I am outside Picadilly Circus tube station and I send a text to BestFriend.
Let me know when you get here. I'm going to browse in some shops X.
It was in Accessorize that my phone died.
I waited by the tube station for twenty minutes. Nothing. Lots of people who looked like her, though.
I went to a Starbucks we had talked about going to. Nope.
I went back to the tube station and sat on the steps and huffed.
I stood by a monument and got asked to take a load of photos for tourists. Honestly, what did we
do before mobile phones?
I had taken an American couple's photograph when the idea hit me. MadFather had BestFriend's number. And I knew MadFather's number.
"I know this is presumptuous," I said, handing the camera back to them, complete with blurry picture courtesy of my photo-taking skills. "But I'm supposed to be meeting my friend, and my battery's died, could I just ring her..."
"Of course," the blonde American with the very nice teeth said. She handed me her mobile.
There is no need, I thought, to tell her the ins and outs of calling MadFather to call BestFriend.
MadFather doesn't answer.
Fuck, fuck, I think, and hand her back her phone. "No worries," I said. "It'll be fine."
The cold wind stirred my coat and I folded my arms, pondering what to do.
A few moments later she was back. "Um, it's for you," she said.
Oh bollocks, I thought. MadFather had one of those services that calls you back randomly. "Hello?" I said into the phone, only it was ringing out. I hung up, baffled.
"Do you want me to pass on a message, if she rings back?" the American said.
Oh God, I thought. "Just say - um, just say Billygean's by the statue!" I said.
Eventually I rang MindReader from a phonebox and cried. He happened to have BestFriend's number randomly and saved the day.
When I got back MadFather asked me why an American woman had told him I was by a statue.
I didn't quite know what to say.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing, illness
"Here's fine," I say and get out of the car, pulling my beautiful new skirt down.
I step out onto the street, and the night lights catch my tights and shine.
Birmingham smells of curries and smog and the smells drift onto my clothes and into my hair.
I get cash out, stride along, call my friend and apologise for always being late.
I catch the eye of an admiring man and smile.
It has been
eight months since I last walked in Birmingham, my home. I had forgotten what my home smelt like.
The man is still staring.
It is at precisely this point that I realise my skirt is tucked into my knickers.
Labels: embarrassing, illness
"I sat on my glasses," I say to MadFather, pouting.
He takes the glasses off me and bends the arms for a while. "Any better?" he says.
I put them on again. "They're less crooked," I say, "but for some reason I can't see very clearly out of them."
"Oh," he says, taking back the glasses and fiddling some more. "Now?" he says.
"Hm," I say. "They feel totally normal but everything is blurred."
MadFather's face cracks into a smile. "Do you have your contact lenses in Billygean?"
"Oh," I say. "Maybe."
Labels: blonde moments, Dad, embarrassing
MindReader and I are sitting on bales of hay that are probably full of spiders. I am maintaining that while it was me who suggested a day (40 minutes) out at a petting zoo, it was him who saw the lambs were being bottle fed and suggested we go and join in.
"So which boys and girls want to feed the lambs?" the loud and annoying farm lady says.
I exchange a wry smile with MindReader. The phrase
boys and girls makes it slightly difficult to go and join in.
And then. And THEN -
"Who wants to sing a song?"
I am dying inside. This is probably not what MindReader wanted to spend his annual leave doing. What will all the other lawyers say?
"Baa baa black sheep -"
"There's only one thing for it," I say, pulling MindReader up and dashing out of the barn, negotiating lambs and sheep and pushing past toddlers.
Labels: embarrassing, illness, MindReader
MindReader and I are in my local shop. Having WALKED there.
The sole purpose of our visit is to buy me a bar of Galaxy. That's right. It's been 6 weeks, I accidentally consumed some ham with milk in (ham!) and lived, and it's about time I reintroduced something. Besides, my Doctor, having seen my weight gain, thinks it might be gluten. He then did go on to say he wanted me to be 60kg instead of 50kg which I think since I have gained 2kg in 7 months of eating four meals a day and sleeping 13 hours a night, is a bit ambitious.
Anyway. I get to the counter and the woman says, "that's three pounds sixty seven please."
(Okay, I didn't
just buy Galaxy. I also bought other boring things. Like ground almonds.)
I fiddle around with my bag. The problem is not that my bag is huge and all important things drop to the bottom. Nor is it the old chronic fatigue dizziness (which I am pleased about, Glands, please do not think I am getting ungrateful). It was the simple fact that -
It has been about six months since I used money!
