Not a very productive day today. In fact the only thing I have really achieved is a good old bleed. This is a consequence of my particularly poor shaving skills this morning, when I managed to cut the head off one of my neck moles. I blame this mishap on tiredness, having had to work a clubnight shift last night till the early hours of the morning. It followed a show by the 70’s pop entertainers The Nolans, most famous for their single “I’m in the Mood For Dancing” (rather ironic, given that it had been a fully seated concert. Our Health and safety regulations would not allow for dancing, irrespective of the audience’s mood).
Sadly The Nolans had a lot of equipment and the stage crew had their hands full, so in order to get the venue cleared ready for our clubnight, our staff had to chip in and carry all the catering stuff out of the venue for them. The burly security looked after the big flight cases full of catering equipment, whilst I took care of the baskets of ingredients and stock (interestingly, I couldn’t help noticing that none of the produce had actually been bought from Iceland – another illusion shattered!). It probably sounds as if I had the easy job, but if you’ve seen the size of The Nolans nowadays, you’ll appreciate just how much stock there was to contend with. It took stamina, believe you me.
This might sound like an easy tabloid-esque pot shot, putting unnecessary emphasis on physical attraction of women and their increased weight but don’t be offended, it is a shallow victory. Who, after all, is the real joke? Four women who got paid handsomely to entertain a sold out room, or a man in his early thirties who humps trays of food down the stairs, whilst continuing to nest an unused prophylactic in his wallet that he has failed to find a willing recipient for by its not-immodest expiration date?
Incidentally, I have just peeled my plaster off again and I am still bleeding even now. Will it ever heal? Honestly, if it carries on at this rate, I might as well think about starting my own range of man-made black pudding. Annoyingly, had this injury occurring yesterday, I could have made some sort of personalised black pudding offering to the ever-hungry Nolans who would probably appreciate it.
The Difficulty of Just Saying No
As much as I like my computer, I can’t help but feel it is annoyingly melodramatic from time to time. Just a second ago, it flashed up a warning “AT RISK – You need to back up to protect your file from loss and disaster”. As much as I am flattered by its high regard for the survival of another of my largely frivolous blog entries, I think to call its potential loss a disaster might be to overstate its worth. I certainly don’t think that if a plane were to come hurtling from the skies this evening, the passengers would be thinking – “well we might be dropping rapidly to a horrific and untimely death, but so long as the next Days of Enlightenment blog gets fully composed then at my tragic loss of life will be somehow compensated”. Such a scenario would be nice, but not very likely.
Never mind this entry, I think to go as far as to label the loss of ANY of my computer files a “disaster” might be a bit of a disservice. In fact between me and you, far from being a disaster, the loss of a lot of the files on my hard drive would probably be doing me a favour in the long run. But we all have melodramatic behaviour from time to time. Just last week, I got asked if I could cover an overtime shift at work. Now I like to be helpful and will often go to great pains to be co-operative. But I really didn’t want to do this particular shift as it would have meant working three consecutive weekends. Even so, the thought of having to say “no” really disgruntled me. I’m not kidding, it genuinely stressed me to backed into a corner to face my own unhelpfulness. So the way I reacted was to answer “no” in a rather stern, even aggressive manner. It was as if by asking me the question in the first place, they only had themselves to blame for this hostile response. And this was just over refusing an extra shift! Thank God I didn’t select a career path in the Emergency services...
ME: Hello, is this Mrs. Smith?
MRS. SMITH: Yes. How can I help?
ME: May I come in? I have some bad news about your husband.
MRS. SMITH: Oh my. What is it?
ME: I’m afraid there was a plane crash earlier on.
MRS, SMITH: Oh my God! When did this happen?
ME: About 24 sentences ago.
MRS. SMITH: The plane my husband caught?
ME: Er yes... Yes I can definitely confirm it was the plane your husband was travelling on.
MRS. SMITH: But he survived though didn’t he? There was a parachute, right?
ME: Well...
MRS. SMITH: Please... He’s alive isn’t he?
ME: Madam, if you don’t mind, you’re making this very difficult for me to say...
MRS. SMITH: Just tell me! Is my husband alive or isn’t he?
