The Winner Is
9.48 am
"So what are you up to this weekend then chaps?"
Not quite the usual catchphrase, but close enough.
Louise judged it almost to perfection with a call of 9.45am, and goes two points ahead of everyone else in this particular office challenge.
Friday, September 13, 2002
Thursday, September 12, 2002
The Friday Sweepstake
I have the pleasure of working with Julian, Tina and Mandy.
They are our accounts payable and accounts receivable team, and there is a Tina and a Mandy in every AP department in every company in the UK.
Imagine Patty and Selma from The Simpsons.
Julian is thirty going on fifty five. People mistake the photo on his desk of him and his girlfriend for a photo of him and his mum. That's because his girlfriend is old enough to be his mum. He even gives Aylesbury a bad name.
J, T & M's world revolves around The Mirror, BBC TV's Animal Hospital, Asda chicken kievs and the lowest common denominator.
A typical exchange would be:
"Why are you reading that Harry Potter book?" says Mandy to me. "It's for kids! You should read a proper book for adults... like Jackie Collins."
[Cock the imaginary pistol]
However, the daily chit-chat oftens throws up some real classics, and I will bring you these occasional Julianisms as and when they happen. For example:
We are discussing the Israeli - Palestinian conflict. There have been weeks of terrible bloodshed and atrocities against civilians on both sides. Tina's take on it all is "We should bang their 'eads together... that'd sort it."
Todays little gem is:
Julian received a direct mail Christmas catalog through the post this morning. He and Tina couldn't believe it had arrived so early in the year, and began discussing what the shops - Asda and Woolworths - would be full of over the next few months. "They'll be full of Christmas stuff, but before that they'll have Halloween and then Bonfire Night things for the kids..." remarks Tina.
Julain's response: "Yeah, you're right... they always market these big events towards the kids don't they. Halloween, Bonfire Night, Christmas...
and Ski Trips."
[Cock the imaginary shotgun.]
Tomorrow we shall play our regular Friday Morning Sweepstake game. We all guess at what time Julian will first ask someone his buzzword bingo catchphrase of "So what are your plans for the weekend then?"
Experience shows it will either be over our cooked breakfast, or between 11:00 and 11:30 am.
We sit praying that he won't ask us, as if you're the lucky individual who gets asked the question, it's damn hard to suppress the giggles. And you don't want to be spraying half-munched fried egg over the breakfast table.
It's not that he doesn't care what you're up to - he is genuinely interested most of the time. He just then uses it as a gateway to tell you - in graphic monotone detail for ten mind-numbing minutes - what he and mum are up to. I really don't need to know how many square-foot of retail space the Woolworths in MK (why the f*ck can't he call it Milton Keynes) has.
You'll have to email me before 9:00 am if you want a piece of the Sweepstake action.
I have the pleasure of working with Julian, Tina and Mandy.
They are our accounts payable and accounts receivable team, and there is a Tina and a Mandy in every AP department in every company in the UK.
Imagine Patty and Selma from The Simpsons.
Julian is thirty going on fifty five. People mistake the photo on his desk of him and his girlfriend for a photo of him and his mum. That's because his girlfriend is old enough to be his mum. He even gives Aylesbury a bad name.
J, T & M's world revolves around The Mirror, BBC TV's Animal Hospital, Asda chicken kievs and the lowest common denominator.
A typical exchange would be:
"Why are you reading that Harry Potter book?" says Mandy to me. "It's for kids! You should read a proper book for adults... like Jackie Collins."
[Cock the imaginary pistol]
However, the daily chit-chat oftens throws up some real classics, and I will bring you these occasional Julianisms as and when they happen. For example:
We are discussing the Israeli - Palestinian conflict. There have been weeks of terrible bloodshed and atrocities against civilians on both sides. Tina's take on it all is "We should bang their 'eads together... that'd sort it."
Todays little gem is:
Julian received a direct mail Christmas catalog through the post this morning. He and Tina couldn't believe it had arrived so early in the year, and began discussing what the shops - Asda and Woolworths - would be full of over the next few months. "They'll be full of Christmas stuff, but before that they'll have Halloween and then Bonfire Night things for the kids..." remarks Tina.
Julain's response: "Yeah, you're right... they always market these big events towards the kids don't they. Halloween, Bonfire Night, Christmas...
and Ski Trips."
[Cock the imaginary shotgun.]
Tomorrow we shall play our regular Friday Morning Sweepstake game. We all guess at what time Julian will first ask someone his buzzword bingo catchphrase of "So what are your plans for the weekend then?"
Experience shows it will either be over our cooked breakfast, or between 11:00 and 11:30 am.
