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Weekend / Weak End

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Oooh. Where do I start? Oh lordy, it’s been so long since I last wrote that Diplodocus bones are being found intertwined with the words… Actually it’s been a week, but after this week, it feels like an epoch!

We’ll start with my boss, the-IT-man. I’m currently filling in as head honcho at work for a fortnight while the-IT-man takes two weeks to go all gooey and girly over his latest acquisition. Yes, he’s had another child. Not him personally and I didn’t need that picture popping up. His wife has had their second child. That means that in their house they will now have him and three women. Prepare yourself man. But honestly, my congrats go to both of them and both kids, and I’m real happy for all of them. I’m sure he’ll write up a diary entry himself as soon as he’s started breathing regularly again. In the meantime, his two trusty sidekicks in our Wolverhampton office have got things fairly well sewn up anyway and don’t really need anything from me. Most of the change I’ve noticed is that this week I’ve had phone calls saying things like ‘We need to process the 14J/6 thingumy with a square gromit in a D-37B. I thought we could do it this way. What do you think?’ To which I naturally answer ‘fine’, as I hurridly flip through google pages to find out what a D-37B is. All my knowledge of IT is basically self-taught and covers fairly large areas at a basic level and the odd thing in detail. The two guys down in Wolves are both University IT types and will rattle off scientific labels and data to me which hits me between the eyes, gives me concussion and is completely gone from my brain six minutes later. This is summed up easily by saying that what they will know as a D-37B to me is ‘that brown thing with the two wires that cut my thumb last time I touched it.’ Anyway…

On to the house. Yay the house. Last time I mentioned the house, we were doing decorating while waiting for the builders to come in and do a few things. We had to stop when we’d done all the rooms they weren’t going to touch. And last time I wrote I was being told by Mrs Moosehunter to call the estate and complain about the kitchen units and a suspicious bulge in the kitchen ceiling just beneath the bath. Incidentally, both we and the estate had both agreed that the kitchen units were *SHIT* and needed replacing but the owner and the builders had decided that merely hanging a crooked door back on would be enough. I tried to ring at 1:00pm on friday lunchtime and got an answerphone message telling me they were closed between 12:30 and 1:30 for lunch. And I’d summoned up all my strength to face complaining to someone. So I stiffened the sinews again at 1:35 and called once more. A woman answered, so I said ‘Is that Caroline?’ She answered in a haughty voice that no this was someone else and I’d come to the York office so Caroline must have stepped out. Fair enough. Bugger. So I tried again at 1:55 just before my lunch hour ended. ‘Hello, is that Caroline?’ NO, YOU’VE COME THROUGH TO THE YORK OFFICE. CAROLINE MUST HAVE STEPPED OUT. Ooh she’s already irritated with me and I have no idea why. Surely it’s the permanently-absent Caroline that is the cause? So I rang again at 5pm and got the engaged tone. I continued to ring every 2-3 minutes all the way home and while I washed up when I got home and got the engaged tone every time until 5:35, when instead… I got the answerphone message telling me they were closed! ARSE. By now I was starting to get angry with them. So we wrote a letter and posted it. Actually I wrote a mean, horrible, evil letter, and then Mrs M took a look at it and said ‘we’re not sending that’ and rewrote it nicely. Anyway, after the weekend’s work and shifting of furniture, we decided that a few days off the house were required and left it for the builders while we collapsed at home with aching muscles that made us groan, yelp and walk like John Wayne. And then last night we went to see what the builders had done.

  1. They had done all the damp-coursing in every necessary room.
  2. They had done all the plastering.
  3. They had completely ripped out all the kitchen cupboards and damp-coursed and plastered behind them!
  4. They had got rid of the suspicious ceiling bulge and the bath itself!

So it appears we’ve won! We’ll be getting a new kicthen and even a new bath that we didn’t ask for. And the work’s proceeded at a magnificent pace. Now I must thank the estate and the builders and tell them how impressed I am. So the house is on the up…

Then to yesterday. I had a day off yesterday in order to attend my beloved’s second graduation ceremony! She got her degree a couple of years ago and qualified with a PGCE to become a teacher this year. So a second graduation. This one was in York Minster. What a tremendous building to have it in. What I say here will sound like a lot of downsides and will look like a lot of complaints, but despite all this we thoroughly enjoyed it all…

