...Think, Think, Think...

The end...

I don't know if anyone still has me in their reader or checks back at the page to see if I've updated. I haven't, not for quite a while. I haven't had much to say and wasn't in the right frame of mind for it all. I am hoping to start blogging again over on my other site, http://www.glossgalore.com - it doesn't look very special at the moment, it's in the midst of a makeover and will be turned into more of a lifestyle blog - some of what I'm up to, food, beauty, fashion. Actually probably not fashion. But music and movies and plays and all the stuff that I think most of us fill our lives with. When this domain expires at the end of June I won't be renewing it and shortly thereafter I'll be taking is site down altogether. Posts to be lost to history foreve. So please, if you're still out there - make a note of the new blog. Or better, come and find me on twitter @bethglossgalore and say hello. Bx

An Update

You'll have noticed that I haven't been blogging much lately.  I've been on Twitter but both this blog and my other blog have been somewhat neglected.

This is partly becase I know you don't want to read yet another "I'm really fucking unhappy and I don't know how to fix it"post.  They get tiring.  Tiring to read and in part, tiring to write - although a place to vent would be nice.

Very little has changed since the last one.  Work is hard.  Some of my colleagues make it harder.  My inability to manage stress doesn't help.  I'd be better at it, but I have to focus my energy on picking up other people's slack, or generally stopping myself from telling people what I really think.

Anyway..the update.  I'll be moving the blog.  At the moment the blog is Typepad hosted and there's a cost to do that.  I'll be moving over to Blogger in the next few weeks.  I'm struggling to get my archive backed up and transferred but I don't know if I really need it.  It's quite a lot of whingeblah and a fresh start might be nice.

Either way, if you'd like to keep following me (read: if you're optimistic that whingeblah will stop and give way to more positive, interesting blogging) then please make sure you've got my domain address saved rather than the typepad one.

The address you need is:

www.bethblogs.com

 

Thanks for reading and I hope you are all keeping well.  Or that your own whingeblah's aren't too tiresome.

Bx

Any Red Dward Fans in the House?

I'm a bit of a fan.  Of the first 5 series anyway, it went a bit rubbish after that.

My blog post stems from a thought I had whilst watching an episode called Dimension Jump from series 4.

In this episode, we see Ace Rimmer for the first time.   He's another version of Arnold Rimmer from a parallel dimension.  

The theory they were toying with was that for every decision you make, every outcome is lived out in different dimensions.  It got me wondering about all the what-ifs in my life.

Of course, I can't change the past but I do wonder where I'd be now if I'd made different choices.  I guess we all wonder that sometimes.

It made me hope that in one of those dimensions, that one of the Me's had made all the perfect choices and was really happy.  I'm a bit envious of this parallel me.  She'd have all the good qualities that I don't - patience and compassion and tolerance.  She might be slower to wound than I am.  But maybe less clever, or not as funny.  More girly or sporty or placid.

But then it sort of dawns on me...I could be that parallel me couldn't I?  Couldn't I?

My dad was cleaning out some cupboards recently and found one of my school reports.  My teacher from June 1992 said this:

Beth is a confident, friendly girl who always tries her best in school.  She has a mature attitude to work and is self-motivated and independent.  She could profitably work on her attitude towards less able members of the class in order to achieve a more supportive rather than judgemental attitude.  She has made steady and pleasing progress this year.

That was 1992.  Almost 18 years ago.  I was 10.

My dad thought it was hilarious, as did my line manager and the owner of the company I work for.

Do you know why?  Because take the word "school" out of there and replace it with "work" and "class" with "the office" and  literally NOTHING has changed.  

At school it was the less able people.  In grown-up life, its the less driven, less passionate, less responsible people I struggle with. People who can't apologise for mistakes but give you a laundry list of excuses.  People who don't give it 100%.  Seriously, go big or go home.  If you want a job you don't give a fuck about do not work in a sales organisation people.  Tesco's are usually hiring and I hear the checkout isn't that strenuous.

