mildly on the ridiculous. And it was while I was pondering these last night when “Confessions of The Week” was born.
Now, to start off, I am pleased to say that the following confessions aren’t exactly the most dire and omfg’ing ones that may follow in weeks to come, but they’re things I’ve noticed which I’ve thought were a little in need of telling!
I am a part-time, non serious coin collector. There, I’ve said it. It’s not like I go around with my tin of categorised coin compartments and a notebook, ticking off new and exciting coins I’ve traded… No, it’s more if I happen to stumble across a coin either with an interesting design or one from the olden days, then if appropriate, I’ll swap it for a current coin and so, I’ve collected a coin. However, that worryingly isn’t my main confession. What is, is that when I was at work the other day, I was handing the change to a patient and while I was doing so, I noticed a very exciting looking coin just as I poured it into their hand. Now, any normal, sane person would carry on, thank the patient and think nothing more of it, ever. Instead, the not so normal or sane me, paused mid change pouring, hovered my hand uncomfortably long over the poor innocent patient, my wanting eyes fixed on this coin and actually thought for a good few seconds about removing it from their hand and swapping it with another! And a few seconds is an awful long time to someone who hasn’t a clue why a stranger is lingering their hand over theirs while the pupils of their eyes have turned into clockwork gears as your mind churns at all the possibilities for your coin collection. But, I am very pleased to report, after looking up quickly and giving a brief smile to the patient (one which probably resembled the smile of Jack Nicholson from One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest), they went about their day, carrying what could have been another wonderful coin to add to my collection. Unimpressed. With the myself and the end result. And I’ve sulked all week. (I haven’t really…)
Ok, well maybe it’s only just Autumn, but the weather is cooler and short skirts with bare legs season is officially over. Unless you’re crazy or made of solid stuff, or are in a hot country. Equals, I’m not shaving my legs so much. And while this feels like a purdy personal thing to be typing on the wibbly wobbly, I feel I can, y’know. Like I know you’re not gonna tell. We’re best buds right? Hmmm… You see, black tights are a beautiful thing at the best of times but come winter when you know you won’t be bearing your legs for anyone, then they come into their own. Now, I’m only shaving on days I have feelings of doom that I might end up in hospital in the care of a very cute doctor after one of my, “oh Christ I’m such a bloody clumz” moments. I mean, that’s never happened yet, but stuff like that happens doesn’t it. Lets be honest here ladies… Who hasn’t grown up with their grandmothers telling them to always wear clean underwear in case you get hit by a bus? It’s practically the same thing. Always shave your legs on days you feel clumsy and might end up in a&e with a gorgeous doctor in your cubicle. I rest my case.
I lied about my chocolate intake to a health professional. So, I went to see a lady about my anxiety and she was explaining (rightly) how caffeine can effect a persons anxiety levels, and proceeded to ask me how much chocolate I consumed. Slightly concerned that my anxiety (which is manageable but certainly apparent at times) was going to be put down to a caffeine overdose, I lied bare faced through my teeth and came out with some cods wallop that I eat about half a small bar of galaxy each night. Now, at this point, I’m not sure if all her training came flooding back to her and she had a thousand alarm bells ringing in her mind shouting “lie detected, repeat, lie detected”, but she smirked and wrote down my answer. Or in reality, was writing “lair” instead and drawing pictures of morbidly obese caricatures of me. Either way, she accepted my answer and concluded to tell me it probably wasn’t caffeine causing me to feel anxious. NSS! Of course I wasn’t going to tell her I must eat my own body weight in chocolate on a daily basis, washed down with two cups of coffee and about three cups of tea! I did feel a little bad, but I think I was so concerned at the prospect of being told the thing I’ve suffered from for years was caused by the one thing that keeps me sane, I’d have up’d and left. Trust me, at which point in a woman’s life, is anxiety ever caused by chocolate?
I can’t cook sausages for the life of me. Fact. I also really don’t like sausages either. They seem to be a food staple of Britain and while, on a winters day, if someone says it bangers and mash for tea, I do feel mildly happy, I can’t say I’m as overcome with excitement as I would be with pie and mash. So, I don’t know if this has any bearing on my inability to cook them, but I really do struggle. I pre-heat the oven, turn the thing to read gas mark 7 and bake for 20 minutes, all as instructed. Yet 20 minutes later, they look like anaemic dog droppings which are nowhere near edible. So, convinced the packet is completely wrong and that so much as another look at these sausages in their current state and I’ll be admitted to hospital with food poisoning, I proceed to bake them for another 30 minutes, to really cook them. After a whole 50 minutes of cooking, they look slightly browner than when they first went in, and having had the repeated confirmation from those around me that, “Yes Amy, they are very sodding cooked and by now probably signing in at the pearly gates”, I remove them from the oven and dish up. It’s safe to say they were pretty overcooked. And despite the amounts of coagulated gravy dolloped over them, there was no bringing these lifeless Richmond’s back from the dead. But the peas and Yorkshire pudding was lovely! I think I’ll just stick to Spaghetti Bolognese and Salmon Salad…
I wasn’t sure weather to include this one or not, but as it was a huge event and I’m still feeling really awful about it, I thought I would. I trod on a little frog:( Let me take you back to the early dawn of Thursday morning… I’d woken about 5.30am and spent a while thinking about the day while checking Twitter (two very serious things which are an essential part of waking up), when 6.10am came and I decided then was probably a good time to pootle down stairs to make the first morning caffeine instalment. I had made it successfully to the second top stair down, when squelch. I jumped so far and yelped so loudly I’m surprised I didn’t shock the poor little soul back to life. Heart racing and a decidedly cold wet patch on my foot, in a state of utter horror, I peered down to see a tiny little frog on the stair. I could only assume one of the cats had brought it in and just left it on the top stair as there is no way a little frog like that could jump about 20 steps up. I think it must have sadly died a little while before I went and blindly stepped on it, but I could not help but feel pangs of guilt all day. And still now. Sadness.
So umm, I may have worn my pants back to front today… But I may not have done too… Ok, I did, but it was a really stressful morning and I was in the mother of all rushes! It all started when I woke up freezing cold, went downstairs only to have my bare toes inadvertently attacked by my darling cat Jack, achieve one beauty and fashion disaster after another and have a bath that was so cold and quick, I’d have been more relaxed if I’d been caught in an arctic hail storm with nothing but a fresh pumice stone to clean myself. After which came the throwing on of any clean clothing I could find following a quick glance at the clock, which shouted pretty obviously I was running behind! And that is apparently when all my dignity and self awareness flew out the window and ran for the hills, and I put my pants on the wrong way round. I even thought to myself briefly (no pun intended) when I was dressed that they didn’t feel the most comfortable, but not even giving the possibility of me reverting back to a 4 year old a moments thought, I decided it was just me being weird and ignored it. Come lunchtime and the changing of tights to go to work and I do a double take. There, blatantly staring me in the face for all the world to see (if they’d been looking, which they weren’t) were my pants, back to front. What an amateur. And there was I worried about what the hypothetical doctors in a&e would think of my unshaved legs in winter, and I’m wearing back to front underwear! I can hear it now.. “bing bong, phych team to a&e please, psych team to a&e.” Oh the horror…
It’s been an eventful week with a ton more things happening than just my confessionals…
What have you done this week you might feel inclined to divulge? Bought too many Starkbucks for your own metabolism? Did a highly unnecessary but completely essential haul which has brought you tons of guilt free happiness but your bank manager nervous twitches? Maybe, you wore your underwear back to front? How novel. I mean, who does that anyway??