Warning: This is going to be a rant
I'm sure each and everyone of us has felt lonely at some point in our lives. And I am willing to bet, that most of you have felt lonely in a sea of people? You know what I mean? When you are surrounded by people everywhere, yet you feel unseen and unheard.
This happens to me sometimes. And I will admit, it's probably tied to the kind of mood I am in at the time. Normally, I am the kind of girl who will go into any room and start talking. In crowds of people, it's usually me that's trying to crack jokes, who is laughing and who is having conversations with various people. I can be loud and I can be giddy. I usually am. I am not afraid to meet new people and I am usually making a new friend every other day.
So, when the day comes that I am standing there, and people are milling around me but I am quiet and feel like going to stand in the corner, it can be quite disconcerting.
Today has been a funny kind of day. The day itself at the office was fine. I was quite busy and my general attitude to the job was positive. I didn't growl at too many people and was quite eager to help where I could and give a pep talk where it was needed. The weather was crap though. It has been a bit of a reality check after having almost 2 weeks of SUMMER in Manchester to wake up this morning to the grey and rain that is the bain of my life. By 10am this morning, my straightened hair was showing clear signs of waves, and by 2pm, curl melt-down had occurred. On top of that, I had managed to get my shoes soaked through and cringed with disgust every time I had to put them back on. However, it was the 'bad news' after 'bad news' that I got today that seriously put a damper on things.
First, it was a text from hubby letting me know that his work van had been broken into. A number of things had been taken, including a Satnav and his own personal CD's amongst other things. What made it worse for me was that his boss had blamed him and told him off about it. That is something I would never do. I am sure you would feel gutted enough as it is and not need someone to hold you accountable for something so totally out of your control.
Next though, was the email I got from my mom. Out of the blue she informs me that she has been in hospital for the last 4 days due to a very high sugar count and her diabetes has gone through the roof. The only reason she was admitted in the first place was because she had complained to the doctor about back ache. The back problem took a back seat the moment they checked her sugar levels and rushed her straight into hospital. I can understand why she didn't tell me when she was first admitted. Besides, there really isn't much I can do 5000 miles away, but I was still upset. Not only because she is clearly not well, but because I AM 5000 miles away and helpless.
I jumped on the phone after reading her email and called her. I needed to hear her voice and make sure she really was ok now. And aside from sounding very tired, I believe that as long as she sticks to the diet they gave her, and injects the insulin as she has been instructed, she will be ok. As for the back, well, it turned out to be something quite minor.
Yet I felt my mood drop right through the floor. Its been nearly 5 years since I have seen my parents. Sure, I talk to my mom often, and we chat on Facebook as you do, but I haven't seen her in almost 5 years. Each year we talk about going back to South Africa to see them, but that silly old issue with money keeps coming up. You won't believe how much it costs now-a-days for 4 people to fly return to Johannesburg. And then other, more affordable things come up - like trips to Greece, new car, citizenship, and trips out to the where-ever....and you think, next year. I will go to SA next year.
Shortly after my talk with my mom I got another email from a very good friend and she was asking me how I was. Of course, I told her about my mom, and the car and how sad I was at not having seen my mom or dad in so long and she pointed out a few obvious things I could do. Saving money being one obvious one, but she also asked why I don't just go by myself. If only just for a week, to spend some time with them. Admittedly, flight costs for me would be a lot cheaper, but I would feel selfish not taking the children with me and then there is hubby to think about too. So what to do? What to do?
This evening, I came home to find the CSI (yes, you read that correctly) parked outside my house, doing a thorough 'Crime Scene Investigation' on the work van. A little bit of action that would normally have had me giddy with excitement and I just ended up sitting on the couch bored with it all, looking at the take-away menu, wondering what to eat. I couldn't even decide on that.
Tonight, I went onto Twitter and after reading through a few tweets, marketing my new blog for contributors, felt totally lost and lonely. All these people, tweeting, chatting and what have you, and I may as well have been invisible, because that is how I felt. I spotted people there, who were tweeting, who I tweeted yesterday and who hadn't replied to me, so I felt ignored by them. My mood dropped even further, and the thought 'Lonely in a sea of people' came to mind.
So, here I am blogging about my feelings tonight and thinking to myself that the reader is probably thinking I need to get over myself. The reader would be right in saying that too, because I do need to get over myself. As I type this I am thinking exactly that. But, as I have said many times, there is nothing better, than writing my feelings down, for me to best express myself and get it all off my chest. I usually walk away feeling better for it anyway and that is perhaps the quickest way for me to get over myself. But every once in a while, we do have a down day don't we, and I personally think it's allowed.
So, if you ever feel like you are alone amongst hundreds of people, be it Facebook or Twitter or whatever other social media or situation you are in, you are not alone. There is probably always someone there who is just wishing someone would reach out to them and include them. As for me, I will most likely be back to my usual loud/happy self tomorrow but for tonight, I'd like very much to feel sorry for myself thank you very much.
Miss you mom and dad xxxxxxx
Bx
Thursday, 31 May 2012
Monday, 7 May 2012
Misunderstood
It wasn't as if this was new to him, people looking through him as if he
wasn't even there. The giggles he would hear coming from the young secretaries
when they did happen to notice him. Sneers on the faces of the jocks, as he
called them, and sometimes those very same men would punch and kick him when
they knew no one would be looking. A typical day would involve Sam burying his
head in paperwork or staring intently at his computer when he was at his desk,
or hurrying through the corridors at work, eyes downcast, feet moving at great
speed to get to where he needed to be.
Even at the lifts, nobody would ever hold the door open for him. No, he was much more inclined to see the doors slide shut as he hurried towards them, the occupant/s of the lift usually looking away, as if not wanting to see the defeatist look on his face as he tried, yet again unsuccessfully, to reach the lift in time.
This was a typical day in the life of a man who was tired, so very tired, of being misunderstood.
After the incident, nobody could quite say what was the snapping point? What was the ‘stressor’, if you happened to be listening to the FBI or ‘the straw that broke the camels back’, if it was the interview with his mother you were listening to. A lot of people had a lot of ideas, but nobody knew for sure. Only Sam knew and Sam wasn't saying.
The morning before it all happened started out like any other. Getting to work earlier than normal, Sam went to his desk and put down his bag. He was immediately concerned when he noticed that the pile of papers he had left on his desk had been moved. Furthermore, the hand-outs he had done, ready for the meeting at 9am this morning, were missing. After spending a few minutes going through ever single pile of paper on his desk, Sam realised that they were gone. Where the hand-outs had ended up, he could only guess, and he wondered if perhaps David had his hand in this, as David had been hanging around close to his desk yesterday evening when Sam had finally finished putting them all together. No matter, he thought, there were two things in his favour today. One - he was early in the office and two, the documents were all saved on his hard drive.
And so, Sam went about making another eight copies, printing and stapling them and had just finished the last one, when his co-workers started making their way into the office.
Sam peered up and looked at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes to nine it read. Desperate for a cup of coffee but not wanting to be caught out again, Sam put the newly printed hand-outs into his top desk drawer and made his way to the kitchen. Gretchen, his boss’s secretary was stood gossiping with Penny, the biggest gossip in the typing pool. When he came closer they both glanced up and looked at him. Gretchen rolled her eyes and Penny giggled, but neither one said a word while he hunted for his coffee mug. Sam felt his face begin to go red as he searched and searched, his coffee mug nowhere to be found. What made it worse was that neither Gretchen nor Penny spoke a word while he searched, but rather, just stared at him, irritation on their faces, as if they couldn't wait for him to get lost so they could continue talking, talking about him probably, he thought.
"You lost something loser boy?"
Sam peered out from behind the cupboard he was currently searching and saw David standing by the kitchen door, looking down at him.
"Erm, my coffee mug, I cannot find it."
"I am sure I saw the cleaner throw it out yesterday. She said something about it being the most disgusting mug she had ever seen" David replied, sneering and both Gretchen and Penny giggled.
Sam stood up. He knew at that moment that his coffee mug had probably been thrown out, but doubted very much it was the cleaner.