So yeah.  Maybe I could change.  Or maybe its just who I am.  Who I'm meant to be.

And I shouldn't fucking apologise for that.

33 Sleeps...

Can you believe it?  Just 33 more sleeps until Christmas.

I've worked out what to buy everyone except my two best friends.  I'm struggling with one because he has everything he wants and the other because his taste is way better than mine and I don't want to get him a dud present.  I know its the thought that counts, but I want to make sure I get the right thing.

I'm feeling way more festive this year than I did last year.  I'm quite looking forward to it all this year but in honesty its mostly because I finish work on 23rd December and don't go back until 4th January.  That will be the longest break I've had all year.  

I had my first week off this year at the beginning of November and it was the first week that I did nothing for work.  All the other annual leave I have taken has involved me working in some capacity.  It's my own fault for not being able to say no.  Essentially, I've exhausted myself with all the early starts, late finishes, evenings and weekends on the laptop.  It's important to me that I do a good job but I've learned that I can't do that at the expense of my health or sanity.

The other thing I realised is that this is the first Christmas since my Grandmother passed away.  It seems odd without her.  Not that we spent Christmas together every year or anything like that, but it will be strange not to call her on Christmas Day and again on Boxing Day to wish her a happy birthday.

It feels like a lot has happened this year and I'm sad that she missed it.  My youngest cousin Danny got ridiculously good grades at his A-levels. My cousin Jay got engaged to his amazing girlfriend Charlotte and they're planning their wedding for next year.  It'll be in the same church as my grandmother's funeral because, by a lovely coincidence, it was the same church that Charlotte's grandparents were married in.  Grannie would have been so proud of them all.  While typing this post I realised that none of her grandchildren got married while she was alive.  I don't remember any family weddings, I think I was too young when they all happened, but I bet she loved them.  A nice excuse for dressing up and mingling. None of us had any children either, so she didn't get to be a great-grandmother.  She'd have been wonderful at that too.

Still, we'll all be thinking of her this Christmas.  Wherever she is, I know she'll be having a good one too.

 

P.S - To you know who, I hope this hasn't upset you but if it has I'm sorry sweetheart.  Just stuff on my mind xx

People Watching - The Gym

I (re)joined the gym recently.

I'm actually going too.  Makes a change, I'd joined the same gym three times previously in the last 10 years but hadn't managed to stick at going.  In fact, I have gone more in the two weeks since I joined this time than I did in the six months I was a member two years ago.  The place is the same, I suppose I am different.

Different because at 28, it seems that the combination of not walking to work, having delicious two (or three) course lunches whilst out at work and then eating a proper meal in the evening and a newly developed taste for alcohol that I didn't have in my early twenties means that at the beginning of the year, I was ten pounds lighter than I am now.  Different because I now struggle to fit into at least four of the suits I got earlier in the year.

There are TV's built into the treadmills and there is a pool with 4 types of jacuzzi, 3 types of steam room and a sauna to motivate me to get through.

I have also noticed that the gym is a fascinating place to people watch.  It seems that people are split into groups.

I should say to begin with that there are quite a lot of totally normal people at the gym.  People who have been going for years, who turn up, do their workout and go home.  They're friendly and knowledgeable and helpful.  These are the people who go to the gym because they enjoy it.  Which is weird, but not as weird as some of the groups I'm about to get to.

Then you have people like me.  The people who are there because they have to be to try and resolve some weight/health/fitness issue.  We all look much the same.  We have our shiny new gym kit, our shiny new mp3 player and are keeping our heads down.  We do not want to make eye contact and we certainly do not want to chat.

Next up, you have the Mums who appear to go to the gym as a social activity.  They tend to travel in pairs and go on machines next to each other.  They don't push themselves exceptionally hard and spend the entire time they are there talking about their kids or their husbands.  They occasionally break from this to bitch about the mother's of their childrens' classmates.