We sit praying that he won't ask us, as if you're the lucky individual who gets asked the question, it's damn hard to suppress the giggles. And you don't want to be spraying half-munched fried egg over the breakfast table.
It's not that he doesn't care what you're up to - he is genuinely interested most of the time. He just then uses it as a gateway to tell you - in graphic monotone detail for ten mind-numbing minutes - what he and mum are up to. I really don't need to know how many square-foot of retail space the Woolworths in MK (why the f*ck can't he call it Milton Keynes) has.
You'll have to email me before 9:00 am if you want a piece of the Sweepstake action.
The New Pyjamas
This morning my wife accused me of loving my new pyjama trousers more than I love her *.
This accusation is of course wildly inaccurate: I love the PJ trousers marginally less than her.
For years - a whole sixteen in fact - I've been a naked sleeper. The freedom of movement, the feel of fresh cotton sheets or a nice soft duvet against one's atheletic body, the chance to kick off the covers and instantly cool off on a hot summer's night, all contribute to the "Support Nude Snoozing" cause. Pyjamas were dumped along with Clarks shoes during my teenage awakening years.
The only trouble with sleeping sans bed clothes is when you go visiting friends and family - or they visit you - and sleep over. Midnight encounters with the Loch Ness Monster on the way to the bathroom are to be avoided - especially when at the in-laws. Marks and Spencer pants ** are normally employed to protect my dignity.
But for the last couple of years I have become tired of wearing pants at bedtime. I have longed for a pair of cool and trendy PJ trousers. However, being a cheapskate of the highest order, I've been reluctant to purchase a pair at full High Street retail price, so have spent the last 12 months hunting through the bargain bins of "the sales", searching for the nightwear golden ticket.
The Holy Grail of Z Time was unearthed duing the summer's Next sale. Blue-checked, soft to the touch, airy, plenty of room for the Ikea Snake to roam unhindered. So comfortable and not "grandaddy" at all. They are fantastic!
I suppose it's a sign that I'm getting old, but I can't believe it's taken me so long to rediscover the simple pleasures of pyjama bottoms.
"I am sorry that you were forsaken for sixteen years..."
I love my new jimjams!
* In a soft and gentle joking way.
** But these are NEVER pistachio coloured: There is only one pair of The Legendary Pistachio Pants.
This morning my wife accused me of loving my new pyjama trousers more than I love her *.
This accusation is of course wildly inaccurate: I love the PJ trousers marginally less than her.
For years - a whole sixteen in fact - I've been a naked sleeper. The freedom of movement, the feel of fresh cotton sheets or a nice soft duvet against one's atheletic body, the chance to kick off the covers and instantly cool off on a hot summer's night, all contribute to the "Support Nude Snoozing" cause. Pyjamas were dumped along with Clarks shoes during my teenage awakening years.
The only trouble with sleeping sans bed clothes is when you go visiting friends and family - or they visit you - and sleep over. Midnight encounters with the Loch Ness Monster on the way to the bathroom are to be avoided - especially when at the in-laws. Marks and Spencer pants ** are normally employed to protect my dignity.
But for the last couple of years I have become tired of wearing pants at bedtime. I have longed for a pair of cool and trendy PJ trousers. However, being a cheapskate of the highest order, I've been reluctant to purchase a pair at full High Street retail price, so have spent the last 12 months hunting through the bargain bins of "the sales", searching for the nightwear golden ticket.
The Holy Grail of Z Time was unearthed duing the summer's Next sale. Blue-checked, soft to the touch, airy, plenty of room for the Ikea Snake to roam unhindered. So comfortable and not "grandaddy" at all. They are fantastic!
I suppose it's a sign that I'm getting old, but I can't believe it's taken me so long to rediscover the simple pleasures of pyjama bottoms.
"I am sorry that you were forsaken for sixteen years..."
I love my new jimjams!
* In a soft and gentle joking way.
** But these are NEVER pistachio coloured: There is only one pair of The Legendary Pistachio Pants.
Wednesday, September 11, 2002
The School Reunion
I had a school reunion last Saturday night.
It’s 20 years since my peers and I started secondary school (we missed the 1999 “10 years since leaving” slot).
You’re probably imagining a school hall decked out with balloons and a big banner heralding “Welcome back Old Tamensians 1982 – 89!” Perhaps a large bowl of punch with plastic cups, and paper plates piled high with sausage rolls and trifle. Perhaps the guy who was the real musician at school – he was always into Prince wasn’t he – made it as a professional in the real world and is on stage with his band, doing his Bill Murray in Groundhog Day bit: Bashing the keys like a maniac Stevie Wonder.
But you’ve watched too many American “High School” movies.
In reality, it was far more “low key”.