"Oh, OK, very well" he muttered and looked down at the floor.
"And don't even think about laying your prissy hands on any of my mugs" David said, moving towards Sam, the size of him enough to threaten, if not the fact that his body language was screaming that he would hit Sam at any minute.
Sam sidestepped David and made a hasty retreat out of the kitchen, but not quick enough so as not to hear all three of them laughing as he left. He pondered with the idea of going outside and getting a coffee from 'Cafe Nero' - a coffee shop just around the corner, but glancing at the clock again, realised that the meeting would begin in 2 minutes and that he had run out of time.
It wasn't unusual for Sam's boss to ask him to make coffee and tea for attendees of his meetings. Sam wondered why he didn't ask Gretchen, his secretary to do this, but normally, he would wave Sam over and instruct him to make a certain amount of cups of tea, and/or a certain amount of cups of coffee. Having made 5 cups of tea, 3 cups of coffee and having run downstairs and ordered a dozen croissants from a nearby bakery and depositing these on the table in the boardroom, Sam finally found himself back at his desk and opened up his email.
'Loser' was the title of an email in his inbox, sent at 5.43pm last night. Clicking it, Sam noticed the email body was empty, but there was an attachment with it. He double clicked this and finally saw what had happened to his hand-outs from the previous day. In the picture was a set of hands holding his print-outs. Sam was pretty sure it was Derek's hands - A guy who was so huge he appeared to be on steroids - that sat at the desk next to his, but Sam couldn't be sure. The person who was holding the print-outs was in the process of feeding them through the shredding machine. Sam looked over at the shredder and indeed, lying in the paper receptacle was his print-outs, shredded into a million coloured strips.
The sender of the email was 'Youre_a_loser@mail.com' but Sam knew that there was no point in reporting this. The guys at IT treated him just as bad, if not worse than most of his co-workers. He sighed, deleted the email and moved onto the next one, so beginning his work day.
By lunch time, Sam had got through a significant amount of work and decided to take the book he was currently reading with him to the coffee shop around the corner. He didn’t enjoy reading or eating at his desk, mostly because people would talk too loud, or tease him about the book he was reading or make fun of the sandwich his mom had prepared for him. At least at the coffee shop, he was almost guaranteed to get a good hour of relative peace while he read. He bent down to retrieve his book from his satchel but found his bag was missing. He heard a few titters around him. People who had obviously been waiting all morning for him to discover the theft and felt the heat rush to his face as he blushed. He looked to the left and the right of his desk. Gone.
His wallet was in the bag, his library card, and the keys to his home. He felt the edge of panic and looked around the office; unable to help the look of pleading he was sure was all over his face.
"What you looking for Sam?" Gretchen asked, looking up from her computer, a mock look of concern on her face.
"My bag, it’s gone!"
"Bags are for girls, Gay boy" Derek retorted getting up from his desk and grabbing his coat.
"I'm sure I heard David say that he saw a bag in the men's room earlier." Sarah volunteered from the other side of the office without looking up from her computer, a trace of a smile on her face.
He knew it was a trap. Of course it was a trap. But there was nothing that Sam could do. He desperately wanted to get it back, to know that he had all his things back again, to get his book and to escape from this wretched place and so, with trepidation, made his way to the men's room, the sound of sniggering and soft voices trailing behind him.
As always, the smell of stale urine assaulted his senses as the 'Men's Room' door swung closed behind him. There, in the urinal, soaked through with what was obviously pee, lay his satchel. David, Greg from the IT department and Derek were standing at the basin washing their hands.
"Is that your girlie bag lying in the piss?' asked David looking at Sam through the reflection in the mirror.
Sam moved forward to retrieve it, his nose screwing up at the smell, disgust washing over him as he touched it and felt it was soaking wet.
"If you want to be a man, you should get yourself a briefcase and stop with the girlie bags, gay boy' Derek said, smoothing his almost-there moustache and grinning at his own reflection in the mirror.
"Look, please leave me alone. I don't do anything to bother you." Sam said, feeling disgust at himself as he heard the pleading in his own voice.
Greg, moving quickly, was suddenly stood in front of him, blocking his escape route from the men's room.
"Are you going to take that ladies bag, all covered in piss with you?" Greg questioned him, the look of revulsion clear on his face.
"Please..." Sam heard himself beg
"You are a sick, messed up loser" Greg replied and pushed him hard.
Sam fell backwards, his back hitting the white tiled wall, but his feet slipped out from under him and he fell with a thud, landing in the urinal, the back of his pants immediately soaking through with piss and water.
David and Derek both laughed at him and shook their heads. Greg, as if enraged even further by this, kicked Sam's satchel, sending it flying across the room, into one of the toilet stalls.
"You piece of shit, you make me sick" He snarled, the look of loathing all over his face.
"Chill Greg, he isn’t worth it." Said David, still grinning and he held the door open, waiting for Greg to follow him and Derek out of the restroom.
Mortified, Sam got up and retrieved his bag. His body was shaking - From fear? From anger? - He thought it was probably both. The seat of his pants was wet through, the legs of his trousers wet in places and his satchel reeked of urine. He opened the bag and dug inside and found his book too was soaked through. Everything inside was wet and stank. He felt tears prick his eyes. He couldn't go back into the office now? Wet and smelling like this? He couldn't go to the coffee shop either, not now that his book was virtually unreadable. They had taken everything away from him. His print-outs, his coffee mug, his bag, his book, but most importantly, now his pride. Sam would put up with it no more.
Lifting his satchel up and throwing it over his shoulder, Sam wiped the one tear that had managed to escape and was making its way down his cheek. He stood up and squared his shoulders and with all the determination he could muster, Sam headed out the door and headed for the lift.
People waved their hands in front of their noses and some made gagging noises as he walked past, but he no longer noticed. Gretchen, on seeing Sam as he hurried past her, noticed he was wet from the waist down, wondered if he had pee'ed himself and for the first time, felt a small sense of disgust when she looked over at Derek and David, seeing them grinning and realised what had happened. She shook her head softly from side to side but continued typing.
The doors to the lift were closing as he neared the lift, but this time, Sam stuck his hand in the way and doors opened again. He stepped inside and not a sound was uttered by any of the 4 occupants as they travelled the 12 floors down. Even if someone had said something, it's doubtful that Sam would have heard, the buzzing in his ears was too loud, the anger too acute.
Sam didn't stop at Cafe Nero's that lunch time. No, for the first time since he had started working in the city, Sam hailed a cab and gave the driver the address to his home. He took no notice of the questioning look on the taxi driver’s face, nor did he notice when the driver rolled down his window to allow fresh air in the cab. When the taxi cab pulled to a stop outside the home that Sam shared with his mother, he asked the cab driver to wait and without waiting for a reply, or paying the driver, Sam fished in his bag for his key and entered his home.
Throwing his satchel to the ground and pulling his wet pants off, Sam threw them into the corner of the room. Next, Sam removed his underpants and his shirt. He walked over to the washing basket and dug out his old sweatpants and a t-shirt. Then, replacing his office shoes with loafers, he dug out a clean, dry bag from his cupboard. Finally, Sam headed over to his grandfathers safe. Long dead now, the safe was where his mother kept her father's things. His papers, the deed to the property they lived in, a few sentimental items and his gun with a few boxes of bullets. Sam packed the gun and all the bullets into the bag, swung it over his shoulder and headed out the door, back to the waiting taxi.
The taxi driver smiled to himself, pleased that his fare had bothered to change out of those reeking clothes and wasn't surprised when his passenger told him to head back to the office block he had picked him up from not 15 minutes earlier.
Standing, outside the building, Gretchen was almost hysterical with not knowing what was going on. There must have been 15 police cars and at least 4 ambulances all converged outside her office building and she was surrounded with weeping and bleeding people. She didn’t spot a single one of her co-workers and the news that was filtering through to her wasn’t good. A gunman, someone said they thought his name was Sam, had apparently gone into the building and began shooting everyone.