After that, you've got the teenage girls. These, generally don't need to go to the gym and look as though they exist on approximately ten calories per day.  They also travel in pairs, tend to either wear far too little (tiny shorts, bra tops etc) or totally inappropriate clothing (deck shoes do not equal trainers) and also like to have giggly chats with the meatheads.  A typical move for this group is to be on an exercise bike close to the free weight section, cycling upright with their hands on their hips to ensure that everyone sees them. 

Speaking of the meatheads.  I find these the most fascinating.  Groups of men, perhaps "packs" is a better word.  They don't do any cardio, they spend their time by the free weights.  They have horrendous technique. You're supposed to lift weights in a slow, controlled manner.  You are not supposed to fling dumbbells around in the air.  It is stupid and you risk injuring not only yourself, but other people around you too.  They also do not use the mirror for technique (which is what it's there for).  They use it to pose.  They swear like builders and fall into two age groups - late teens and scrawny with a bit of muscle and mid to late thirties who wish they were powerlifters, act like they are power lifters but as someone who actually works for a company that sponsors weight lifters I know that they are so very not.  

Finally, the last group I want to discuss I like to call the "Gym Weirdos".  These are the people who do not understand gym etiquette or generally behave oddly.  Note, this applies to men more than women.  For example, if you go into the gym and want to go on the treadmill, you look around and see where the free treadmills are.  At my gym, they are pretty spread out.  If there are a lot of spare treadmills you DO NOT get on one next to someone else.  It is just not done.  It is creepy.   Also, if you are wandering around with your t-shirt tucked into your tracksuit bottoms, doing two reps on a machine or standing around watching people intently, you are also a gym weirdo.  Likewise, if you are 50+ and wear speedos to the pool, pulled up like an 80's high-leg swimsuit, you fall into this category.  It is horrendous.  Don't.  We don't want to see that.  Ever.  

One other group I'd like to mention in closing are those women in the changing rooms.  You know the ones.  The pre/menopausal women who are at a point in their lives where they are totally comfortable with their bodies and you know that's great.  Really.  We all strive to that level of self-confidence.  The thing is, I'M not comfortable with your body.  Especially not if you are trying to have a conversation with me.  Seriously.  Put a towel on.  Please. Don't just sit there.  I don't want to be reminded that this is the level of sagging I can expect in 20 years time.  

So yeah.  I'm going to the gym three times a week.  It's hard and I'm not really seeing major results but that's because I'm not pushing myself too hard.  I know that if I try to do too much, I'll hate it and quit.  At the moment walking for an hour at 5-6k/h on the treadmill then a splash in the pool suits me fine and once it becomes easier I'll up it a little to 6/7k/hour.  Then who knows.  Maybe I'll run.

But not for a while.

I'm Still Here...

...I'm just not blogging much.

I'm somewhat less stressed than I was but there are still some things bothering me.

I have a few posts in the works but I'm not feeling very creative.  

I'm also getting an absolute shit-load of spam comments which I'm trying to stop, but I think it'll take a bit of work.

I hope you're all well.  I'll be back soon.

 

Stressed Out!

For those of you who saw that last blogpost called "Ooops" and were confused, blame Typepad and my iPhone.  It was meant to be a draft, but it published somehow?  I don't know how.

I haven't posted anything recently because my head really hasn't been in the right place for it.  

Short version of events is that I'd been trying to ignore a number of things that were making me feel extremely stressed, but I'm now at that point where they can't be ignored anymore.

It all hit me on Wednesday.  I was okay in the morning, left the office to go to a meeting and totally lost it.  Its always nice to spend a journey in a colleagues car trying not to cry, then the rest of the day with that person walking on eggshells for fear that they'll totally set you off and not know how to stop it.

Fortunately, I held myself together (just) until I got home, at which point I totally lost it when I realised that I'm actually not coping here.  I've been feeling really taken for granted and under massive amounts of pressure (most of which I'm putting on myself, it seems) and for whatever reason, Wednesday was breaking point.  

I think what did it was realising that I wasn't coping, but that I felt so overwhelmed by everything that I didn't know where to start to fix everything.  Its a pretty scary place to be, knowing so much is wrong but being totally stuck and unable to work out what needed to be addressed first.