I thought for about 8 seconds. Which is a long time when you're at a till, performing a simple task. I gave her £3.50. And then
MindReader had to take it back and add to it. But
from my money so the problem clearly wasn't that I was poor. Which I would prefer.
So that was embarrassing. But OH MY GOD the Galaxy was worth it. Sod my intestines. I'm buying a can of condensed milk next. With
exact change.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing, illness, MindReader
I am in the Post Office. Having WALKED there, oh yes.
I drum my fingers on the counter.
"Yeah so he just said he'd booked this holiday with his mates and - " she clicks her fingers. "Gone."
I raise my eyebrows.
Rubbish boyfriend.
"Put the next one on the scales please," she says.
I must confess I don't really understand the Post Office. The weighing, all the stickers, pushing parcels under the counter, the wet sponge they often push their fingers into. It is a very strange ritual.
I peel off my proof of posting receipt and stick it onto one of my parcels (a beautiful UK size 6 Gingham top that is of course too big).
"No no," she says, peeling it off again. "That's
yours."
I blink. "I thought they needed proof of posting."
"That's what the parcel's for," she says, rolling her eyes. "
That'll be £1.37 then."
"Bargain," I say, looking at the three big parcels I'm posting. I had, irrationally, got £20 out of the cash point, because I have no idea of the value of money.
I look at the form I'm holding and realise with a thud that it is the returns form that needs to go
in the parcel.
"Um," I say. "Sorry - but - this needs to go
in the parcel. Can you - put it in?"
She sighs and begins hacking away at the Sellotape I have plastered the parcel in. "Sorry," I say again as she tugs and rips at the parcel. "I'm really stupid."
"You
are stupid," she says.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing, illness
"I'm bored," I say to
MindReader across my candles. It is dusk and we are lounging in the living room, the windows thrown wide open.
"How are you feeling?"
MindReader says.
I shrug, "fine," I say.
He tugs at my hand and leads me outside into the garden,
greeny-yellow on a backdrop of light blue dusky sky. The air outside is warmer than in and it is so still it feels almost airless. It smells of earth and blossom and nighttime.
He appears out of the garage with a golf club and a ball and I snort. "Er?"
"It'll be fun," he says, placing his warm body behind me.
I spend a while obsessing over my grip and trying not to stand like a ballerina. I consider hitting it a few times but chicken out.
"Please go in the garage," I say to
MindReader. "I can't do it in front of you!"
Alone, I stare at the golf ball and the club. I take a deep breath and swing.
Events happen in this order:
I miss the ball, hit the washing line with the club and fall over.
I hear a snort from the direction of the garage and stand up.
"You watched!" I say.
"
Billygean,"
MindReader says, looking at my grass-stained knees. "I love you."
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing, illness, MindReader
The Algae arrived this morning. It is, apparently, nature's perfect food, and to be sure any placebo effects work, I read about ten stories on the internet of people whose CFS was cured overnight by the algae and how one diabetic man's insulin needs dropped 8 times in 11 months. Hmm.
Algae comes in rather large capsules which presented usual psychological gagging problems. Ended up sucking on the plastic until the algae leaked out which was not that pleasant.
Doorbell rang shortly after algae-taking.
"You alright?" one of MadFather's friends said.
"Fine, fine," I said, stepping away to let him in, the energy already draining out of me.
"You've erm - got something..." he said, pointing to below my mouth.
"Oh, it's just - algae," I said.
"
Algae?"
Body, I hope you are happy.
Labels: embarrassing, illness
I wake up. It is 9.30am.
I have had the house to myself for a few days, which was going rather well. Watching absolute trash on the TV, eating when I wanted (now I am no longer too sick to put something in the oven!), writing my novel in peace and quiet.
I probably knew when I went in an oily bath at midnight to relax myself that I wasn't going to sleep well. Why IS it when I have the house to myself at night I become an 8 year old? I know vampires aren't going to attack me, really I do, but that doesn't stop me covering my neck irrationally with the duvet.
Watched Gossip Girl and then read
Kazuo Ishiguro until 2am. This is quite normal; even with chronic tiredness I am still a
night owl. Slept until quarter to three, woke up having had a dream
MindReader died. This is not uncommon for the past few months either; I attributed it to a fever but the fever is long gone and the rather frightening dreams remain (suggestions welcome!). Then I woke up pretty much on the hour until five when I actually read for another hour.
So 9:30 was pretty disastrous - The Glands need at least 9 hours' sleep or they cause havoc. I switched off my lamp (told you I was 8) and poked my head over my windowsill.
The
BinMen.