ME: OK OK, IF YOU MUST KNOW, THEN NO. NO HE DIDN’T SURVIVE. HE’S DEAD. COMPLETELY LIFELESS. KAPUT. TORN APART INTO A BLOODY MESS BY VIOLENT IMPACT AND CHARRED BY RAGING INFERNO. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? ARE YOU??!!
See – saying no in a context so serious just wouldn’t work for me. Although in my defence, wouldn’t it have been fairly evident that her husband was dead by the time I’d said there had been bad news and specified there had been a plane crash? Surely anyone would have worked that out? Yet she still felt the need to badger me. She’s clearly an idiot. And to be honest I am glad she is freshly widowed.
Other jobs I am probably best off avoiding include being the dog from the Churchill commercial. I’d have a hell of a time delivering HIS lines. As the number of adverts progressed, I imagine I’d become more and more rabid. It is difficult enough to trust a dog to sell you insurance at the best of times. But a dog with a muzzle? No chance. And I should also probably avoid being the singer of duo 2Unlimited as well. Or Dawn Penn. Now I know what you’re thinking. This last one seems like a bit of an anticlimax, but let me assure you these 90’s pop references are actually very clever and funny. And I’d love to explain why, I really would. But sadly, I’m afraid my computer is about to cr@$#...............
Never mind this entry, I think to go as far as to label the loss of ANY of my computer files a “disaster” might be a bit of a disservice. In fact between me and you, far from being a disaster, the loss of a lot of the files on my hard drive would probably be doing me a favour in the long run. But we all have melodramatic behaviour from time to time. Just last week, I got asked if I could cover an overtime shift at work. Now I like to be helpful and will often go to great pains to be co-operative. But I really didn’t want to do this particular shift as it would have meant working three consecutive weekends. Even so, the thought of having to say “no” really disgruntled me. I’m not kidding, it genuinely stressed me to backed into a corner to face my own unhelpfulness. So the way I reacted was to answer “no” in a rather stern, even aggressive manner. It was as if by asking me the question in the first place, they only had themselves to blame for this hostile response. And this was just over refusing an extra shift! Thank God I didn’t select a career path in the Emergency services...
ME: Hello, is this Mrs. Smith?
MRS. SMITH: Yes. How can I help?
ME: May I come in? I have some bad news about your husband.
MRS. SMITH: Oh my. What is it?
ME: I’m afraid there was a plane crash earlier on.
MRS, SMITH: Oh my God! When did this happen?
ME: About 24 sentences ago.
MRS. SMITH: The plane my husband caught?
ME: Er yes... Yes I can definitely confirm it was the plane your husband was travelling on.
MRS. SMITH: But he survived though didn’t he? There was a parachute, right?
ME: Well...
MRS. SMITH: Please... He’s alive isn’t he?
ME: Madam, if you don’t mind, you’re making this very difficult for me to say...
MRS. SMITH: Just tell me! Is my husband alive or isn’t he?
ME: OK OK, IF YOU MUST KNOW, THEN NO. NO HE DIDN’T SURVIVE. HE’S DEAD. COMPLETELY LIFELESS. KAPUT. TORN APART INTO A BLOODY MESS BY VIOLENT IMPACT AND CHARRED BY RAGING INFERNO. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? ARE YOU??!!
See – saying no in a context so serious just wouldn’t work for me. Although in my defence, wouldn’t it have been fairly evident that her husband was dead by the time I’d said there had been bad news and specified there had been a plane crash? Surely anyone would have worked that out? Yet she still felt the need to badger me. She’s clearly an idiot. And to be honest I am glad she is freshly widowed.
Other jobs I am probably best off avoiding include being the dog from the Churchill commercial. I’d have a hell of a time delivering HIS lines. As the number of adverts progressed, I imagine I’d become more and more rabid. It is difficult enough to trust a dog to sell you insurance at the best of times. But a dog with a muzzle? No chance. And I should also probably avoid being the singer of duo 2Unlimited as well. Or Dawn Penn. Now I know what you’re thinking. This last one seems like a bit of an anticlimax, but let me assure you these 90’s pop references are actually very clever and funny. And I’d love to explain why, I really would. But sadly, I’m afraid my computer is about to cr@$#...............
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