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Encounter of the housing kind - episode 4 Or how I (quite rightly) earned my "la Salope" moniker... The police did what they had to do. They checked the lease (in His Name), confirmed I had to leave the house and ascertained with The Boy's Father that all the furniture + other bits and bobs in the flat were mine. They informed The Boy's Father that he was not to dispose of any of it without my knowledge + agreement and offered to escort me when I wanted to take posession of the stuff again in the future in case I felt The Boy's Father would not comply. Fair game. I picked up The Boy from the neighbour who had been looking after him while we were having our little tête à tête and went back to Kim's. Now I am not just stroppy by nature. I am also fairly vindictive and patient and organised with it. It is not one my most attractive trait. I am working on it, honest (the whole letting go thing). I suppose there is also some truth in the Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned quote. Since the split I had been thinking of ways to get back at him. A lot of the process was done using collective thinking on the phone using the calling card he had forgotten I still had (sweet revenge number one). You can run up quite a total before BT sends the next itemised bill - just trust me on that one. In order to make sure that I could execute any future plan I had an extra key cut (on the advice of a friend). The trick was to put up enough of a argument when it came to hand the key back so that he did not suspect a thing. Before the he called the police, a lot of the planning had been just that. Trying to find the best place to hit so it hurt, making sure the plan was foolproof, this sort of things. Because I am truly evil, and my BF never really liked The Boy's Father, we had come up with amongst other things the following ideas (by the way I would deny any responsibility should anybody use the ideas): Washing an egg (if you wash an egg, it becomes pourous and will absorb most bacteria, the albumen then provides a great growing medium for whatever nasties it has picked up. You can help it on the way by a quick dip in foecal matter - preferably of bird origin), then when the culture was deemed multiplied enough, spread diluted egg whites over the contents of his fridge (this plan was abandoned for the same reasons bacteriological warfare is not normally used very much - it is hard to control + it can backfire. Also it would have been nice to think I had given him the runs in a major way, less nice to think I had killed him by severe food poisoning). Rubbing chillies in every single pair of underpants in his cupboard. Major appeal. We spent hours trying to work out at what point the chillies would start taking effect. Would he get a chance to get on the train to work before it took effect ? Never got round to doing it though (shame). Putting a bit of fish inside the plug of his stereo (his pride and joy so boud to go wherever he went). He does not know one end of a screwdriver to another so it seemed the perfect place. Same as above, gives plenty of room for reworking the plan - hours of it - very thereapeutic. How big should the fishe be, what sort, how to ensure you do not short circuit the whole thing etc... But no, the way became clear when he turned the idea of us staying in the flat for the week-end. If I could not sleep in my own bed, there was no way HE should. Discussed my plan with friends and colleagues who offered their help: two of them offered their garages for storing the stuff, one offered to babysit, my boss offered his services + use of his land rover. P offered his services and his trailer. It went like this. Friday evening, waited to know for sure he had gone to sunny Ireland. Saturday am v.early, Guy helped to dismantle the furniture + got the boxes out of the attic - this allowed him for years to introduce me as "H, who once had her legs wrapped around my ears half way up a step ladder". A bit later saturday am, my boss + P and M move all the heavy stuff to garage number one while I pack the smaller stuff in boxes. Saturday pm we all go to the pub for a well earned beer. Sunday, more packing with Karen as moral support + reading all of The Trollope's love letters to The Boy's Father (went against the way I was brought up - in my house people will not even read a postcard which is addressed to another member of the family - but it had to be done). The girl was soooooo dumb and in luuuuurve. She needed saving. Sunday late afternoon, a phone calll to The Trollope's father, to put him in the picture. The Boy's Father had sort of forgotten to mention that The Boy and I were still very much in the picture when he met The Trollope. The Trollope's father had a good instinct and thought: what he did to another woman he can do to my daughter. The lovebirds had also not spoken of their plan to make a nest in the London flat. The father was not keen on his little 18 year old birdie flying the Irish nest. Sunday night, celebration at Karen's house while The Boy's father rushes to Kim's flat to kill me (his exact words were "if you had been at the flat, I would have got in one way or another and I would have killed you", my answer "it's a good thing I wasn't there then" - talk about stating the obvious). The moral of the story. There isn't one - appart from I am really not a nice person. This is not about morals or justice, just about revenge. |
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1.12.03 21:28 |