I'm still not really sure where to start.  I went to see the counsellor on Thursday (after going to the dentist, fun fun) and that helped.  Just talking to someone who doesn't give you logic always works.  

Its really odd that logic is the first thing people turn to when someone is upset.  We all know the logical answer to a problem.  I knew that logically there were a series of things that I had to either do or change to make it better, but its not that side of your brain that dominates when you're at the "can't stop crying I feel like my life is totally fucked" point.  Its the emotional side, the side that consumes you with pain that is in control. 

So, as I write this I'm trying to take everything one day at a time, one stressful episode at a time.  I need to rebuild my mental strength or I'm going to end up in a padded room!  I'm feeling okay today I think.

Blogging may be even more infrequent than usual while I'm sorting myself out, but I'll get there soon.

Bx

Market Research It Was Not...

On my lunch breaks, I walk into the local town to buy food (and makeup, most days!).  One day last week on my way back, I had something quite odd happen to me.

I'd stopped, walking and was stood on the side of the pavement, out of people's way and I was on Twitter on my iPhone.  

I re-iterate.  I was NOT in anyone's way.  I was on the side of the pavement.

An old lady, and when I say old I guess late 70's, stops me and says with that air of scorn and derision that older people seem to think its okay to direct at those younger:

"What would you do without mobile phones?"

A number of answers went through my brain, as did a number of questions, the first being:

"Who the hell do you think you are?  I wasn't in your way?  I'm not asking what you'd do without your shopping trolley.  They didn't have them in the old days and people had to manage.  It's no different."

Shortly followed by:

"Why the fuck do I get all the nutters directing their questions at me?"

This was followed by a statement.

"My Grannie would never have been so nosey."  Because she wasn't.  She was a live and let live sorta lady.

I begin to contemplate possible answers.  Most were littered with expletives and cutting sarcasm as is my trademark:

"Well, if it wasn't for the phone I'd be so bored that I'd probably turn to crime.  Mugging old ladies, etc.  Hey, what's in the trolley?"

The most apt, although I didn't use it was

"I'd be unemployed if you must know.  I work in the industry."  Which is true.  I do.

I ended up using, and imagine this in a slightly confused tone:

"Erm, I'd probably just use the landline more often."

She half laughed and walked away.  

I told a colleague when I got back to the office whose immediate response was "Just because they're old, doesn't mean they're nice".  Valid point.

I'm just amazed that she had the gall to do it. I could have been all kinds of crazy.  Granted I was wearing a suit, but even so, crazy people have jobs at some point.

It's fascinating that someone felt so compelled to make a judgement out loud.  Sure, I judge all the time, but in my head, not crowbarring my way into someone's day and a shoving my opinions down their throat.

I'd wanted to use one of the rude answers but reminded myself that she was someone's Grannie too and that I wouldn't want someone to be nasty to mine. Of course, mine wouldn't have ever done that and was actually pretty tech savvy - she had a mobile phone, a laptop, she emailed.  

My Grannie rocked.  I miss her.

Meet Hobo...

This is Hobo:

She's our cat (obviously).  

Around this time last year, she started to sleep in our greenhouse every day. We put a makeshift bed in there for her, made from a plastic crate and an old jacket. Then we started to feed her a little bit, just some biscuits because she was obviously very hungry.

I'm not a cat person really and at the time of her arrival I was angling towards getting a dog (either a westie or a border collie) and so while she was quite cute, I wasn't that fussed on the whole business.

Gradually over the summer my Dad managed to get her to come to him so he could stroke her and before long she'd pretty much moved in.  

Poor little thing, she's clearly had a rough time as she's a bit jumpy around people, hates being picked up and has both her fangs missing on one side.

I've become a total fur-mummy.  I love her to bits, even though she doesn't really like me all that much.  She prefers my parents as they regularly feed her, whereas I don't because the smell of the food makes me heave.  

