Out Of My Tree

So, the great and wonderful BBC decided to take my weekly special time with David Tennant away to show the Eurovision Song Contest (Russia won, UK came joint last - that’s what we get for entering someone who can’t even win The X Factor) so I was facing a night in slowly drowning in my own boredom.

Then I thought about what I was going to do last night (but my leg hurt so I didn’t go) - cinema. Couldn’t decide what I wanted to see so did a little tinkling with the times on the Odeon website and figured I could see two.

I really wanted to see Indiana Jones (I know reviews all over the shop say ‘hopeless’ but I’m a sucker for Spielberg) and got there just in time. Getting to see a good trailer beforehand really helps me with the buzziness. And the one today was for The Dark Knight which I now cannot wait for.

Turns out that was the most exciting thing I was going to see in that screen.

I mean, yes, there was all the elements that made the old ones great. The humour and the chases and the excitement and the rest of it were all there and they were the same as before. And that was the problem. It was all the same as before. This film would have been a winner if it had been released in the 80s - reviews would have been jumping about extolling the wonders of the Lucas/Spielberg team. And they would have been right. For then. But now, we, the great cinema going public want and demand a little more.

And that’s exactly what I got with the next film I saw - Iron Man.

Holy God, that was a good film. I knew it was going to be full of action and heavy bass lines and adrenaline but I never expected it to be funny. And I laughed and felt good and… I have no idea how close to the original it was and I don’t really care - it was a damn good experience. I am very glad I saw it. And Robert Downey Jr? Oh how I have always loved him in things and oh how I love him in this.

So much I will probably see it again during the week.

OH I FORGOT.

The many deaths part of the title - all the people I killed because they rustled, talked, moved, coughed and slurped during the film, trailers and adverts.

written by bec \\ tags: cinema, film, indiana jones, iron man

Yes. I have been through Carousel and have arrived in the new world.

It was a perfect quiet birthday. Work was wonderful - the lovely lovely people I work with got me a new phone

and embarrassed me thoroughly.

Home was peaceful and lovely and full of cake and wrapping paper and things.

New camera joy which I will get the hang of…

and flowers and… things.

A day spent smiling makes Bec a tired girl. Bed now. Day off tomorrow.

Thank you for the e-cards, messages, emails, pokes tweets and comments. I love you all. You make it all worthwhile.

written by bec \\ tags: 30, birthday, photos

Today I have two** very different things to blather about. Both are contributing to the headache that I’m trying to cure with Anadin.

My little brother works in garden centre hell (a hell that has recently been bought by a big ‘blue’ supermarket chain - say no more). I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before. Quick search… Yep, thought so.

He has tried over and over again to do the job he was hired to do which is maintain and sell plants.. and do whatever is required to get that job done. He will move stoneware all day, power wash the damn centre from bottom to top, move trolleys, direct traffic in the carpark - whatever it takes. I mean, everyone has to do the crap jobs, right? But recently all of the jobs that mean my brother to come home so tired he can barely stand up or have him so angry he can barely think straight.

After one task that was assigned to him and another sales assistant, that as far as I know should never have been assigned to them (clearing a blocked drain) my brother put in a complaint about his manager - turns out this was the third complaint that had been put in about him.

My brother has Dyslexia and Dyspraxia - which means that he learns things slower than most people, but because of the person he is, he will keep at it until he gets it right. Dyspraxia is not counted as a disability under the letter of the law. He completed two years of college winning Student of the Year. You don’t do that if you don’t know your stuff. He is very successful at his Scout Leader duties an his organisational skills are first rate. It just takes him a bit to get going, and his confidence in his abilities is quite low.

Not surprising considering who he has to work with.

His idiot manager (His soon to be, if I had my way, dead ex-manager*… ) keeps treating my brother like crap. He has talked about him to other staff members in a derogatory fashion and during a meeting which my brother called to try and sort things out said “it seems like your Dyspraxia has come back”. This at the very least shows that he need re-educating (preferably with a crowbar) and also shows a total disregard for my brother’s feelings. Oh yes, very managerial. I can only assume manager boy either has no balls and is taking it out on any male in the area in a jealous rage; or he is simply a vindictive little fuckwit. If it’s the second option I will gladly help him achieve the first option too.

Adam asked to speak to the manager about moving departments with the centre, something other people have done in the recent past (also to get away from the ’soon to be knobless twathead’) or starting a couple of hours earlier so he has to spend less time with him. Both options were denied to him. The only option that as given to him was halving his hours. HALVING HIS HOURS.

Wankers.

A customer recently called the same manager a ‘weasel’ to his face. Customers will come in and ask for Adam to help them with their queries, and if he is not there, will leave and return on a day that he is.

Who would you get rid of first?

Adam has had to talk me down from the ledge tonight. I am all for taking the day off work tomorrow and beating the ever living shite out of the management down there. Instead I have spent the last two days putting a new CV together for my brother and hunting out as many jobs as I could for him.