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Encounter of the housing kind - Episode 5 or: You know it's time to move to bigger premises when... Kim and I miraculously got on in a rather small space. 2 grown ups who do not know each other living in a studio flat is not a brilliant move. Add to the cocktail a small child and the occasional visit of another child. Mix with the fairly unaccomodating nature of the 2 grown ups and you should get a nightmare. Instead we got on in a mad sort of way. After a while though we noticed clues that maybe it was time we found somewhere bigger to live. After a week-end visit to Kim's ex-husband and daughter we stopped in a crystal factory in the west midlands. We went to the coffee shop for the obligatory cup of tea when I overheard the couple at the next table. her: "I tell you they are". Him: "Are you sure ?". Her: "yes, they must be". Him: "no surely not, I mean, the kids". Her yes, I read it in the paper, on they can get the artificial insemination done on the NHS now you know" and so on. On the way out of the shop Kim giggles at the thought. We consider snogging for effect. Quick look at each other. The verdict falls. Naahhhhh, not even for effect. Back in the car, the penny dropped. This is why the waiters at the Harvester looked at us funny. Next stop, Philippa's house. We recount the coffee shop overheard dialogue. Well said her husband. The too of you DO behave like an aold couple. The next day we started looking. After over 2 months in the studio and with Kim's ex-husband as a guarantor we found a house to share. I finally had a fixed address, somewhere to put the stuff stored in garages, the opportunity to sleep in my bed, The Boy had his own room and a garden which backed on the railway line (heaven on hearth if you are a one year old boy) and I had gained a housemate. See, I told you there was a happy ending.
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2.12.03 23:10 |
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At least I got to go home on time... The big rush at work is over (at least for a few days) so I got to go home on time today. Yippee. On the minus side, it seemed like all the drivers from "how crap a driver can you be?" (or whatever the TV programme is called) were out in force in the western suburbs of London. No Sir, just because I am on a bike, it does not mean you are allowed to pull out in front of me at the junction if there is a give way sign on your road (particularly unpleasant when you are cycling uphill). Yes madam, your lipstick really needed touching up. I can see what compelled you to stop on the double yellow lines in the blinking cycle lane (Is there a new article in the highway code I am unaware of which states that as long as you put your hazard lights on and you drive a BMW, it is ok to stop and reapply ?). And you , the idiot in the fiesta with a personalised number plate (pleeease !), do you think I wear the stupid fluorescent jacket and my bike looks like the Skegness illuminations just so I can be a clearer target ? Anyway, that was the rant of the day. On the plus side, my mum called to confirm that everything had gone ok with my grandmother's operation. My mum has been to see her and she is fine. The proof. The minute my my stepped in, she was having a good whinge about the food. And yesterday, she threw a strop at my grandfather for not coming to see her early enough for her taste (she was still on morphine at the time - goes to show how strong she is, and how quickly she recovers). My grandmother is an extraordinary woman, who was born at the wrong time. She was very good at school and had a particular talent for mathematics. Unfortunately she was born at a time when an academic education was deemed unsuitable for a girl and she was made to study needlework and home economics. Her grandfather was a "monsieur" who had his own bench at the church. He also owned a fleet of barges and a touch of a gambling habit. The family fortunes took a bit of a nosedive when he started to gamble his freight, and the freight he did not yet have. My grandmother will not even have a pack of cards in the house. A lot of the decisions her father made hinged on preserving their lost standing in society. She does not believe in ill placed pride. Her mother died when she was very young and her father remarried. She is close to her half sister. She had 4 children (2 daughters and then 2 sons - at home) who she has admitted she never wanted. My grandfather is the one who wanted children. He was her husband. She had children. I share many of her personality traits. Mainly the bad ones like the stroppyness, the propensity to find a glass half empty, the total need to control my kitchen and to have it stocked up to the brim, the use of food as a means to give love to those close to me, thinking the worse of everything so as not to be disapointed when the worse happens and feeling uncomfortable when people say or do somthing nice to me. I am working on the more unpleasant ones. I also share some of my grandfather's traits. Too much feelings for only one person to carry, so much it has to be shared for example (my grandfather is the one if you need a cuddle). It makes for an explosive cocktail. In their couple it shows through big arguments which have become legendary. My mother has memories of objects flying about in rooms. In me, it just makes for a bundle of contradictions. If you add other ingredients from the paternal side of the family you get a very hazardous product. More about being a control freak in the kitchen: I was once told that everybody has an autistic side. Mine shows in my kitchen cupboards. For example when we moved into the house. Kim let me organise the cupboard in the kitchen, she knew if she even made a suggestion she would end up wearing the crockery. For a while I used to keep a list of the contents of the freezer on the door (him indoors