I never understood the cat people and all the fuss but now I do.  The thought of someone doing something bad to her really chokes me up and I'm really glad she found us or god knows what would have happened.  Especially during the winter when we had the snow, I'm sure she wouldn't have made it through that.

So...thats Hobo (and now you understand the name).  To follow are assorted pictures of my furbaby.  Normal, scathing, cynical blogging will resume shortly.

 

This is the back of the car. The first time we took her to the vets, we didn't have a carrier for her and put her into a big cardboard box.  She escaped in seconds and spent the whole journey climbing over the back seat.

 

  This was last summer, chillin' in the garden.  This is pretty much all she did.

 Gratuitous Hobo close up.  She's a pretty girl.

 This one was last night.  She had realised that my parents were away and this face is saying "You?  You are not my preferred human.  I demand the return of the others, that they may provide me with crunchies"  Ironically they're back today and she's giving them the silent treatment for leaving her.

Last one.  This afternoon, asleep on the bed.  She is so spoiled that we put a cover over it so that fur doesn't end up everywhere and she can still sleep on the bed.  She sheds like crazy as you can probably see. 

 

Food Stuff #1 - Toast

I'm a little bit of a foodie.

I love to eat.  I hoard recipes and cookbooks like a culinary klepto, although I don't cook much.  I get to eat at some lovely restaurants in London at times and I realise how lucky I am as I know that some of these meals equate to the cost of a weekly shop for some people.

My first real food memory though, is a weird one.

When I was a child, the big department store in my hometown didn't open on a Monday and so by extension, none of the other shops did either.  I suppose this is a sensible business decision as the majority of shoppers will want to go into said department store and would wait until it was open before going into town.

On Tuesdays in the years before I went to nursery, my mum used to go into town to get various bits of shopping.  These were in the days before the town had a shopping centre and a McDonald's.  These were the days where there was a Woolworths that was a profitable business, before the over-diversification that destroyed it.  The days when a new outfit for Barbie cost £1.95   Every Tuesday as part of this little trip into town we'd go and have breakfast in a little cafe called Toby's. 

It isn't there anymore.  It must have closed 10 years ago, I suppose at the advent of the Starbucks/Costa influx. I think there is either a chinese or an indian restaurant in its place now.  One of many in the town centre, none of which are much cop.

As a child, we didn't eat out a lot but this was a weekly treat.  A ritual.  I don't remember what mum ordered, but I always had the same: a coke and toast.

To my 28 year old self, who has been fortunate enough to have things like lobster and foie gras and lovely bubbly champagne or cocktails, it sounds so simple.  When I think about it, my memory of the coke and toast ritual is more vivid than any other meal I've had. Here's why:

During my childhood, we only ever had brown bread in the house. We also only had margarine.  Butter was a Christmas treat.  At Toby's, I was allowed white toast with real butter.

There were even more novelties for me in that the toast came out on a toast rack and the butter was little golden packets of Anchor.

Having had cold toast with breakfast in a number of hotels in recent years, I'm amazed that the people at Toby's managed to get to get the toast to your table while it was still hot enough to melt the butter so that it dripped over your fingers (that actually sounds a bit pervy doesn't it?).

Toby's was one of those very old fashioned sort of places where all the fittings were dark wood and the furnishings were chintz.  My memories of the place are a bit hazy but I do remember it being quite dark inside and using "normal" knives for butter, rather than specific spreaders like we had at home.  I liked how the serration on the knife made patterns in the butter that slowly disappeared as the butter melted.  The spreaders at home didn't do that as they had a straight edge.

I realise this is a bit of an odd post but it dawned on me recently that to this day, if I'm given the choice of brown toast over white toast I'll take the white. If white isn't an option, I'll go without.  Brown bread doesn't toast the same way - although is much better than white bread when its fresh, in my opinion.

White toast is fairly high up on my list of comfort foods.  I probably put things on it that I wouldn't have eaten as a child - lemon curd or pate - but it still takes me back to being a kid in that restaurant.

Funny how food does that isn't it?