Spa Faux Pas

The first time my sister and I went to a health spa we were given a pair of green plastic shoe coverings on the way into the changing rooms. For some reason, and with noone to tell us otherwise we put them over our feet, donned our cozzies and set off for the jacuzzi. Strange, nobody else was wearing anything on their feet. It was then that we realised they must have been for putting over your shoes in the locker room - how rediculous we must have looked and how embarrassing. We are going back this week - hope we are not recognised!

How the City has changed

We were having a discussion yesterday about how few Japanese Banks are left in the City. It reminded me of my very first day at work in the big city of London. In those days more than half the staff were Japanese and the cockney lady I was to be working with soon took me around to meet everyone. I felt like a giant, towering over every single one of the Japanese staff who bowed and smiled and bowed some more whilst having great difficulty pronouncing my name. My first day was also the first day of the new year and promptly at 11am we were all invited for drinks in the director's offices to celebrate. Afterwards we all went across the road to the pub. Excellent. My drinking career had began.

Back then people used to smoke at their desks and each ashtray was jammed full of cigarette butts. There were few computers which were linked to a huge main computer that filled a freezing cold room and was cared for by a man named Dennis. Everything had to be entered into the computer twice so that any typing errors could be picked up and all the computer reports were on thick reams of green lined paper that often got jammed in the printer. All the books were balanced manually in thick ledgers and people communicated by telephone, fax, telex or (perish the thought) by post. The hours were 9 to 5 and we had punch cards to sign in and out. There was always a queue at 5.14 as people waited for the clock to turn 5:15 because overtime was paid for each 15 minutes of extra time.

You didn't need a degree to get a job. Instead you started by making the teas and if you showed any initiative you would be able to work your way up, learning all aspects of the business along the way. In the peak of the eighties, most lunchtimes were spent in the pub being wooed by "loadsamoney" traders who thought nothing of buying champagne all round. These were the same guys who had started out making teas and shining shoes for their predecessors. Big bonuses, big mortgage subsidies, interest free season ticket loans, pension plans, offices parties........I'm feeling a bit nostalgic tonight.

Bruised again!

In the early hours of this morning I was awakened by a sharp, piercing pain in my left arm. The blind (and very fat) cat had mis-judged his jump up onto the bed and instead his claw had sunk deep into my arm. There he hung, dangling from my arm, his feet not quite reaching the floor until I was able to extract him - both of us quite traumatised by the event. Boy did it hurt and now my arm is riddled with puncture holes and bruises and my eyes are all puffy from lack of sleep.

Talking of bruises I have had a massive bruise on my left shin since before Christmas. I really don't know how it got there but it is obviously something I must be doing regularly for it to still be there in February. Wierd.

It's true that I have always bruised very easily - not good news for someone as accident prone as me. My poor mother spent my whole childhood worrying that the social services would come and take me away.

Coffee making tip

When making instant coffee it is always a good idea to ensure your mug is not upside down before you try to put in the coffee and sugar, otherwise you will end up with a sticky mess all over the counter. I know because I just did it.

What shall I do?

My positive, happy new outlook on life lasted right up until 9.01am this morning when once again I was back at my desk, realising what a shit hole I have work in. From then on my day just got worse and worse until battling against the umbrella brigade going home I took a detour into Tescos and bought myself a bottle of Drambuie. Now there is nice a drink to cheer a girl up - and sod the diet we'll start again on Monday.

There must be another way to earn a living - why can't I think of one? I can't sing or dance, I'm not sporty and Stephen King has already stolen my idea for a novel. I have some brilliant property development/design ideas but I'm too hopeless at DIY - my shelves are all wonky and I can barely change a lightbulb. I'm too old and saggy to be an "escort" and I'm far too soft and honest to resort to a life of crime. It doesnt seem likely that I'm going to win the lottery anytime soon so I am going to have to think of something else before the senility sets in earlier than expected. What shall I do?

Ladies who lunch

I took a day off work today and had lunch with the girls. We have known each other for almost 30 years so we always have a good giggle about times gone by, our eighties shoulderpads and solid hairspray flicks, our dreadful choices of ex-boyfriends and the qualities good and bad of the ones we have now. A lovely meal, a few glasses of wine, the sun shining and life begins to look much brighter. Just what I needed - even my cold has finally disappeared. I will go to the office tomorrow with a positive attitude and try not to let the idiot boss wind me up anymore.

One such story that I was reminded of is when we were at college and I had a crush on a boy called Darren. I had it so bad that I would blush beetroot if he ever entered the same room. I don't think we ever actually had a conversation but I did manage to steal a kiss one Christmas. Anyway, this particular day my friend and I were zig-zagging across campus playing aeroplanes, running really fast with our arms outstretched. Suddenly I tripped and literally flew through the air - a very smooth landing flat onto my face. Jeers and laughter erupted from a nearby classroom where Darren and his friends were all leaning out of the window. I was mortified and scurried away, bruised and bleeding to regain what was left of my dignity. Maybe at 17 we were too old to have been playing aeroplanes and I have certainly never played it since!

Head Bangers

In a very weak moment of my diet I remembered the naughty bin, where my skinny boyfriend keeps a bucket full of crisps, sweets, biscuits and very fattening things that I should steer clear from. In my haste to get there I head butted the corner of the TV that juts out from the wall overhead. Owwwww, it really hurt and I've got a huge lump on my forehead - Elephant woman not Big Bird - and I think I have knocked myself silly(er). This is not the first time. A few months ago I head butted the bathroom wall-light as I leant forward to put my contact lense in.

My cat is also a head banger. He is almost blind but most of the time he knows his way round the house and garden. The trouble is, if there's a loud bang (like me headbanging something) or a knock on the door he gets frightened and forgets everything. He then runs around madly head-butting everything he contacts until finally he comes to the doorway and makes his escape. Ahhhh, bless him - has anyone invented crash helmets for cats?