“I need to get inside, please!” she begged the tenth police officer that ran past her, but like all the others, this one only shook his head. “I’m terribly sorry ma’am, nobody is going in and only the injured and the dead are being brought out at this time.”
Somewhere deep inside of her, realisation finally hit and Gretchen fell down to the ground on her knees, screaming out in anguish, tearing at her hair and thanking God that she had left the office to run the errand that her boss had given her. She screamed and screamed, and even though there was no blood on her, paramedics ran over to her and swiftly loaded her into a waiting ambulance and sped away with the hysterical woman.
Even at the lifts, nobody would ever hold the door open for him. No, he was much more inclined to see the doors slide shut as he hurried towards them, the occupant/s of the lift usually looking away, as if not wanting to see the defeatist look on his face as he tried, yet again unsuccessfully, to reach the lift in time.
This was a typical day in the life of a man who was tired, so very tired, of being misunderstood.
After the incident, nobody could quite say what was the snapping point? What was the ‘stressor’, if you happened to be listening to the FBI or ‘the straw that broke the camels back’, if it was the interview with his mother you were listening to. A lot of people had a lot of ideas, but nobody knew for sure. Only Sam knew and Sam wasn't saying.
The morning before it all happened started out like any other. Getting to work earlier than normal, Sam went to his desk and put down his bag. He was immediately concerned when he noticed that the pile of papers he had left on his desk had been moved. Furthermore, the hand-outs he had done, ready for the meeting at 9am this morning, were missing. After spending a few minutes going through ever single pile of paper on his desk, Sam realised that they were gone. Where the hand-outs had ended up, he could only guess, and he wondered if perhaps David had his hand in this, as David had been hanging around close to his desk yesterday evening when Sam had finally finished putting them all together. No matter, he thought, there were two things in his favour today. One - he was early in the office and two, the documents were all saved on his hard drive.
And so, Sam went about making another eight copies, printing and stapling them and had just finished the last one, when his co-workers started making their way into the office.
Sam peered up and looked at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes to nine it read. Desperate for a cup of coffee but not wanting to be caught out again, Sam put the newly printed hand-outs into his top desk drawer and made his way to the kitchen. Gretchen, his boss’s secretary was stood gossiping with Penny, the biggest gossip in the typing pool. When he came closer they both glanced up and looked at him. Gretchen rolled her eyes and Penny giggled, but neither one said a word while he hunted for his coffee mug. Sam felt his face begin to go red as he searched and searched, his coffee mug nowhere to be found. What made it worse was that neither Gretchen nor Penny spoke a word while he searched, but rather, just stared at him, irritation on their faces, as if they couldn't wait for him to get lost so they could continue talking, talking about him probably, he thought.
"You lost something loser boy?"
Sam peered out from behind the cupboard he was currently searching and saw David standing by the kitchen door, looking down at him.
"Erm, my coffee mug, I cannot find it."
"I am sure I saw the cleaner throw it out yesterday. She said something about it being the most disgusting mug she had ever seen" David replied, sneering and both Gretchen and Penny giggled.
Sam stood up. He knew at that moment that his coffee mug had probably been thrown out, but doubted very much it was the cleaner.
"Oh, OK, very well" he muttered and looked down at the floor.
"And don't even think about laying your prissy hands on any of my mugs" David said, moving towards Sam, the size of him enough to threaten, if not the fact that his body language was screaming that he would hit Sam at any minute.
Sam sidestepped David and made a hasty retreat out of the kitchen, but not quick enough so as not to hear all three of them laughing as he left. He pondered with the idea of going outside and getting a coffee from 'Cafe Nero' - a coffee shop just around the corner, but glancing at the clock again, realised that the meeting would begin in 2 minutes and that he had run out of time.
It wasn't unusual for Sam's boss to ask him to make coffee and tea for attendees of his meetings. Sam wondered why he didn't ask Gretchen, his secretary to do this, but normally, he would wave Sam over and instruct him to make a certain amount of cups of tea, and/or a certain amount of cups of coffee. Having made 5 cups of tea, 3 cups of coffee and having run downstairs and ordered a dozen croissants from a nearby bakery and depositing these on the table in the boardroom, Sam finally found himself back at his desk and opened up his email.
'Loser' was the title of an email in his inbox, sent at 5.43pm last night. Clicking it, Sam noticed the email body was empty, but there was an attachment with it. He double clicked this and finally saw what had happened to his hand-outs from the previous day. In the picture was a set of hands holding his print-outs. Sam was pretty sure it was Derek's hands - A guy who was so huge he appeared to be on steroids - that sat at the desk next to his, but Sam couldn't be sure. The person who was holding the print-outs was in the process of feeding them through the shredding machine. Sam looked over at the shredder and indeed, lying in the paper receptacle was his print-outs, shredded into a million coloured strips.
The sender of the email was 'Youre_a_loser@mail.com' but Sam knew that there was no point in reporting this. The guys at IT treated him just as bad, if not worse than most of his co-workers. He sighed, deleted the email and moved onto the next one, so beginning his work day.
By lunch time, Sam had got through a significant amount of work and decided to take the book he was currently reading with him to the coffee shop around the corner. He didn’t enjoy reading or eating at his desk, mostly because people would talk too loud, or tease him about the book he was reading or make fun of the sandwich his mom had prepared for him. At least at the coffee shop, he was almost guaranteed to get a good hour of relative peace while he read. He bent down to retrieve his book from his satchel but found his bag was missing. He heard a few titters around him. People who had obviously been waiting all morning for him to discover the theft and felt the heat rush to his face as he blushed. He looked to the left and the right of his desk. Gone.
His wallet was in the bag, his library card, and the keys to his home. He felt the edge of panic and looked around the office; unable to help the look of pleading he was sure was all over his face.
"What you looking for Sam?" Gretchen asked, looking up from her computer, a mock look of concern on her face.
"My bag, it’s gone!"
"Bags are for girls, Gay boy" Derek retorted getting up from his desk and grabbing his coat.
"I'm sure I heard David say that he saw a bag in the men's room earlier." Sarah volunteered from the other side of the office without looking up from her computer, a trace of a smile on her face.
He knew it was a trap. Of course it was a trap. But there was nothing that Sam could do. He desperately wanted to get it back, to know that he had all his things back again, to get his book and to escape from this wretched place and so, with trepidation, made his way to the men's room, the sound of sniggering and soft voices trailing behind him.
As always, the smell of stale urine assaulted his senses as the 'Men's Room' door swung closed behind him. There, in the urinal, soaked through with what was obviously pee, lay his satchel. David, Greg from the IT department and Derek were standing at the basin washing their hands.
"Is that your girlie bag lying in the piss?' asked David looking at Sam through the reflection in the mirror.
Sam moved forward to retrieve it, his nose screwing up at the smell, disgust washing over him as he touched it and felt it was soaking wet.
"If you want to be a man, you should get yourself a briefcase and stop with the girlie bags, gay boy' Derek said, smoothing his almost-there moustache and grinning at his own reflection in the mirror.
"Look, please leave me alone. I don't do anything to bother you." Sam said, feeling disgust at himself as he heard the pleading in his own voice.
Greg, moving quickly, was suddenly stood in front of him, blocking his escape route from the men's room.
"Are you going to take that ladies bag, all covered in piss with you?" Greg questioned him, the look of revulsion clear on his face.
"Please..." Sam heard himself beg
"You are a sick, messed up loser" Greg replied and pushed him hard.
Sam fell backwards, his back hitting the white tiled wall, but his feet slipped out from under him and he fell with a thud, landing in the urinal, the back of his pants immediately soaking through with piss and water.
David and Derek both laughed at him and shook their heads. Greg, as if enraged even further by this, kicked Sam's satchel, sending it flying across the room, into one of the toilet stalls.
"You piece of shit, you make me sick" He snarled, the look of loathing all over his face.
"Chill Greg, he isn’t worth it." Said David, still grinning and he held the door open, waiting for Greg to follow him and Derek out of the restroom.