5 grown men in reflective bibs standing in the middle of the road in the torrential rain, sorting out the glass from the paper. How were they doing it? By PICKING the glasses up and DROPPING THEM from approximately 2 metres until they smashed into the truck.
I sat up a little straighter, the room already swimming, and glared at them.
And then one of them glared back. And before I knew what was happened, all 5 of them were pointing.
It was at this moment that I realised one of my boobs was on show.
Labels: embarrassing, illness
"Hang on hang on hang on," I say, running down the stairs.
It is 2pm and I am in my pyjamas. Obviously. Even worse, my pyjamas are very large and cow print.
I can hear the postman giving up and walking down the driveway. I fumble in my bag for my keys and unlock the door.
"Hallo," I say, sticking my head out of the door. He doesn't hear me, so I run down the driveway.
He turns around, and honestly, I can see the fear on his face. There is a mad woman who is ALWAYS IN chasing me DRESSED AS A COW.
"Please - give - parcel," I say, panting. It is, after all, around 6 months since I last exercised.
He hands it to me wordlessly. He is still very frightened.
"What?" I snap, since MadFather and I have a bet on
who else I can scare away.
"Nothing," he says. "This is just a - corporate gift. And you don't look very..." his eyes trail over my cow Hyde pyjamas, the headband controlling my mane of curls, my glasses on permanently wonky because it's easier to watch TV that way, "corporate."
I am immediately distracted. "A corporate gift?!" I say, presuming they have got the wrong address but accepting the parcel nonetheless.
It is, it turns out, for me. It is from FutureLawFirm - a huge Easter Egg and a box of chocolates wishing me well.
I am suspiciously aware that it is perhaps a bribe which I accept in eating the chocolates by agreeing not to drop out and stop moaning, but still, lawyers aside, I am touched.
Labels: embarrassing, illness
"Bladder all empty now?" Uninteresting Ultrasound Man says to me.
"Yep," I say, wondering what else he expected when he asked me to go pee.
He lifts my top up, and I have to say, I will NEVER be comfortable with this, no matter how boring and expressionless he is.
"You've wiped all the gel off," he says, spreading more on me.
"Er, sorry," I say, but what did he expect? It was so sticky and IN MY BELLY BUTTON.
"Ooh are those my kidneys?" I say, hoping to spark some conversation instead of lying there in silence feeling pregnant.
"Yes."
I lapse into silence.
"There's absolutely nothing wrong with you," he says a moment later.
"I know."
I gather up my things and wince as my t shirt sticks to the gel on my back.
"There's nothing wrong with me," I say loudly to MindReader. Several people in the waiting room look up and stare.
"Shh!" he says, an arm encircling my waist.
"Is this yours?" he says, holding up an orange flavoured sweet.
"Er, yes," I say.
"It fell out of your trousers on your way in," he says, a faint smirk across his features.
"Ah yes," I say. "I was keeping it there the last time I wore these jeans."
Several people in the waiting room are staring.
"I love you," MindReader says, grabbing my hand. "You big nutjob."
Labels: embarrassing, illness, MindReader
"Beep beep."
My eyes fly open.
For a moment I doze, wrapping MindReader's lovely smelling t shirt (that I stole) around me.
"Beep beep."
I look lazily at my phone. It does not appear to want anything. I close my eyes again.
"Beep beep."
I sit up, my head spinning. The beeping gets louder when I walk unsteadily out of my room.
I scratch my stomach, and, looking down, realise there is a label poking out of my pants.
I have my pants on backwards.
"Beep beep."
I sit down on the landing. What the hell
is that?
I follow the sound down the stairs, stopping in between beeps and twirling around uselessly.
The beeps are getting louder as I walk through the living room to the kitchen. I am poised in the kitchen waiting for the next beep. Then I shall have it!
It beeps. I stare at the counter. It is the PHONE. Oh! The phone has a low battery and wants everyone to know.
The doorbell rings. I open the door absentmindedly.
The FedEx man stares at me. Me, in my boyfriend's t-shirt and my age 9 pants on backwards.
"We don't need to discuss this," I say, gesturing to my body.
"So true," he says, and I sign for the parcel in silence.
Labels: embarrassing
Me: MindReader!
MindReader: Are you okay?
Me: No. I am TRAPPED.
MindReader: What?
Me: I'm at the Doctor's.
MindReader: I know, I wondered if-
Me: I have to give ANOTHER pee sample so they gave me these keys to go to the toilet. It was a yale lock.
[pause]
I've sort of... left the keys outside. And i'm locked in the loo!
MindReader: [laughter so loud I have to move phone away from my year]
[pause]
[still laughing] ring the receptionist!
