... when you have a stinking cold and are very very bored.
- Build papier mache room decorations with all the snotty tissues you're accumulating.
- Count up every cough, and reward every 50th cough with a shot of Aftershock (or Tequila, Whisky, Vodka or any other head clearing spirits you have to hand).
- Make chicken soup (Take three chicken stock cubes, one and a half litres of boiling water and two chicken breasts cut into bits - boil the half an hour or so until chicken is cooked. Serve.)
- Change the channel on the TV so much that you wear off the lettering on the button.
- Go into the kitchen, take sundry items from the fridge, make yourself something to eat. Take one mouthful. Realise you aren't hungry and feel sick. Throw food out. Repeat at regular intervals until the cupboards are empty and the bin is full.
- Amuse yourself and anyone around by showing them how well you can now "do" Darth Vader.
- Arrange the latest collection of snotty tissues into interesting crop circle-esque patterns on the carpet.
- Attempt to sing along to MTV. Fail. Continue anyway.
- Find yourself inexplicably fascinated with a marathon showing of a home improvement show called "Trading Up" featuring two of the bitchiest friends of dorothy ever and Craig from the first Big Brother.
- Ride the mexican wave of music tv channels (the one where you change channels and the same song is on the next channel, having started playing two minutes after it started on the previous channel).
- Hit F5 on metafilter again, hoping that someone has posted something interesting to it in the last five minutes.
- Go to the kitchen to get some food. Remember it's all in the bin. Go back to laptop, go to tesco's and order more online. Realise too late that this means that it won't get here until the next day. Curse.
- Burn your nose with Olbas Oil because you couldn't smell it on the tissue until it was right against the skin. Swear.
- Read all the blogs on your favourites list, even the ones you know are on hiatus/dead/not there any more.
- Put copious amounts of E45 Cream on the end of your nose, in a vain attempt to stop it fraying at the edges, and to soothe the burning from the Olbas Oil. Sneeze. Reapply Cream. Sneeze. Reapply Cream. Repeat as necessary.
- Devise new variation of the cold drinking game, where each sneeze counts as two coughs, and each snotty tissue counts as three. Cut level of points required for a shot of Aftershock down to 25.
- Devise a way to prevent nose frayage by twisting the corner of a tissue and inserting it as far as possible up one nostril, and then doing the same with the opposite corner and nostril, giving yourself the look of a bull with a ring through it's nose. Alternatively, tear the tissue down the middle and insert one half up each nostril, leaving excess hanging out for retrieval, thus giving yourself the look of the above bull, this time with cartoon steam coming from it's nostrils. Name this invention "The Snotcork". NB - remember to breathe through your mouth while doing this.
- Go to weblogs.com and work your way down the list of recently updated weblogs, including all the foreign language blogs.
- Read all of your flatmates girlie mags (no, not that kind of girlie mags), Tatler, Cosmopolitan, etc. Wonder why you don't do any of the stuff written about in the magazine. Look down to verify that you still are, in fact, still at least technically female.
- Go to televisionwithoutpity.com and read the recaps of all the episodes of your favourite TV shows that you've seen.
- Whine to your friends on IRC that you're feeling crap, in an attempt to gain cyber sympathy. Repeat as often as you think you can, without them telling you to shut the fuck up and stop whining.
- Consider replying to those emails that have been sitting in the inbox for a while, requiring responses.
- Need to lie down as a result of contemplating such strenuous activity.
- Change snotcorks for fresher ones.
- Wail "I don't feel very well" at anyone passing, and look pathetic in an attempt to get sympathy and/or TLC. NB - the results of this can vary drastically depending on your audience.
- Watch one music channel for an hour. Make a note of each song that is played in that hour, and how many times songs are repeated.
- Start to barricade yourself into the room by building a wall with the discarded tissue boxes.
- Blog.
Ladies and Gentlebeasts.
I have an announcement to make.
I am no longer a virgin.
I have tasted the forbidden fruit, and I am addicted.
Today saw the occasion of my first visit to IKEA. It's Brent Park store, to be precise.
For years, I've read about and heard about the wonder that is IKEA, and yet had never experienced it for myself.
I'll say this for them - they worked out their strategy very very carefully. The truly annoying thing is that it works too.
Forcing you to wind your way through absolutely everything to get to the cash desks, particularly when the place is packed and the crowd is slow moving is absoloutely designed to tempt you with impulse buys. Standing behind a slow moving family for more than 30 seconds? Here, have some funky-shaped vases for £1. Now, doesn't that soothe your irritation away?
We went there with the intention of purchasing one particular coffee table, as seen in the IKEA catalogue (and eagerly anticipated for the three months we've been in the flat. Also, unsuccessfully obtained by D on Christmas Eve, due to his gross stupidity in not phoning to find out if they were open before going, but that's another story entirely), and a couple of side tables. When we got to the coffee table section (after walking through more sections than I can remember) "the" coffee table turned out to be really nasty looking.
Arse.