Mortified, Sam got up and retrieved his bag. His body was shaking - From fear? From anger? - He thought it was probably both. The seat of his pants was wet through, the legs of his trousers wet in places and his satchel reeked of urine. He opened the bag and dug inside and found his book too was soaked through. Everything inside was wet and stank. He felt tears prick his eyes. He couldn't go back into the office now? Wet and smelling like this? He couldn't go to the coffee shop either, not now that his book was virtually unreadable. They had taken everything away from him. His print-outs, his coffee mug, his bag, his book, but most importantly, now his pride. Sam would put up with it no more.
Lifting his satchel up and throwing it over his shoulder, Sam wiped the one tear that had managed to escape and was making its way down his cheek. He stood up and squared his shoulders and with all the determination he could muster, Sam headed out the door and headed for the lift.
People waved their hands in front of their noses and some made gagging noises as he walked past, but he no longer noticed. Gretchen, on seeing Sam as he hurried past her, noticed he was wet from the waist down, wondered if he had pee'ed himself and for the first time, felt a small sense of disgust when she looked over at Derek and David, seeing them grinning and realised what had happened. She shook her head softly from side to side but continued typing.
The doors to the lift were closing as he neared the lift, but this time, Sam stuck his hand in the way and doors opened again. He stepped inside and not a sound was uttered by any of the 4 occupants as they travelled the 12 floors down. Even if someone had said something, it's doubtful that Sam would have heard, the buzzing in his ears was too loud, the anger too acute.
Sam didn't stop at Cafe Nero's that lunch time. No, for the first time since he had started working in the city, Sam hailed a cab and gave the driver the address to his home. He took no notice of the questioning look on the taxi driver’s face, nor did he notice when the driver rolled down his window to allow fresh air in the cab. When the taxi cab pulled to a stop outside the home that Sam shared with his mother, he asked the cab driver to wait and without waiting for a reply, or paying the driver, Sam fished in his bag for his key and entered his home.
Throwing his satchel to the ground and pulling his wet pants off, Sam threw them into the corner of the room. Next, Sam removed his underpants and his shirt. He walked over to the washing basket and dug out his old sweatpants and a t-shirt. Then, replacing his office shoes with loafers, he dug out a clean, dry bag from his cupboard. Finally, Sam headed over to his grandfathers safe. Long dead now, the safe was where his mother kept her father's things. His papers, the deed to the property they lived in, a few sentimental items and his gun with a few boxes of bullets. Sam packed the gun and all the bullets into the bag, swung it over his shoulder and headed out the door, back to the waiting taxi.
The taxi driver smiled to himself, pleased that his fare had bothered to change out of those reeking clothes and wasn't surprised when his passenger told him to head back to the office block he had picked him up from not 15 minutes earlier.
********
Standing, outside the building, Gretchen was almost hysterical with not knowing what was going on. There must have been 15 police cars and at least 4 ambulances all converged outside her office building and she was surrounded with weeping and bleeding people. She didn’t spot a single one of her co-workers and the news that was filtering through to her wasn’t good. A gunman, someone said they thought his name was Sam, had apparently gone into the building and began shooting everyone.
“I need to get inside, please!” she begged the tenth police officer that ran past her, but like all the others, this one only shook his head. “I’m terribly sorry ma’am, nobody is going in and only the injured and the dead are being brought out at this time.”
Somewhere deep inside of her, realisation finally hit and Gretchen fell down to the ground on her knees, screaming out in anguish, tearing at her hair and thanking God that she had left the office to run the errand that her boss had given her. She screamed and screamed, and even though there was no blood on her, paramedics ran over to her and swiftly loaded her into a waiting ambulance and sped away with the hysterical woman.
Friday, 27 April 2012
A Day in the Life of an Author - Guest blog by Jane Isaac
I am honoured and very excited to present this guest blog by the incredibly talented Jane Isaac, author of 'An Unfamiliar Murder'. A novel I urge you to buy if you enjoy exciting thrillers that leave you guessing until the last page. She has posted her website url so please be sure you visit and if you are so inclined leave a comment on her blog. Thank you Jane for allowing me to feature you here.
First, I would like to
thank the wonderfully talented Bernadette Davies for inviting me to grace her
blog presence. I have been a huge plan of her blog, stories and poetry forever,
and feel honoured and humbled to accept the invitation.
A Day in the Life of an
Author
I can still feel the bounce
in my stomach the day I received the email offering me a contract for my debut novel,
An Unfamiliar Murder. I still pinch myself to believe that it is all true. I’d
dreamed of the day I would get published, the day I would see my book on the
shelf in Waterstones, receive feedback, reviews, do book signings...
Book promotion is an ongoing
basis and something I’ve had to fit into my already hectic daily schedule. Once
I’ve bundled my daughter off to school in the mornings I spend half an hour on
the computer dealing with emails, answering messages, tweets etc. Then it’s off
to the day job for me. (Like many new writers I squeeze my writing into my
marginal time.) I usually return around three and run around the field with my
incredibly naughty, but wonderfully lovable Labrador, Bollo. Then, back onto
the PC to catch up again with social media, whilst welcoming my daughter in
from school and cooking the dinner, occasionally to disastrous results (luckily
my guys are very easy going)!
The evening time is when I
start to think about the real love of my life: my fiction. A few evenings a
week, around 8pm, I sit at the PC for an hour or two, gather my thoughts, and
spend some time either researching, editing, or writing a new stretch. I don’t
give myself a daily word count – if I manage 1000 words it’s a bonus – but
prefer to write in scenes. Depending on their complexity I can research for
hours, days, sometimes weeks before I am ready to get the words on the page.
For me, one of the most
interesting elements of novel writing is research and it’s incredible what
direction that can take. Most recently, I had a meeting with a former Murder
Detective, watched several episodes of Top Gear, and listened to rap music on
YouTube; all in pursuit of my goal!
It may seem that I don’t
have much time to write, but my characters are never far from my mind and often
in the supermarket queue, or by the pool during my daughter’s swim class, I’m
jotting down notes that will later form some prose in my next novel, the sequel
to An Unfamiliar Murder.
One of the wonderful things
about becoming an author and sharing your work are the lovely messages you receive
from readers through Face book, email, Twitter, telling you how much they
enjoyed your book. They still both surprise and thrill me, and I’m so touched
that people have taken the time to get in touch that I like to respond to them
all individually.
The day my books landed in
Waterstones, Kettering was a very exciting moment for me. Seeing my book sit on
the shelf above one of my favourite crime authors, Peter James, is still an exhilarating
moment, every time I visit the store. I have my first book signing there on the
26th May and am really looking forward to it.
Jane Isaac’s debut novel,
An Unfamiliar Murder, was published by Rainstorm Press in February 2012. You
can learn more about Jane, read her blog and an excerpt from her novel on her
website at www.janeisaac.co.uk
Saturday, 14 April 2012
Flash Fiction - Once Upon A Time Writing Contest - The tooth is out there
I did this once before and wanted to give it another bash. Anne Meade and Susi Holliday are hosting another flash fiction competition here: Once Upon a Time Writing Contest so here is my entry at 349 words. I hope you enjoy.
The tooth is out there
Rachel smiled to herself as she watched Matthew descend from
the stairs, who was grinning to himself as if he had just completed a very
serious mission.
The tooth is out there
‘So what you do, is put your tooth in your slipper, and
leave it for the tooth fairy to come take away in the night’ Rachel explained
to Matthew who had just lost his first milk tooth and was jumping up and down
with excitement at the prospect of earning his first 20p.
Matthew ran upstairs and proudly put the tooth in the
slipper as his mum had instructed. Then,
slipping the slipper under his bed, he made sure that Rex the dog wouldn’t steal
it before the tooth fairy had a chance to collect and leave his little money
treasure.
Rachel smiled to herself as she watched Matthew descend from
the stairs, who was grinning to himself as if he had just completed a very
serious mission.
‘Now remember Matthew, the tooth fairy wont come if you are
not sleeping.’ She made sure he understood, for she knew that with all this excitement
it would be hours before he finally fell asleep.
‘I think I will go to bed early tonight Mommy’ Matthew said ‘can
I have my bath now?’