Me: [smiling] you are rubbish.
---------------------------------------------------
Me: Er - hello. It's um, Billygean, I was just in the doctor's room.
Evil Receptionist: Oh, right.
Me: I'm sort of - trapped - in the toilet. Well not
in the toilet. I have - left the keys...
Evil Receptionist: I'll just send someone to get you.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing
It is last week, when I was slightly less tired, and MindReader and I are watching
OldTutor's play.
OldTutor rescued me from the throes of a 2:2 in my final year and did not smirk at the waterproof bag I wore over my operating foot in the rain. He is a Very Calm Buddhist. Consequently, I, of course, become more neurotic around him.
He approaches us in the interval.
"OldTutor, this is MindReader," I say, "and vice versa." They shake hands, and I feel MindReader watching me.
"The play's really good!" I say, waving the large paper program. OldTutor gazes across the stage, silent for a moment. Finally he clasps his hands together.
"Good, I'm glad" he says, nodding slowly. "And how are you?"
This question becomes increasingly difficult to answer. How much information do people want? My glands hurt too much to shave? It hurts to pee? I haven't poo'd for a week? Where do you stop?
"I'm fine," I say, waving a hand. "I'm sat down."
He laughs.
We talk about whether I understand the play. His essays, the actors.
He taps me on the shoulder as part, heading towards the bar.
I turn to MindReader. "Well!" I say.
"What?" he says, his blue eyes wide.
"Do you like him?"
"Yes, he seems very calm."
"Yes he is. And didn't I do well! Not too much neuroses."
MindReader stares at me for a moment. And then he slowly removes the program from my fingers.
You know, the one I had apparently folded and folded and folded into a tiny square and finally ripped into tiny bits whilst having a perfectly non-neurotic conversation.
Labels: embarrassing, MindReader
"Its udders scare me," I say to MindReader, looking at the cow mug he bought me from barcelona over the summer.
I take a sip of my coffee, for it is 6:45am. I make a mental note to be quieter since MadFather says he is sick of being woken up by mine and MindReader's incessant laughter.
"It's so weird, why are they on display?" I say, looking out the dark window and not wanting to get up.
"Well, because they ARE on display on cows?" he says, his blue eyes perplexed.
"Still. It's profane. They don't put penises on any other mugs."
MindReader opens his mouth. And then closes it. And then - "Billygean. What do you think udders are?"
"Penises."
"You think cows have FOUR penises?"
"Yes, like ducts."
"Billygean, cows are female."
"No," I say. "SOME cows are female. Some are males."
"What are bulls then?"
"Another species," I say, cringing as my argument crashes around my ears.
"No no no," he says rocking forward, his head in the duvet. "Cows are female and the udders are their BOOBS."
"But -" I say.
"Just think about it."
I sit quietly for a moment. All cows DO seem to have udders. And why would they need four penises?
"You're probably right," I say, the early morning making me conceed way too early.
"Right," MindReader says grabbing a towel and heading for a shower. "Just one thing?"
"Hm?" I say, flopping back onto the bed.
"What did you think milk was?"
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing, MindReader
"Right," I say, stopping dead in the middle of Montmartre. "Hold this."
MindReader stretches out his hand and I place the flu capsule into it.
"What...?" MindReader says.
"I can't swallow the capsules, obviously," I say. "So I'm going to eat the grains inside."
"Right."
"It says I have to take them with fruit juice or yoghurt," I say. "So here, hold this."
I put the bottle of orange juice in his hand, which he opens.
I open the capsule and most of the grains fall on my coat and my mittens. I pour the remaining grains into my mouth whilst MindReader's eyebrows raise higher and higher.
I can't get the last of the grains out of the capsule so I empty them into the lid of the orange juice. I then decant the juice into the lid and drink. Then I lick the last grains out of the lid, lick my finger and collect the grains off my coat.
"I suspect this is exactly what they had in mind when they said 'take the capsule'" says MindReader.
Labels: embarrassing, Holidays, illness, MindReader
"Home dye job?" is the first thing the hairdresser says to me.
I nod meekly, unable to live and indeed go to Paris tonight with my patchy hair from the
dyeing incident."Oh we've all been there," she says, brushing a strand of platinum blonde hair away from her face.
You, I think spitefully.
As you can tell, I am already not in the mood for this. I decided to sleep until noon today, because I'm good at that and because MindReader and I are leaving for Paris at 2am and therefore not sleeping. Well, I might be in the car, but shh. Unfortunately not functioning until one (yes, it still takes an hour even in the middle of the day) meant that packing, getting hair dyed, writing a LONG letter to a client and writing my Christmas cards could not be achieved.