The back of the Abingdon Arms Public House, Thame, was the venue. The organisers had decided not to hire a private room, but use the barn to the rear of the pub – a separate function room, but still open to the general public – instead. Despite agreeing this in advance with the pub – and the manager promising extra bar staff to cope with the expected influx of a whole school year of thirtysomethings – it was discovered that the proprietors of the establishment had booked in three budding stand-ups for a “Comedy Night” in said barn.
A crisp ten pound note would earn you the right to watch these “comedians”, but why fork out from your pocket when you know that an evening with your chums – especially your French chums - will undoubtedly be more entertaining and funnier than three grafting students or Scousers.
No doubt we missed the next Jasper Carrot.
So the reunion actually took place at the back of the pub itself. On the journey up, I’d been grumbling that its was going to be rubbish, nobody would turn up, there would only be half a dozen peeps I knew there, what a waste of time, etc, etc…
When we arrived there were half a dozen people there.
By the end of the evening it had grown to a dozen. But a waste of time it was not: I managed to catch up with a couple of guys who I hadn’t seen since leaving school – one of whom was a good mate who joined the army and just dropped off the planet. A “just one drink and then we’ll go” attitude at the start of the evening turned into “let’s have another one and then go for a curry”. And despite the fact that it was a shame more didn’t make the effort to join us, those who turned up seemed to enjoy it.
Perhaps the absentees knew there wasn’t going to be any balloons. Kids love balloons *. Next time you have a reunion, get the balloons in.
* Aunties love willy-shaped balloons that they can use as Ikea Snake-like props in their drunken dancing and intimidation of nephews.
I had a school reunion last Saturday night.
It’s 20 years since my peers and I started secondary school (we missed the 1999 “10 years since leaving” slot).
You’re probably imagining a school hall decked out with balloons and a big banner heralding “Welcome back Old Tamensians 1982 – 89!” Perhaps a large bowl of punch with plastic cups, and paper plates piled high with sausage rolls and trifle. Perhaps the guy who was the real musician at school – he was always into Prince wasn’t he – made it as a professional in the real world and is on stage with his band, doing his Bill Murray in Groundhog Day bit: Bashing the keys like a maniac Stevie Wonder.
But you’ve watched too many American “High School” movies.
In reality, it was far more “low key”.
The back of the Abingdon Arms Public House, Thame, was the venue. The organisers had decided not to hire a private room, but use the barn to the rear of the pub – a separate function room, but still open to the general public – instead. Despite agreeing this in advance with the pub – and the manager promising extra bar staff to cope with the expected influx of a whole school year of thirtysomethings – it was discovered that the proprietors of the establishment had booked in three budding stand-ups for a “Comedy Night” in said barn.
A crisp ten pound note would earn you the right to watch these “comedians”, but why fork out from your pocket when you know that an evening with your chums – especially your French chums - will undoubtedly be more entertaining and funnier than three grafting students or Scousers.
No doubt we missed the next Jasper Carrot.
So the reunion actually took place at the back of the pub itself. On the journey up, I’d been grumbling that its was going to be rubbish, nobody would turn up, there would only be half a dozen peeps I knew there, what a waste of time, etc, etc…
When we arrived there were half a dozen people there.
By the end of the evening it had grown to a dozen. But a waste of time it was not: I managed to catch up with a couple of guys who I hadn’t seen since leaving school – one of whom was a good mate who joined the army and just dropped off the planet. A “just one drink and then we’ll go” attitude at the start of the evening turned into “let’s have another one and then go for a curry”. And despite the fact that it was a shame more didn’t make the effort to join us, those who turned up seemed to enjoy it.
Perhaps the absentees knew there wasn’t going to be any balloons. Kids love balloons *. Next time you have a reunion, get the balloons in.
* Aunties love willy-shaped balloons that they can use as Ikea Snake-like props in their drunken dancing and intimidation of nephews.
September 11, 2002, 11:10 am
A depressing and sombre time to begin my blog.
I'm waiting for 1.46 pm to arrive, and the two minutes of silence that it will bring.
One year on.
I can't decide if it feels longer or shorter than that.
For the families of the victims - and the survivors - it must feel like a life time.
The anniversary makes the title choice of this blog seem inappropriate and insincere.
Unfortunately our "Wonderful World" is bitter as well as sweet.
Today is bitter.
Let's hope tomorrow is sweeter.
A depressing and sombre time to begin my blog.
I'm waiting for 1.46 pm to arrive, and the two minutes of silence that it will bring.
One year on.
I can't decide if it feels longer or shorter than that.
For the families of the victims - and the survivors - it must feel like a life time.
The anniversary makes the title choice of this blog seem inappropriate and insincere.
Unfortunately our "Wonderful World" is bitter as well as sweet.
Today is bitter.
Let's hope tomorrow is sweeter.