‘Of course’ Rachel smiled and they both headed upstairs.
At 7.30am the next morning, Rachel’s alarm clock went off
and rolling over, she nudged Peter. ‘Did you remember to put 20p in Matthew’s
slipper last night before you came to bed?’
‘No,’ Peter replied, ‘I thought you were doing it?’
‘Oh no!’ Rachel exclaimed and jumped out of bed hoping that
with any luck he would still be sleeping.
Tiptoeing towards Matthew’s bedroom Rachel could hear him talking to himself. Dread washed over her as she realised how disappointed he would be thinking that the tooth fairy had not remembered him.
Tiptoeing towards Matthew’s bedroom Rachel could hear him talking to himself. Dread washed over her as she realised how disappointed he would be thinking that the tooth fairy had not remembered him.
Slowly she opened the door and peered inside.
Matthew was sat giggling on the bed, happily counting out
his money. Looking up and seeing Rachel he exclaimed ‘Look how much money I got
Mommy!’ and he held up what seemed to amount to £1 worth of change to her.
Puzzled, Rachel opened the door all the way so Peter could
also see and asked ‘Are you sure?’
Thursday, 5 April 2012
Streaking light
So my good friend Cory Eadson and I have recently started setting each other challenges. I'm not sure if this is in poetry only, though I feel we should include short stories in this (hint hint Cory) where we give each other a topic and need to write something on it. I challenged him first - told him to do something warm and fuzzy and he met the challenge with this: I Love You which I am sure you will have to admit is brilliant! He in turn, told me to do something on 'Meteor Shower', and here it is
Streaking Light
Flashing over, blinking light
Streaking through the empty night
From where you come or where you go
I can truly say I do not know
A hint of promise, a hint of fate
it leaves me breathless, but yet I wait
to wish upon a shooting star
and find the perfect one by far.
And as the lights streak through the sky
I touch my face and dry my eye
and dream that I will feel the power
of hope that's promised by a meteor shower.
~~Bernadette~~
05/04/2012
Streaking Light
Flashing over, blinking light
Streaking through the empty night
From where you come or where you go
I can truly say I do not know
A hint of promise, a hint of fate
it leaves me breathless, but yet I wait
to wish upon a shooting star
and find the perfect one by far.
And as the lights streak through the sky
I touch my face and dry my eye
and dream that I will feel the power
of hope that's promised by a meteor shower.
~~Bernadette~~
05/04/2012
Saturday, 31 March 2012
King of the street
A few months back, I'd guess about 8 or so months though I would have to check Facebook comments to work out exactly when, a cat came running down the road towards my house and up to me as if he was my long last child. He meowed and purred and rubbed himself against my leg and although I had never seen this cat before in my life, he acted as if he was returning home after a long journey and was immensely happy to see me. I like that in a cat. Actually I like that in people too, but then I don't expect them to meow and purr and rub themselves up against me, but anyone who would treat me as if they were truly happy to see me like that would certainly get my undying attention.I fussed a little over the cat and fully expected him to turn around and continue on his journey. The only way he was headed though apparently, was into my house and he never left. Of course, I found it all rather amusing, but stressed to my family not to get attached because after a quick check I found out he was a male and explained that male cats wonder and that he would soon be off on his merry way again. That was 8 months ago.
We couldn't keep calling him cat though, and if I remember, the first name we came up with was Tigger. This only lasted for a day or so, because upon further investigation, we all discovered that this cat not only had a personality that was larger than life, he had a pair of balls that any cat would be proud to own. I don't mean to be crude but when I say he had a pair of balls on him, I am not kidding. They were impressive! His larger than life personality was only eclipsed by his larger than what could possibly be considered normal balls. And so, Tigger was no longer and he was proudly named Mr Balls.
Although Mr Balls called our house home, and it was the place he would come to get his meals, sit on someones lap and harass the dog and other cat in this house, he was most happy out on the street, strutting his stuff and I'm sure setting all the female cats in the neighbourhood's hearts a-flutter. His latest trick would be to wait by the window in the lounge when I get ready for work and as soon as I pick up my handbag, would accompany me to the front door and promptly run up and down the street following me to the bus stop, showing off all the way and then going on his merry social way. He is not the kind of cat you keep indoors. He has absolutely no interest in that. Sometimes though, the rain would get the better of him, and he would stand on the threshold of the door, looking out at the rain, tail poker stiff up in the air and then, as if sighing to himself, would turn around and go back into the house. You could almost see him sulking.
We have a Staffordshire Bull Terrier as well as another mongrel cat in this house too and you would think that Roxy (the staffy) would show Mr Balls who is boss? Roxy didn't stand a chance. Mr Balls owed her. Like she did with Sammy the silent cat and me and hubby and the kids. He has each one of us now purring and rubbing ourselves up against him because not only is he King of the Street, he is also King of this House.
Tonight, however, I look over at Mr Balls, lying on his pillow that we laid out for him earlier (he normally sleeps on my bed) and watch as he just lays there. Unable to eat, unable to drink water, just lying there. All the life and soul that is Mr Balls is gone because last night, he got hit by a car.
I don't know what happened. I didn't see anything. I didn't even notice when he came back into the house. Nor did I notice this morning when I walked past him just lying at the top of the landing not moving. It was only when Pete looked into his face as he was going up the stairs that anyone noticed anything was wrong.
There was blood all over his face. He was breathing funny and Mr Balls was quiet. Mr Balls wasn't chasing the cat or the dog. He was just lying there. Panic set in as I thought all kinds of worst case scenarios, and although I knew I had to get him to the vet, I was petrified of picking him up in case I hurt him. I had no idea what had happened or how badly hurt he was.
At the vet it was revealed that he had been hit by a car in his face. I imagine it must have been a sideways swipe as a car drove past? His claws are badly scuffed and his bottom jaw is cracked open right down the middle. He has lost a few teeth on that side of his jaw and some had been embedded into his jaw by the impact. These all needed to be removed. The side of his face is badly swollen, as if he has mumps and right now, there is wire threaded through his jaw and jutting out the bottom of his little face keeping it all together. But, as if this isn't bad enough, the vet managed to talk us into getting him castrated as well. 'You will end up saving a lot of money in the long run' he told us, trying to convince us that this would calm him down, keep him at home, stop his gallivanting ways.
I'll have you know, I did protest. Mr Balls was named that for a reason! Taking away his jewels would be like taking away his identity. Or so I felt. The vet assured me that he would still have the same personality and I don't doubt he will have most of it. But I cannot imagine him being alpha male any more. I see him becoming a fat cat, sitting on the sofa watching the world go by through the lounge window, and I think, if Mr Balls could speak, he would probably say that thought would depress the shit out of him. But, the vet is probably right and he will probably be in less danger this way and this is why we gave the nod.
Now, Mr Balls is actually Mr No Balls. Looking over at him, lying there on that pillow, his eyes closed and appearing so miserable I can only feel incredibly sad for him. When the anaesthetic wears off properly and the jaw mends, is he going to sit there and wonder what happened to his prize bollocks? Or is he not even going to notice and simply settle down to a quieter, safer, more homely life? At the same time, I am incredibly glad that he is lying there quietly as the alternative would have been awful. I would much rather have him sat here getting fat than being buried in the ground. I am not sure he will see things that way though?
Time will tell.
Get well soon Ballsy....You are still Mr Balls to me, with or without them
Bx
Saturday, 24 March 2012
I should not be allowed out. Ever
The last few days of this week at work have being rather hectic. Things were just flying at me from all directions and I found myself slowly falling into that rut where I pick up paper to put it down to pick up another piece of paper to put it down and everything remains only half done. So, getting myself into a little bit of a tizzy, and taking far too many cig breaks, I declared it a fabulous idea to go out for a few drinks after work. Just a few mind you, because I know what happens on these 'after work drinks' nights out if I have too many glasses of wine, and besides, I have a reputation to uphold. Or so I would like to believe.