Quick rethink was in order. After studying the alternatives, we settled on a JUSSI coffee table in Beech (to match the one bookcase in the living room owned by our housemate). Added to this was a LACK side bench and a couple of CORRAS units. All in Beech. Sorted.
On through the twisty windy path (I swear these guys took lessons from Disney in crowd movement - we must have walked three miles inside that store winding back and forth) and a couple of BENNO DVD racks were added to the list.
A pair of lightbulbs here, a GRUNDTAL stainless steel shelf/rack thing with hooks for hanging utensils and herbs on for the kitchen there, and finally, we were at the Restaurant.
Now, I had been faintly worried about what I would be able to eat in the restaurant, until I had a think about it. Duh. Swedish Meatballs of course!
Now I know beggars can't be choosers, but while these things were definitely ball-y, the jury's still out about the meat-y part. Oh well. Nothing fatal, and just the one shocked moment where a parent thwacked their toddler over the head with what looked like a rolled up paper for taking the initiative and going up to an empty table. Not that I would ever dream of getting involved in parents disciplining their children, but when said paper barely misses me, then you can expect to get my attention.
We made it safely downstairs into the area of the shop called the Marketplace. "Oh my word" were the first words out of my mouth. The Harrods sale had nothing on this place. A few kitchen utensils later, and vague disappointment that they didn't have a couple of the bits I was looking for, and I was getting distinct "losing the will to live" vibes from D (who has, of course, been there, and done IKEA before, and so was not getting into the spirit of the outing).
We made our way towards the gargantuan self service furniture warehouse and attempted to find our stuff.
No Side Bench. Arse. Never mind, we can live without that.
Let's go and get the DVD things next.
Ok got DVD things.
No Coffee Table. Feck.
Ok, so now what do we do?
Short discussion ensued, followed by a short discussion with the customer service guy who cheerfully informed me that the items I wished were out of stock and would probably be back in stock on Monday, and no, I could not get them delivered then, I would have to come back to the store.
Another short discussion ensued about whether or not to go get the side tables if D was going to have to come back on Monday to get the other items anyway, and thus would have to pay two taxi fares to get the stuff back.
After much grumping and pouting from me it was decided that D would put back the DVD racks since they were to heavy for me to carry, and we would go and look for the side tables and see if we could at least go and get those.
So we trailed through the aisle of sale doom, where a sales assistant leaned forward without looking and managed to boot me in the shin (this trip to furniture nirvana was starting to look a bit sour by this time). Eventually, I made my way through the crowds to aisle 50, position 4.
A-ha! Success!
No. White. Need Beech. Beech. No fucking Beech.
It was at this point I lost the plot a little.
I believe the words that came out of my mouth were:
"Every fucking colour but fucking Beech. Does everyone in this fucking place want fucking Beech furniture?"
Followed by (after no real response but a shocked look from D):
"I think we might want to change our colour scheme honey, cos obviously Beech is as common as fucking muck at the moment".
Now, I'm not proud of that last statement (although the look on D's face was priceless, and I'd have burst into fits of laughter if I hadn't been so annoyed). There is nothing wrong with Beech furniture. Nothing at all. I was just irritated that I'd gone for Beech to fit in with the one item of furniture that our flatmate had purchased, even though it didn't match any of our stuff (particularly our bookcase in the room, which is a light pine veneer), in an attempt to make the place a bit more coherent looking.
So, it dawned on me that the helpful customer service guy had said that it was specifically the Beech coffee table that was out of stock.
Newly energised, I headed for the queue of people waiting to see another helpful customer services type blokey, with the aim of getting him to find out if the items we wanted were available in pine, so they would match our stuff, rather than hers, thus meaning we would continue to have matching furniture if we were to ever leave, and sod her bookcase, it can just not match.
"What colour would you like that in madam, Beech or Birch?" (madam? oh heck, I'm getting old)
"Birch, that's the light one, right?"
"Yes"
"Yeah, that please"
Result. All items we wanted were in stock in Birch. I also checked on a last minute change of mind on the side tables, and they were in stock too, in Birch.
Fab.
Now to get back through the hall of sales doom.
Quick. Get another trolley thing. Get to the shelves before some bastard has the same idea and grabs all of the Birch stuff.
We made it to the check-out and through it without incident, not putting too severe a dent in the finances, and headed to get a minicab.
A really funny guy brought us home, and we discussed the IKEA selling tactics and their effectiveness, and he told us a couple of funny stories about people swearing they'll never go back, and two weeks later sneaking in with their heads bowed in shame. He even helped us bring the stuff into the flat.
One final thought - I know they used to refer to flat-pack furniture from MFI as "Made For Idiots" but IKEA have really taken that concept and run with it. I swear, if you cannot figure out how to put a LACK table together, then you shouldn't be allowed out in public unsupervised.
IKEA.
Cliché, but that way for a reason.
It's been a funny old year...
... and I don't mean that in the sense that it's been all laughs, because that's the last thing it's been.
I mean funny as in peculiar.
So much has happened this year that I can barely remember it all... days run into weeks run into months and here I am, finding myself a few days from the end of the year wondering where it all went.