has put a stop to it, he finds it a bit freaky). The only other person who I know does that is K. (another control freak with serious affection issues - notice a pattern ?). I also have to have cupboards full of food. I do not know why. I have never gone hungry in my life, so why ? For example, I normally have at least 5 different shapes of pasta, 4 or five types of rice (considering the only rice dishes I can cook are rice pudding and risotto - just a touch weird), various grains all neatly lined up and in an order that only seems obvious to me. Him indoors does not understand it but, has a good memory so he can put things back where they go. The previous au-pair unsettled me "a bit" (understatement of the week) by putting things back in places which even Him Indoors felt could never be right. Picture Him Indoors helping me unpack "where do I put the falafel mix ? Between the lentils and the Bulgur of course. And do you want the tinned salmon in front or behind the tuna ?...." The funny thing is I am the most untidy person Him Indoors and The Boy's father have ever met. I have the Mr Trebus hoarding gene in me. But not in my kitchen cupboards. |
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3.12.03 23:35 |
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Sometimes I wonder... Great call today. "xxx good afternoon". "I want to speak to Mr X". "He has gone home for the day, but I can put you through to his voicemail if you want". "I don't want his voicemail, I want to speak to him". "He is not in his ofice so you can't". "but I want to". I thought she was going to have a tantrum, there and then, on the phone. The idea of a grown up woman rolling on the floor and kicking her heels made it hard to to not laugh at her. I had to resist the temptation of saying that I wanted a ferrari and what was she going to do about it (standard mum answer to the I want statement). Please help me, is there a nice way to say tough titties ? Preferrably one that will not offend demanding callers.
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4.12.03 21:34 |
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I am calling from Timbuktu... Please note that starting your call with your location, however remote does not make your call more important. It may make us aware that you do not want to hold too long, but I repeat it does not make your call more important than if you were calling from the pub down the road. This week I have had: Mr I am calling from India, Mr I am calling from Pakistan (we have caller ID and I did not know Pakistan had 020 8... numbers) and last but not least Mr I am calling from Germany. When I was temping in the boy's school last year I was hired as a switchboard/receptionist/coffee maker/ nose bleed stopper/chewing-gum off blazer scraper/ whatever job needs doing at the time doer. It was an eye opener (I never realised just how many raving lunatics are out there with access to a telephone). I had a wonderful colleague. He was a rather senior teacher who did not feel that he was above talking to admin staff. He happened to walk into the office on day when we had put a rather obnoxious parent on speaker phone so that I would not be the only one to benefit from the abuse she was shouting down the phone. He picked up the phone introduced himself and told the woman who was still shouting down the line that we ladies certainly did not get paid enough to take this sort of abuse, and he put the phone down. I wish he had been at work with me tonight when I had to suffer 25 minutes of Mr I am calling from Germany. I am amazed I lasted that long before I put the phone down. He called back straight away. Somebody from repro had walked into my office in the meantime and took the call for me. It took him nearly 10 minutes to get rid of him. I have left a note on the switchboard warning M. that when she comes in Monday morning her first call will be "I am calling from Germany..."
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6.12.03 00:57 |
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Well... No friday fives today. I have had a look at past entries. Nothing that inspires me. Feel to ask 5 questions of your choice.
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6.12.03 01:00 |
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Out tonight... Checklist: Remove all programmed numbers from mobile before going out to avoid calling everybody and their dogs to tell them how much I love them when I am drunk later. Hide address book (see above). disable computer (see above - replace calling by emailing). Remember to take right amount for bus fare as cash to not be temped into stepping into dodgy minicab deathtrap when it is awfully cold at the bus stop. Take only credit cards of which I have forgotten the pin, to not be tempted to draw out cash to pay for dodgy minicab instead of sensibly taking the bus. 2 precautions are better than one. Gloves, scarf and special coat for long wait at bus stops (lond enough to cover ankles). Pocket hand warmers for waiting at bus stop. Keys. Plasters for blisters caused by wearing non sensible footwear. Lipstick. remind Him Indoors + Constance, the Lovely Au-pair not to leave the key in the lock so it's only my trying to make it up the stairs quietly rather than me ringing the door bell which wakes them up. Remember to place jug of water on bedside cabinet before leaving. Remind Him Indoors that a cup of tea first thing would be appreciated even if all he gets from me when he asks tomorrow if I fancy a cuppa is a deathly grunt. Right I think I have it all more or less covered.
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8.12.03 19:08 |
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