So, at 5 on the dot, a few of my work colleagues and myself ventured out to the pub just around the corner and I ordered myself a tall glass of white house wine. I knew it was a mistake even before I ordered it, but the idea of just sitting back, relaxing, and chilling out with work mates was far too tempting, and white wine, in my experience, is the fastest way of getting there. It really doesn't matter the shape or colour it comes in.
By the end of the second large glass, I was ready to hit the Manchester social scene HARD, and so at my insistence, we left the pub we were at and went to another. I felt seriously tipsy, probably more like 'somewhat drunk' but not so much that I didn't realise that it was time to quit the wine and go back to old trusty Soco (Southern Comfort) and coke. Even though I was seriously adoring the taste of the wine (any wine) by that stage, Soco is my 'safe' alcoholic drink. Don't ask me why, but I can drink that all night long and stay sober. Its great if you want to impress someone with your drinking ability, but sucks if you are in a 'dancing on the tables' kind of mood. We weren't ordering them one at a time either. No way, the place was so busy and the bar 5 people deep that we had to stock up! One, sadly ended up on my lap (not my fault!) as it was placed on the table but as we were all so happy, everyone was only too happy to share.
For some reason new people started joining our party. I do not quite know how this came about, but hey, everyone is friendly when they are drinking right? And I was talking to anyone who even looked in my direction. I have to add that it wasn't just me, one of my colleagues must have thought he was in some sort of popularity contest with me and was definitely turning on the charm to all and sundry and the conversations were following and introductions were being made thick and fast. I met a couple who were up in Manchester just for the weekend from Newquay. They did explain why they were here, but I forget now and I suddenly took it upon myself to insist that we show them a little bit more of the Manchester night-life scene(as you do). I suggested Deansgate and everyone thought it was a brilliant idea and off we toddled.
Deansgate wasn't as busy as I thought it would be. Perhaps it was the wrong side of payday I do not know, but we went into a pub where the service at the bar was instantaneous and we chatted to this Newquay couple like we had known them forever. Around about this time, the effects of the wine was starting to dwindle and I found myself starting to wonder who these people were and perhaps I should think about heading home? Of course, everyone else was not quite on the same 'going home or back to the hotel' station that I was and I certainly didn't want to seem like a party pooper, especially not after I told them we would show them a few excellent places and the one we were at was rather boring.
Next thing, one of my work mate's phone rings and he announces that he has friends over at the Northern Quarter and we should go there. What a brilliant idea I agree and practically drag everyone out of the bar.
We walked all the way back to the Northern Quarter, I, who had sobered up quite a bit by now, was directing the way and probably acting a little too much like a mother hen. We were approaching a bar called Bluu just outside the Northern Quarter when it happened.
I crossed over the street and called back to them to follow. It was, I believe, when I looked back to see where they were that my foot slipped down the side of the pavement and wham! Please keep in mind that this is about 5 steps outside the door of Bluu (which is one of my favourite places to go for drinks) and there must have been hundreds of people hanging around outside.
Mortified.
I didn't go down gracefully. Oh no, I went down knees and face first. My bag went flying and it was almost like, for a split second, everything just went black. Naturally, I jumped right back up again, or tried to, except that around 10 people surrounded me asking me if I was OK, picking up my bag for me, trying to help me up. I truly saw concern and not scorn in their faces, or so I would like to believe, but I put on my biggest smile and said, Oh yes, I'm fine, absolutely fine, don't worry about me. (as you do)
Mortified.
I gathered my things up in supersonic speed and proceeded to make my way to the door where the bouncer just shook his head and said 'No, sorry' and looked at me.
Oh My God. He thinks I'm so drunk i'm falling over! is what I automatically thought and of course he did! Who wouldn't? Everyone in my party went in regardless and left me standing at the door. Charming eh?
Mortified!
'It's ok' I said, 'I understand' and proceeded to pull up my pants leg and check out the damage. It was messy. The knee of my leggings had a big fat baggy hole in it and I had grazed open half of my knee cap. The other knee took a battering too, but not as horrific looking as the first one.
'Oh shit' I said, 'This isn't good.' and I looked up at the bouncer.
He pointed to my chin and said, 'It seems you may have bruised your face too' My face did hurt a little, but not so much that it should be bruised over already?? I asked where and he pointed and I started to rub at it.
'Oh no, its only dirt' he proclaimed and I rubbed harder to get my face clean.
MORTIFIED
I stood around for a few more minutes. By now, actually chatting a little to the bouncer who wouldn't let me in, but I had this awful need to clear my name! 'I'm not pissed, honest I'm not' I told him and looked up at him again with pleading eyes, just begging to be believed. Whether he did or didn't I will never know for sure I guess, but he eventually nodded and said, 'OK, yeah, you don't appear to be drunk.'
'Great! Can I go in then?' I asked, but he shook his head again and said that it was policy and he couldn't let me in if I had fallen over in front of the bar. Policy my arse!
But I was going to retain just a little dignity and smiled and said that it was ok, I understood. I really didn't need to go in that badly, and prepared myself to wait until my friends came out at which time I would inform them that I was going home.
I didn't have to wait too much longer. My even drunker-by-now friends came out and one of my colleagues suddenly felt the need to defend me to the doorman. He started shouting abuse about the fact that they wouldn't let me in and the inevitable name calling began. Was I mortified by this? Nope. Nothing could top my earlier face-plant and I just told him to knock it off. It wasn't necessary and we were leaving anyway. The bouncer turned out to be even worse than my work colleague and was actually goading him. I agree with my work mate. He was a dick!
The night however, wasn't quite over yet. We headed opposite the road where the one whose friend had called on the phone earlier was apparently hanging out and so more people were added to our merry party. I tried, but the party spirit had more or less departed from my soul for the night and I knew I had to make my excuses and find a bus. Quickly! Ten or fifteen minutes later I did just that.
This morning I woke up - the hangover was more or less non-existent which was certainly a bonus considering I couldn't bend my damn knees! Hubby was downstairs so I made my way there, slowly, and proudly presented my shredded knees. I knew he would think exactly what the bouncer and everyone else had thought, and he did, so I found myself trying to defend myself all over again, until I realised it really didn't matter. It really didn't.
Why should I never be allowed out? Simple, I am an accident waiting to happen. You may remember me blogging a few months ago of an escapade in London which was a client's Christmas party where I managed to get my finger trapped in a door to the extent that it exploded and I spent most of the night in an A&E. I promise you never a dull moment when you are out with me. It may be blood filled and we may need to call an ambulance, but it will be interesting. The problem is, I really don't want to be that person. Who would? Last night was certainly not in the same calibre as the finger episode, (I've still not fully recovered the use of my finger yet) but it's yet another incident that will be discussed (at length I'm sure) in the office for the next few days and I will just have to grin and bear it.
The problem is, I probably will never change. I do like to go out and let my hair down every now and then. It's not something I do often, but when I do, I do tend to do a proper job of it. And I am also not ready to be that person who always goes home and doesn't join in. The problem, I truly believe, is the wine. :)
I'll leave it there now. Hope I brought a smile to your face.
Bx
So, at 5 on the dot, a few of my work colleagues and myself ventured out to the pub just around the corner and I ordered myself a tall glass of white house wine. I knew it was a mistake even before I ordered it, but the idea of just sitting back, relaxing, and chilling out with work mates was far too tempting, and white wine, in my experience, is the fastest way of getting there. It really doesn't matter the shape or colour it comes in.
By the end of the second large glass, I was ready to hit the Manchester social scene HARD, and so at my insistence, we left the pub we were at and went to another. I felt seriously tipsy, probably more like 'somewhat drunk' but not so much that I didn't realise that it was time to quit the wine and go back to old trusty Soco (Southern Comfort) and coke. Even though I was seriously adoring the taste of the wine (any wine) by that stage, Soco is my 'safe' alcoholic drink. Don't ask me why, but I can drink that all night long and stay sober. Its great if you want to impress someone with your drinking ability, but sucks if you are in a 'dancing on the tables' kind of mood. We weren't ordering them one at a time either. No way, the place was so busy and the bar 5 people deep that we had to stock up! One, sadly ended up on my lap (not my fault!) as it was placed on the table but as we were all so happy, everyone was only too happy to share.