Firstly there were about 200 people graduating that afternoon. Each one of these had between 2 and 6 guests. So we’re probably talking a thousand guests altogether. Now being a cathedral and an arch-bishopric, it’s a big place. It still starts to get a little cramped with a thousand people sitting in rows of chairs in the nave, packed together. I couldn’t actually see the stage where it was all happening at all. The only time I saw Mrs M as she went through was as she came to the front of the queue to go up. Then there’s the fact that this place is the size of several aircraft hangars and is consequently hard to heat. Thus we were cold, on uncomfortable chairs and with a bad view. Now that’s the bad stuff out of the way. The good stuff consisted largely of Mrs M’s sister and myself leafing through the guide to the ceremony and laughing at people’s names. Bearing in mind these people are going to be teachers and what kids are like for nicknaming their teachers, I would hate to be receiving my qualification in the knowledge that in a short while I would have to say ‘Good morning children. I am Miss Kazi.’ Oh dear god! Or the ever popular ‘I am mister Cumming.’ Oh good lord there were some beauties. The sister’s favourite, that she howled at for a while and snorted over was ‘Miss Seamman.’ She thought that was hilarious and kept saying so. And when the infamous Miss Seamman walked across the stage, the people right behind us cheered, betraying their status as her family. Now THAT I thought WAS hilarious as the sister went red and almost curled up into a ball. Roughly half of the people who walked across stage seemed to have invited a cheerleading squad with them and there were whoops, whistles and cheers as they went across stage. All the time I watched Mrs M moving closer in the queue, the sister and I argued about who would whoop. In the end, she walked across the stage and I clapped and shouted things like ‘YEAH! WOOHOO!’ and so on, painfully aware that appart from the applause there was the clear and definite sound of one moron somewhere in the back whooping like a baboon on Crack amid a crowd of otherwise quietly polite people. And the sister didn’t even ‘yeah!’ along with me. So I was the one on Thursday that picked up the international Dickhead award. But still, Mrs M got her cheer and was happy. The whole thing was cool and I was particularly impressed by their guest speaker whose name I have entirely forgotten, but whose title was ‘Professor Doctor Doctor Doctor …. smith or something.’ At first I thought there was something wrong with the woman announcing him. Basically he was an Austrian worl-traveller, helper of children and the aged, with a doctorate in Musical education, another in Nuclear Physics and a third in Clinical Psychology. He’d worked on every continent in almost every field, held a chair in almost every university worldwide, was three doctors and a professor. Jeez, was there anything this man COULDN’T do? I kept waiting for him to tear his shirt off and reveal the ‘S’ beneath, removing his spectacles and letting the cape flow free before he took off up through the tower to go and help choking orphans escape a burning building! Actually there was one thing he couldn’t do well… Public speaking. He was boring. Professor Doctor Doctor Doctor Von Smith was Professor Dull Dull Dull Von Inaudible. He was quiet, monotone and uninteresting in every way expect one. He had a tremendous accent. It was a sort of camp anglo-germanic-franco-Birmingham. Peculiar. Sounded like Julian Clary after some dental surgery. I found it quite hard not to laugh. So that was the ceremony and Mrs M is now… Mrs Moosehunter BA (Hons) PGCE. Now I’m playing catch-up with the letters again.

Incidentally, as a final thing before I sign off on this entry, I’ll tell you about last sunday. We’re short of several things when we move house:n Cooker, Washing Machine and Wardrobes. On sunday we were painting and sanding as usual, but in a brief break we were reading the local rag and saw an advert in the classifieds that offered wardrobes for £10. Wowser. So we called them, faffed as we tried to work out how we could get to Wetherby and bring back at least 2 wardrobes and possibly other stuff at damn short notice. Because the guy was moving the next day and whatever he hadn’t sold was going to auction! So Mrs M and myself went down in our car and my dad and Gardener-Man from the village went down in dad’s with the small trailer on the back. We managed to pick up 2 nice proper solid wood wardrobes and a pine dresser and a Miele washing machine that we know works as he was using it when we arrived. All for £60! Phenomenal. We’d probably have spent twice that on just one wardrobe! So we were very happy with that and I almost put my back out carrying things. I keep getting a warning twinge ever since. And I could barely move for 2 days. What do you want? I’m fat and lazy and I’ve worked damn hard to get this way. You don’t think I’m going to lose it all and go sveldt now after all my hard work? Anyway, I’ve not really visited Wetherby in the last two decades and I don’t think I will again now. The place is nice enough I suppose, but it seems a little shabby; a little run-down. And the kids there? Good lord. The lads all wear hoodies and baseball caps and shiny track-suit bottoms. The girls all wear cropped jeans with stiletto heels and earrings I could hula with! In short they were ASBO kids! ALL OF THEM. Every resident of Wetherby below 25 years of age appears to be the sort of person you see on reality TV with their face pixellated to protect their identity. I saw half a dozen of them standing around in a circle outside a shop. They were handing something round and I assumed dope. Hell I might even ask if I can join in, but then I realise they’re having a comnversation and their having to pass the brain cell to whoever’s turn it is to talk next!

Oooo. Mean. But honestly, they didn’t seem too bright. I mean a 40 watt bulb at best. If they had an idea it would make their nose bleed.

Think it’s time to stop being mean now.

After all, it’s friday afternoon and I’m actually surprisingly happy at the moment. Have a damn good weekend every last one of you and I’ll see ya leter.



Written by SJAT

January 5, 2010 at 4:36 pm

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