I’ve been in the position where the thought of going to work makes your world a dark place… I don’t want my brother to have to live there any more.

I am normally a fairly pleasant, fairly easy going, friendly individual but you hurt my brother and I will make sure you regret it.

I’ll be better soon.

*For legal reasons I would like to stipulate that I have no actual intention of causing the manager’s death, or any physical harm, but only wish it in a ‘when the revolution comes’ way. If I can cause him to be fired and be miserable every day of his life though that’ll be fine.

** Update: the other thing was about a news story I’d seen about a village in South Africa where the children have to swim cross a crocodile infected river to get to school, as someone stole the community boat. SOuth Africa are hosting the Football World Cup in 2 years. I’m saying nothing else.

written by bec \\ tags: brother, garden centres are hell, idiot managers, work hell

So, the mood I was in last night and what followed seem to be completely unrelated, and as a dear friend of mine would say - just another sign that I have, in fact, completely lost my marbles.

About a half hour after I posted yesterday I was wearing a dress, heels, matching jewellery and make up on. I left the house and dashed down to the site causing me a small portion of my current stress. My parent’s Silver Wedding Anniversary party. When it comes to things like this I can get a little freakish in the control of’ department. Just a little. And so so many things are not in your control (like whether or not anyone shows, whether they have a good time, will anyone be horrendously allergic to the food and die on the dancefloor therefore creating the wrong kind of memories) that I prefer to not be the one throwing the party. Attending is enough of a stress as then it’s all personal stuff (will I be the only one I know, will I end up with my dress tucked in my knickers post loo visit, will I be the only one dressed up and therefore look like a nonce in the middle of lots of hip casually dressed people?).

Anyway, I arrived, spoke to the barstaff and manager of the place we were holding it (who I’m sure think of me now as ‘crazy stresshead woman’; spoke to and paid the DJ (who seemed to know what he was doing and, I guess, was training someone else - or who had a groupie); and then downed my very first double Southern Comfort and lemonade of the night.

Several embarrassing things happened to my parents throughout the night which mortified them in many ways but they had a good time; which was the only thing that really matters; and no one died. I saw people I know in a different light. There were an extraordinary large amount of comments about the fact that I have legs and boobs from those who usually only see me in combat pants and Artificial Duck t-shirts.

The Cube, the wonderful place in Kirkham where we held the do, was MAGNIFICENT. The food, the staff, the venue, the whole kit and kaboodle were excellent and if, anyone is looking for someone to hold an event, do it there. Do it there, oh, do it there.

Next year I get to host two more parties - Dad’s 60th and Mum’s 50th. Lovely.

But, yes, I am sorry for yesterday. 10 more days to ‘results’ day and 25 days until 30. I can feel Carousel approaching…

written by bec \\ tags: , party stress

The news that Gary Gygax, co-creator of Dungeons & Dragons, has died has made me think about things I haven’t in a long time.

A few years ago, when I was going through a massive bout of depression, living hour to hour was the most I could do and a group of crazy but wonderful people took me in to their lives and helped me out.

I was a mess. I trusted no one and nothing, including and especially myself. I did some things I wasn’t proud of and, well, let’s just say I didn’t like myself very much. I was hiding myself from the world so being introduced to lots of new people was hard… and easy at the same time. It was hard as I felt like I had to hide myself, and easy because I could hide myself and become a new person (Yes, we all know how well that goes - but I thought I’d give it a go!)

When I was told that this new group of people role-played I’ll admit a little apprehension… visions of… well, I had no idea… but certainly not books and dice and character sheets with hundreds of numbers on that indicated how good your character was at ‘bluffing’ and ‘hiding’ and ’swimming’ and everything else… And then MORE numbers on the front with armour ratings and weapons and things. Books filled with spells and more statistics. It just seemed like the complicated version of Top Trumps ever.

But then, watching these people become their characters was astounding. The quiet ones became confident assassins and the burly males became women. It was fascinating. My character - a psychotic sorcerer child - was introduced and I kind of just went with it. I had no idea what I was doing with the dice and tried to avoid using the numbers as much as possible. I was there for the story. It was like a mad Improv Drama class and I loved it while it lasted.

I have been writing the tales of my character (broken free of the bonds of the game) on and off for years but it may be time to really get down and write them. I think that was one of the reasons I enjoyed playing the game so much - not the battles and the ‘levelling’ but the loss of self in the character. That’s the thing I enjoy about writing fiction so much and one thing I must get back into doing.

written by bec \\ tags: dungeons and dragons, roleplay, Writing

Dihydrocodeine.
A word that effects me in a number of ways. It makes me giddy then sleepy, fidgety and then dozy, my fingertips are tingling and my eyeballs ache. My head feels a little like there are small bees flying around it, and then it feels empty but I don’t care… because…

I can’t feel my toothache! But boy do I know it when the pills wear off!