For some reason new people started joining our party. I do not quite know how this came about, but hey, everyone is friendly when they are drinking right? And I was talking to anyone who even looked in my direction. I have to add that it wasn't just me, one of my colleagues must have thought he was in some sort of popularity contest with me and was definitely turning on the charm to all and sundry and the conversations were following and introductions were being made thick and fast. I met a couple who were up in Manchester just for the weekend from Newquay. They did explain why they were here, but I forget now and I suddenly took it upon myself to insist that we show them a little bit more of the Manchester night-life scene(as you do). I suggested Deansgate and everyone thought it was a brilliant idea and off we toddled.
Deansgate wasn't as busy as I thought it would be. Perhaps it was the wrong side of payday I do not know, but we went into a pub where the service at the bar was instantaneous and we chatted to this Newquay couple like we had known them forever. Around about this time, the effects of the wine was starting to dwindle and I found myself starting to wonder who these people were and perhaps I should think about heading home? Of course, everyone else was not quite on the same 'going home or back to the hotel' station that I was and I certainly didn't want to seem like a party pooper, especially not after I told them we would show them a few excellent places and the one we were at was rather boring.
Next thing, one of my work mate's phone rings and he announces that he has friends over at the Northern Quarter and we should go there. What a brilliant idea I agree and practically drag everyone out of the bar.
We walked all the way back to the Northern Quarter, I, who had sobered up quite a bit by now, was directing the way and probably acting a little too much like a mother hen. We were approaching a bar called Bluu just outside the Northern Quarter when it happened.
I crossed over the street and called back to them to follow. It was, I believe, when I looked back to see where they were that my foot slipped down the side of the pavement and wham! Please keep in mind that this is about 5 steps outside the door of Bluu (which is one of my favourite places to go for drinks) and there must have been hundreds of people hanging around outside.
Mortified.
I didn't go down gracefully. Oh no, I went down knees and face first. My bag went flying and it was almost like, for a split second, everything just went black. Naturally, I jumped right back up again, or tried to, except that around 10 people surrounded me asking me if I was OK, picking up my bag for me, trying to help me up. I truly saw concern and not scorn in their faces, or so I would like to believe, but I put on my biggest smile and said, Oh yes, I'm fine, absolutely fine, don't worry about me. (as you do)
Mortified.
I gathered my things up in supersonic speed and proceeded to make my way to the door where the bouncer just shook his head and said 'No, sorry' and looked at me.
Oh My God. He thinks I'm so drunk i'm falling over! is what I automatically thought and of course he did! Who wouldn't? Everyone in my party went in regardless and left me standing at the door. Charming eh?
Mortified!
'It's ok' I said, 'I understand' and proceeded to pull up my pants leg and check out the damage. It was messy. The knee of my leggings had a big fat baggy hole in it and I had grazed open half of my knee cap. The other knee took a battering too, but not as horrific looking as the first one.
'Oh shit' I said, 'This isn't good.' and I looked up at the bouncer.
He pointed to my chin and said, 'It seems you may have bruised your face too' My face did hurt a little, but not so much that it should be bruised over already?? I asked where and he pointed and I started to rub at it.
'Oh no, its only dirt' he proclaimed and I rubbed harder to get my face clean.
MORTIFIED
I stood around for a few more minutes. By now, actually chatting a little to the bouncer who wouldn't let me in, but I had this awful need to clear my name! 'I'm not pissed, honest I'm not' I told him and looked up at him again with pleading eyes, just begging to be believed. Whether he did or didn't I will never know for sure I guess, but he eventually nodded and said, 'OK, yeah, you don't appear to be drunk.'
'Great! Can I go in then?' I asked, but he shook his head again and said that it was policy and he couldn't let me in if I had fallen over in front of the bar. Policy my arse!
But I was going to retain just a little dignity and smiled and said that it was ok, I understood. I really didn't need to go in that badly, and prepared myself to wait until my friends came out at which time I would inform them that I was going home.
I didn't have to wait too much longer. My even drunker-by-now friends came out and one of my colleagues suddenly felt the need to defend me to the doorman. He started shouting abuse about the fact that they wouldn't let me in and the inevitable name calling began. Was I mortified by this? Nope. Nothing could top my earlier face-plant and I just told him to knock it off. It wasn't necessary and we were leaving anyway. The bouncer turned out to be even worse than my work colleague and was actually goading him. I agree with my work mate. He was a dick!
The night however, wasn't quite over yet. We headed opposite the road where the one whose friend had called on the phone earlier was apparently hanging out and so more people were added to our merry party. I tried, but the party spirit had more or less departed from my soul for the night and I knew I had to make my excuses and find a bus. Quickly! Ten or fifteen minutes later I did just that.
This morning I woke up - the hangover was more or less non-existent which was certainly a bonus considering I couldn't bend my damn knees! Hubby was downstairs so I made my way there, slowly, and proudly presented my shredded knees. I knew he would think exactly what the bouncer and everyone else had thought, and he did, so I found myself trying to defend myself all over again, until I realised it really didn't matter. It really didn't.
Why should I never be allowed out? Simple, I am an accident waiting to happen. You may remember me blogging a few months ago of an escapade in London which was a client's Christmas party where I managed to get my finger trapped in a door to the extent that it exploded and I spent most of the night in an A&E. I promise you never a dull moment when you are out with me. It may be blood filled and we may need to call an ambulance, but it will be interesting. The problem is, I really don't want to be that person. Who would? Last night was certainly not in the same calibre as the finger episode, (I've still not fully recovered the use of my finger yet) but it's yet another incident that will be discussed (at length I'm sure) in the office for the next few days and I will just have to grin and bear it.
The problem is, I probably will never change. I do like to go out and let my hair down every now and then. It's not something I do often, but when I do, I do tend to do a proper job of it. And I am also not ready to be that person who always goes home and doesn't join in. The problem, I truly believe, is the wine. :)
I'll leave it there now. Hope I brought a smile to your face.
Bx
Wednesday, 21 March 2012
I Believe
This is not something I really ever wanted to do with this blog. It is something much more likely that my daughter would do. However, this is one of those songs I can listen to over and over and never get enough of. Every time I listen to this song, I find myself singing along and believing and agreeing with every single line that is sung, so I wanted to share it with you. If you have not heard it before, then perhaps you too will enjoy it as much as I do.
It's not one of the top 25 most played songs on my iPod and I realise I haven't actually listened to this song in ages, but it still remains one of my favourites.
Bx
It's not one of the top 25 most played songs on my iPod and I realise I haven't actually listened to this song in ages, but it still remains one of my favourites.
Affirmation - by Savage Garden
Words to live by....
I believe the sun should never set upon an argument
I believe we place our happiness in other people's hands
I believe that junk food tastes so good because it's bad for you
I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do
I believe that beauty magazines promote low self esteem
I believe I'm loved when I'm completely by myself alone
I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love until you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
I believe you can't control or choose your sexuality
I believe that trust is more important than monogamy
I believe that your most attractive features are your heart and soul
I believe that family is worth more than money or gold
I believe the struggle for financial freedom isn't fair
I believe the only ones who disagree are millionaires
I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love until you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
I believe forgiveness is the key to your unhappiness
I believe that wedded bliss negates the need to be undressed
I believe that God does not endorse TV evangelists
I believe in love surviving death into eternity
I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love until you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
Words to live by....
I believe the sun should never set upon an argument
I believe we place our happiness in other people's hands
I believe that junk food tastes so good because it's bad for you
I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do
I believe that beauty magazines promote low self esteem
I believe I'm loved when I'm completely by myself alone
I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love until you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
I believe you can't control or choose your sexuality
I believe that trust is more important than monogamy
I believe that your most attractive features are your heart and soul
I believe that family is worth more than money or gold
I believe the struggle for financial freedom isn't fair
I believe the only ones who disagree are millionaires
I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love until you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
I believe forgiveness is the key to your unhappiness
I believe that wedded bliss negates the need to be undressed
I believe that God does not endorse TV evangelists
I believe in love surviving death into eternity
I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love until you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
PS: Anyone ever know what happened to Savage Garden?