I had thought that 2000 was the worst year of my life to date... and until this year it was. 2002 has equalled, and surpassed - many times over - the complete and utter shittiness of that year. Conversely, 2002 has also been one of the best years of my life.
I have a lot to be thankful for. Apart from a stinking cold which one of my colleagues felt the need to share with me, this year has been the healthiest I've been for at least three or four years. Every morning as I walk to work, every night I come home complaining that my feet hurt from too much walking, I'm glad that I can actually do that - to put one foot in front of the other and keep going might not seem like a huge achievement, but in contrast to this time two or even three years ago, when five steps were enough to leave me in severe pain for hours and it brings it into perspective.
I live a few minutes walk from some of my favourite places in London, in a flat that I still, even three months on, can't believe is my home (even if it's only for the term of the lease). It's not perfect - we are still without a few items that would complete it (i.e., a coffee table - but the less said about that at the moment the better), but I still get a great sense of satisfaction walking up the street and putting my key in my door, dropping my bag in my entranceway, putting on the lamp with the funky yellow lightbulb, dropping the keys in the bowl, kicking off my shoes, walking into the living room, putting on the lamp and the ducky lights, walking into the kitchen, pouring myself a cold diet coke from my fridge freezer and plonking myself down on the sofa.
Simple pleasures, but it makes a huge difference to my sense of wellbeing.
I've even started to actually cook again - and experiment with new recipes. Ok, so part of this is because I've changed my way of eating completely, with enormous benefits to my weight, mood, energy level and general health. In the six weeks or so since I made the decision to change things, the benefits have become more obvious than I had expected.
It's been a strange year in terms of friendships too - I've discovered friends in the most unlikely places, found myself confiding and being confided in by people that I would never have expected. I've found myself, for the first time, working amongst a group of people who actually care what happens to each other. For the first time ever, I really, truly feel like part of the team. It's been a hard year work-wise, and the next few months are going to be hell on wheels, but it's made bearable by the people. The caring, concern and support I've got this year from people who barely knew me has been incredible - no words I have can express the gratitude I have for that.
It's been a year of self-discovery too. There were so many times this year when I thought I'd reached the limits of my ability to deal with what was happening, and yet somehow, I managed to keep it together, with only the mildest of stumbles. I'm not a terribly optimistic person - my defensive strategy tends to be expect the worst and then nothing can catch you by surprise - but to be honest, I hit rock bottom a while back and I'm tired of digging. It's time for me to climb out of the hole, shake off the self-defensive shell that I spent so many years building up, and have the guts to just be me.
I need to stop second-guessing myself, and trust my instincts. I need to stop worrying about what people might think of me. I need to have the confidence in myself, because confidence got from other people is only fleeting and needs constant maintenance. I need to decide what it right for me and stick to it. I need to stop worrying that my lifestyle will disappear before my eyes if I even breathe on it, and grab it with both hands and enjoy it. I need to stop censoring myself - both here and in real life. The truth might hurt sometimes, but it's my truth, and it needs to come out, and while I'm sorry if that might cause anyone pain, that is not my intention, and holding back on some things is causing me pain, and has caused me pain for too long.
There are so many things I need to do, but first, I need to go to bed, and snuggle up next to my other half, and give him a big hug, and a big kiss, and thank him for spending six years with me.
Six years. I can hardly believe it, and yet, here we are, living together in London. I look back on that day, six years ago - the hug that led to a kiss, which led to another, and another, and so much else inbetween.
So yeah, I have a lot to be thankful for.
Here's to 2003.
Over the last couple of years, I've noticed something very disturbing when I look in the mirror.
No, it's not my face - I've lived with that long enough that it ceases to disturb me now. It's in that area though. Simply put - I'm going grey.
Yes, that's right. I have grey hairs. Or rather, I did have grey hairs. As soon as they're noticed, they are immediately removed, and no, two won't grow back in it's place, that's just an old wives tale.
The truly disturbing part is that when I spot one lately, it's come with friends. There's not just one or two any more. Oh no... and what's worse is that they're appearing in random places. I mean, I could cope with going grey if, for example, they all went grey in a particular area, so I had a grey streak or something, which might at least look decent, and would offer interesting prospects with hair dye.
No, they're cropping up all over. Mostly towards the crown of my head, and along the parting. Which was good. Less noticable there.
I said was, because as of yesterday, three of the hairs in my fringe defected to the grey side. I had no grey hairs in my fringe on Saturday night. I had them last night.
Now, I always thought the thing about going grey overnight was a load of hooey and could be attributed to people just not noticing, but these were so obvious that there's no way I could have missed them, particularly given my vigilant search an destroy campaign on the little grey bastards.
I can feel another dye job coming on. Any votes for colour this time? Already been bright burgundy red, and black with red stripes. What's next? Blonde? Purple?
Perhaps electric blue with green stripes?
Maybe I'll just go all Morticia.
... the online home and (not very) alter(ed)-ego of Ann McMeekin, a recently freelance Web Accessibility Consultant.
... passionate about many things, most of which will turn up on this site at some time or other.
... contactable via email.
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