And my ‘emergency’ appointment is on Thursday at 1pm. So, the next two days look like they will be quite fun.

Today was… amusing. Yep, that’s the word for it. Funny. One of the girls I work with quit (the other is still on holiday) so I was effectively on my own for a large portion of today. On the one day I really shouldn’t have been. It was quite hard to keep hold of any real thoughts without letting them slide into the papier mache in my brown bread.

But all the lovely lovely people I work with really rallied around

and helped me out (mostly by making me coffee and keeping me company - they really are lovely lovely people).

The day ended with the sky exploding in beautiful colours and me trying to get them whilst on the bus and whilst explaining why I love taking photographs to someone who could’ve cared less.

Probably more impressive with the pills… mmmm…

Onwards to tomorrow!

written by bec \\ tags: painkillers, pills, prescription drugs, sunset

The summer had been long and yet only a week of the holidays had gone by. There were five weeks left to go. Five weeks of tennis and running around, and finding quite time with a book before having a water fight with all the other kids. Knowing at 11 years old that there was no way I was ever going to be as fast or as good at sports as everyone else, I became fearless. I was the one to hop the wall into ‘moody man’s’ garden to retrieve any lost balls, or knock on the door of crazy cat lady to ask her if she wouldn’t mind us getting our ball back. (Yes, there was tennis played. I didn’t say we were any good at it.) But like every person trying to mask their fear there was a place that it all broke down.

At the bottom of the road a brook ran.

Never rising to more than a couple of inches deep in the summer; and moving just quick enough to make the silt stir and mix; it became a source of constant fascination. The banks were hidden behind a stone wall so it could be a secret place to conduct the equally serious business of childhood.

There was just one problem. Getting to the bank.

This of course meant crossing the brook as it was just too far to climb down the wall. So the only way to do it was to cross the pipe.

Best friend went over easily, like a professional tightwalker, and the other kids followed. I hung back looking at the rusty pipe with moss growing on the side of it and decided not to attempt to cross. Knowing at 11, that my weight was vastly and significantly higher than anyone else’s… and knowing that my balance sucked so hard I couldn’t ride a bike I decided not to. Making some excuse about dinner I ran.

A couple of days later someone suggested the Brook again. I went down with them and got as far as one foot on the pipe before I fell backwards (luckilly) and fell on my arse with a suprising thud.

The other bank looked wild and filled with magical secrets.

I was advised to sit on the pipe and shuffle across. The moss stuck to my leg and I was always leaning to the left. The cries of encouragement I got from my friends was helpful but in the end I never felt right. I set them off to travel down the bank and told them I would follow them.

I could still touch the bank I had just come from - therefore I was at safe! I shuffled a little further forward out of reach and stopped for a moment. Looking down the brook at my friends I let go and waved, wobbled, but held on. shuffling forwards a little more, I became aware of a coldness on my left side.

There was darkness there. The bridge and the tunnel made the most frightening thing I had seen in my young life. And the light was shifting about causing faces and shadows to appear in the gloom. My imagination ran wild and I began to see the Roman soldiers that had used our town as a campsite in the dark. Would they be friendly to me or murder me without another thought. I decided not to anger the spirits and shuffled backwards. I kept going until my bum hit the stone holding the pipe in place. I left that bank never to return; my friends accepting my cowardice.

I have no idea why I still think of it.

written by bec \\ tags: anxiety, childhood

Why is it whenever I am not in the mood to go out I have a good time? It was he turn of the Scout New Year’s Meal today. Yes, I know that New Years was nearly four weeks ago but, well,, that’s just the way we roll.

We went to Cube in Kirkham - a place that I had heard both good and terrible things about, but I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed myself. the service was excellent, food plentiful, hot and tasty; and the drink prices very very reasonable. All in all very good quality.

The conversation on our table drifted through a number of weird and wonderful topics including how many balloons would it take to lift a wine glass? Then how many balloons would it take to float the kids away? And finally what the hell was the fruit on top of the desserts called? Yeah, no one took a photo of it because no one had a camera. but it was small (about the size of a big grape), yellow think unripened tomato yellow not lemon yellow), had long thin leaves on top and tasted like a slightly sour kiwi fruit. Any ideas?

Anyway, a good time was had by all - far better than the god awful time we had last year. Will definitely be going there again! And now to bed for there is a place I will be visiting in the morning called… work!

written by bec \\ tags: , Cube, Kirkham

Today apparently was the most depressing day of the year - it’s traditionally the day when resolutions are broken, the weather is rubbish and there are a high number of suicides.