Bx
Wednesday, 14 March 2012
Do you believe?
So here is a random topic for you.
I have been doing a little bit of brushing up on all topics (some nonsense, some not so much) over on Netflix the last couple of weeks. And when I say brushing up, I merely mean watching documentaries on some or other topic that takes my fancy on the day. I've watched 'Supersize me' (again) and the one about our planet, looking back from 2055 and how we managed to destroy the earth with our continuous overuse of its natural minerals/gases and our huge carbon footprint that's basically killing everything. There was 'The Bridge' which was absolutely fascinating, which is about the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco that is on record as being the site with the most suicides in the world and there are quite a few others that I won't go into detail , but the one that I want to blog about is the one that I watched last night entitled 'I Know What I Saw'
Its about people who claim to have seen UFO's. The thing about this documentary, is it doesn't interview regular guys on the street. It interviews Army Captains, Pilots, Senators and people we would consider rational and of important standing. All these people have actually seen something. In 2008 (not 100% sure of the year) there was a conference held in Washington DC where all these people came together and told their story and this 1.5 hour documentary goes to show (and re-enact) what happened in most cases. It does talk to some regular citizens too - there was this particular case is Arizona a few years back where 100's of people saw something in the sky that nobody could explain yet the US Government tried to explain it away as a joke and basically couldn't answer (or wouldn't).
There was one story of a pilot in the Iranian army who flew up in his fighter jet and tried to shoot at one and then explains what happened next. In almost all cases, there is someone else to backup the story of the one who is telling it.
In most cases, there seemed to be 2 particular themes. One, the craft was huge and boomerang (triangular) shaped. It made absolutely no noise. (In some cases the craft was mere inches away from the witness). It travelled with such speed that if you blinked your eye, it would be gone and was able to make 90 degree turns in an instant. When I say huge, one person described it as been big enough for commercial aircraft to land on it. This one seemed to be the more common of the two. The other was cigar (or rectangular) shaped. All accounts of these were that they were very high in the sky and were seen by commercial aircraft.
There is video and photo evidence to back up many of the stories too.
Not one of them spoke of actually making contact with any alien beings.
Now, what the host of the documentary said many times was that in 95% of cases, most could be explained away as man-made, or lies, or something that could be explained thereby making them non UFO. But that there remained 5% of cases that were simply this. Unexplained.
With the freedom of Information act much documentation has now become available in archives and elsewhere around the world where what was once considered 'Classified' is now available for anyone to see. It also appears that many countries are now preferring to cease keeping accounts like this secret (France being one of them) and on interviewing a Gentleman who works for France's equivalent of NASA, he freely admits that there is something unexplained out there.
So what do you think? I have always openly admitted that I do believe there is something out there even though I have never seen anything strange in the skies myself. I have always said that I feel it would be arrogant of us to assume that we are the only intelligent life form in the entire universe - and we cannot even fathom how huge the universe is. Or, could it be more like what a colleague of mine suggested today, that various world governments were constantly developing new and improved craft/technology in case they needed to defend themselves in a war, hence keeping it secret from the world?
He claimed, that if there was intelligent life out there, why haven't they made contact with us yet. Good point I guess. But then I asked him, how do you know they haven't already? It would make sense to keep things such as this secret from the population. Could you imagine the mass hysteria if we knew there was a life form out there, infinitely more advanced than us, that could wipe us out if they so choose? If I was the Powers-That-Be, I would certainly have to think long and hard before I admitted such a thing to the masses.
Just my thoughts...
But what about you, do you believe?
Bx
I have been doing a little bit of brushing up on all topics (some nonsense, some not so much) over on Netflix the last couple of weeks. And when I say brushing up, I merely mean watching documentaries on some or other topic that takes my fancy on the day. I've watched 'Supersize me' (again) and the one about our planet, looking back from 2055 and how we managed to destroy the earth with our continuous overuse of its natural minerals/gases and our huge carbon footprint that's basically killing everything. There was 'The Bridge' which was absolutely fascinating, which is about the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco that is on record as being the site with the most suicides in the world and there are quite a few others that I won't go into detail , but the one that I want to blog about is the one that I watched last night entitled 'I Know What I Saw'
Its about people who claim to have seen UFO's. The thing about this documentary, is it doesn't interview regular guys on the street. It interviews Army Captains, Pilots, Senators and people we would consider rational and of important standing. All these people have actually seen something. In 2008 (not 100% sure of the year) there was a conference held in Washington DC where all these people came together and told their story and this 1.5 hour documentary goes to show (and re-enact) what happened in most cases. It does talk to some regular citizens too - there was this particular case is Arizona a few years back where 100's of people saw something in the sky that nobody could explain yet the US Government tried to explain it away as a joke and basically couldn't answer (or wouldn't).
There was one story of a pilot in the Iranian army who flew up in his fighter jet and tried to shoot at one and then explains what happened next. In almost all cases, there is someone else to backup the story of the one who is telling it.
In most cases, there seemed to be 2 particular themes. One, the craft was huge and boomerang (triangular) shaped. It made absolutely no noise. (In some cases the craft was mere inches away from the witness). It travelled with such speed that if you blinked your eye, it would be gone and was able to make 90 degree turns in an instant. When I say huge, one person described it as been big enough for commercial aircraft to land on it. This one seemed to be the more common of the two. The other was cigar (or rectangular) shaped. All accounts of these were that they were very high in the sky and were seen by commercial aircraft.
There is video and photo evidence to back up many of the stories too.
Not one of them spoke of actually making contact with any alien beings.
Now, what the host of the documentary said many times was that in 95% of cases, most could be explained away as man-made, or lies, or something that could be explained thereby making them non UFO. But that there remained 5% of cases that were simply this. Unexplained.
With the freedom of Information act much documentation has now become available in archives and elsewhere around the world where what was once considered 'Classified' is now available for anyone to see. It also appears that many countries are now preferring to cease keeping accounts like this secret (France being one of them) and on interviewing a Gentleman who works for France's equivalent of NASA, he freely admits that there is something unexplained out there.So what do you think? I have always openly admitted that I do believe there is something out there even though I have never seen anything strange in the skies myself. I have always said that I feel it would be arrogant of us to assume that we are the only intelligent life form in the entire universe - and we cannot even fathom how huge the universe is. Or, could it be more like what a colleague of mine suggested today, that various world governments were constantly developing new and improved craft/technology in case they needed to defend themselves in a war, hence keeping it secret from the world?
He claimed, that if there was intelligent life out there, why haven't they made contact with us yet. Good point I guess. But then I asked him, how do you know they haven't already? It would make sense to keep things such as this secret from the population. Could you imagine the mass hysteria if we knew there was a life form out there, infinitely more advanced than us, that could wipe us out if they so choose? If I was the Powers-That-Be, I would certainly have to think long and hard before I admitted such a thing to the masses.
Just my thoughts...
But what about you, do you believe?
Bx
Saturday, 3 March 2012
Touch Me
To feel the whisper of your hand
As it reaches for my face
To see the fire touch your eyes
as your arms, my frame, embrace
To feel the penetrating heat
When your eyes upon me rest
And shivers travel down my spine
As your hands caress my breast
Oh how I long to feel your touch
Upon my aching skin
To feel the fire of passion burn
And my hands a-trembling
Please sate this desire burning deep
And quench my sexual thirst
Oh touch me now so I may feel
My heart about to burst
~~Bernadette~~
21/02/2012
As it reaches for my face
To see the fire touch your eyes
as your arms, my frame, embrace
To feel the penetrating heat
When your eyes upon me rest
And shivers travel down my spine
As your hands caress my breast
Oh how I long to feel your touch
Upon my aching skin
To feel the fire of passion burn
And my hands a-trembling
Please sate this desire burning deep
And quench my sexual thirst
Oh touch me now so I may feel
My heart about to burst
~~Bernadette~~
21/02/2012
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