Well, one of my resolutions was not to over-react to things - broken today, the weather is insane and nope, not topping myself but…

Of course this is one of those posts that doesn’t really need to exist. Y’know if the entire world followed me on Twitter… but… well…

I have had a day of it. Woke up this morning to the sound of torrential rain (apparently most of England is under water and some bloke called Noah is being all seventeen kinds of smug), and then about 2 minutes later I realised that I couldn’t move any of my limbs without huge amounts of effort. I dragged my arse downstairs, as my mobile had no bloody signal, and called into work.

Then I saw Mum. She looked lovely, of course, but like death warmed up slightly. There was a wheezing thing going on but she insisted she was fine and that I should go back to bed. After 29 years of living with her I have come to take this to mean ‘don’t mess with me or fuss about it or I will rip your head off and feed it to the cat.’ and I was feeling too weak to argue, so I did as I was told (a prime signal that I am ill) and after twittering it was ‘head hit pillow oh the phones ringing oh it’s 3 o’clock somebody will get that it’s still ringing I swear if that’s a call centre I’m going to kill everyone’ and I got up again.

It was Dad. Calling from the hospital. About Mum. Breathing problems. Tests. Not to worry. Bye.

Stress. Panic. Dressed. Shower. Cup of tea and a sit down. More stress. Biting my fingernails as many many bad scenarios played through my head with statistics about how bad NHS hospitals are (remembering none of the good things) plus own massive phobia of the entire medical profession meant I had a very un-relaxing afternoon. (Thank you (by the way) for the messages of support!).

At one point I was running through all the people I would have to call if she died. And there are a lot. Mum is a much beloved person.

I however, forgot to call my brother to let him know what was going on so when he calls to say he’s on his way home (a ritual as he walks along one of the most ridiculously dangerous roads near us) I had to install panic in him. Sorry Ads, I’m crap.

Dad came home about half an hour later sans Mum. In overnight for observation which is a GOOD THING. See positive persuasion thing? Packed clothes and nightwear and wash bag and book and glasses and what else? Kept picking things up - have given her two options for clothes. Hope everything is alright.

Dad left to take things back on a flying visit as visitor hours are massively shortened due to the hundred bugs flying around at the moment. The news is telling us that the hospital she is in is on reserve water supplies due to some cock-up with the local reservoir. Classic. Am considering filling bottles and taking them to Mum’s ward to make damn sure she has water if they don’t fix the problem.

Right now, however, I am glad that today is over, and having written all the numbers in the world down for the morning am going to work with my mobile switched on all day - just try and stop me taking the calls tomorrow, work!

written by bec \\ tags: , Most Depressing Day of the year, sickness

The two girls I work with are both Muslim, hovering around the 20 year old mark (which yes, makes me feel old old old) and very very hopeful for the future. They both see, and have plans for husbands and babies. One has plans to quit work and become a housewife, the other a five year plan - marriage, see world, babies.

It’s all very organised and definite and planned including an inclusion of the arranged marriage process. Which sounds both equally appalling and appealing to me.

For reasons dull and mundane (tragic affairs and heart break, coupled with the wrong man at the right time and the right guy in the wrong situation) I am afraid of marriage and allowing myself to be close to anyone and being that reliant on anyone, but I think that during the discussion I came off as decidedly bitter which I am… not… really… well… ish.

Oh God, this would be easier with a drink.

I am, of course, an incurable romantic. I believe wholeheartedly in love at first sight and soulmates and magic and fanfares and passion and just knowing and all that because I had it once… and then it went away. I’ve never been good at the whole men/relationship thing either falling too fast or not far enough. There is no happy medium where love and me are concerned. Mind you is there supposed to be?

I missed an old friend’s wedding this weekend. I should have gone but I couldn’t face it - god, how selfish is that? It’s not that I didn’t want to celebrate her happy time I just couldn’t guarantee that I wasn’t going to say something stupid and inappropriate.

I, of course, have planned out my wedding in my head. Flowers and dresses, location of ceremony and reception. The music and the decoration, colour schemes and I think at one point I had even written my vows in my head. But that was at right guy stage.

I have since realised that the dress would require me to be chopped in half or would make me look like an elephant in a monkey costume, that the colour scheme would either be seen as garish or jarring, that the flowers really wouldn’t go, that finding a good jazz quartet isn’t as hard as making your guests happy with your choice of band and mostly that no one that I can imagine will ever want to hear Otis Redding.

Sigh

But surely, one day the unimaginable will happen and he will step out of the darkness and take me in his arms and make it all go away, all this self-hatred and self-pity, he will make my walls come crumbling down, he will bring me into the light and won’t laugh or grimace at what he sees. He will accept my faults and love my differences. He will get down on bended knee because he wants to spend eternity with me. Surely (oh, please) he will put his arms around me and tell me that it is all going to be okay.

But for now leave me with my wishes, hopes, dreams, memories and Otis, dear Otis.

written by bec \\ tags: dreams, hope, love, marriage, Otis Redding, wedding