Indeed, I have thus far only achieved hair dyeing.
"Dear me," she says. "This is a disaster."
And then she gets her boss to come look at it.
And then
she gets
her boss to come look at it.
Apparently the best thing to do was to HIGHLIGHT THE WHOLE LOT.
I gape. Me, Billygean, who has had black hair for a century?
Alas I am English and cannot complain, so 15 minutes later I am sat with a cap on my head. It is actually quite fetching, such is my propensity for hats at the moment.
"Don't worry this won't hurt," she says, approaching my head with a pair of tweezers. I wince as she pulls a clump of hairs through.
"See that's okay isn't it?" she says as my eyes begin to stream. I am in clear physical pain. My shoulders are up by my ears, my hands wrestling together like snakes.
And then I start sneezing. With EVERY HAIR SHE PULLS THROUGH. Needless to say, this is a labour-intensive process. Grab, pull, sneeze, wait.
And then I start thinking: I sneeze when I pluck my eyebrows. When hair is coming out of its root. Why does this hurt? Is the hair no longer in my head? Will I have to wear the cap as a replacement skull?
Once finished, she brings over a painting brush. I eye it nervously.
"When do I get to - you know - choose the colour?" I say.
"Oh," she says, laughing and raising a black eyebrow. "We don't really know what colour it's going to come out because it's bleach."
"Right," I say, my voice shaking. This is no longer my bathroom. This is a CONTROLLED ENVIRONMENT where I thought £40 would ensure it WOULD NOT GO WRONG.
"So... it could be light brown like I asked, or blonde!" I say. Ha ha, I think. Ha ha, no no, not blonde she was
supposed to say.
"Yep," she says, walking off to 'mix my colour'.
What colour though?
She brings a dish back which is full of purple liquid. I stare at it. I keep staring as she paints it on. Eventually, she says:
"Oh don't worry, it won't be purple."
I eye her evenly. "I thought you didn't
know what colour it could be."
She leaves then, and her boss takes over, who gets increasingly nervous the more she realises what I do for a living.
And alas, Billygean is blonde, which is, let's be fair, quite appropriate.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing, grumbles
MindReader and I are canoodling. He has been here a matter of moments and somehow his clothes are all over the floor. What? Oh shut up. You all do it.
I hear
MadFather's footsteps across the landing and my eyes widen.
"
Billygean?" He says.
"Bit
busy," I shriek in a voice that
MindReader has taken to imitating.
"Okay,"
MadFather says, a hint of glee in his voice.
MindReader is bright red, his face in the crook of my neck. "I've been here ten minutes," he says. "Your Dad's going to think I'm a bastard."
4 hours later
"
MadFather," I say, quite unable to look him in the eye.
"Yes?"
"Can you drop
MindReader off at the station?"
"I'm a bit
busy, actually."
Labels: Dad, embarrassing, MindReader
11am: Chat idly with friends when supposed to be talking about how to increase a company's authorised share capital. Mention that natural hair colour is light brown amid surprised looks.
10pm: Ponder, in Birmingham New Street as I wait for the train, whether to dye hair. Realise that have been dyeing hair black-ish for 6 years. Think am old; have been of hair dyeing age for a whole 6 years!
10:01pm: Oh a whim, purchase "sandalwood brown" hair colour.
10:02pm: Reason with Surprised Check Out Lady that it's not that whimsical as it's only four shades lighter than current hair.
12am: Read hair dyeing leaflet.
12:01am: Ignore warnings about allergy skin tests.
12:10am: Hairdye is applied.
12:11am: Read side effects of hair dye.
12:12am: Clutch dramatically at throat and begin scratching imaginary hives on body.
12:15am: Tidy room and do washing up in a bid to distract self from impending anaphalactic shock.
12:20am: Wimp out and wash hair dye off.
12:30am: Blow dry hair.
12:31am: Wake MadFather.
12:32am: Confront mirror. Hair looks exactly the same.
12:33am: Go back to mirror with better light. Realise have lightens the roots of hair, and left the main body dark. Look like skunk. Realise have essentially done opposite of what wanted to achieve.
12:35am: Go to bed.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing
"Ooh, show me the offices then," I say to
MindReader as we walk through Birmingham city centre. He wears a dark grey suit and carries a Starbucks and looks utterly the lawyer. Except he looks as if he's doing it ironically.
His interview had gone well, he had said, and I'd smiled, remembering sitting in the bath together - a traditional way we tell each other about our days - his hair in a shampoo-
mohican whilst he recited the importance of the
Clementi legal services report to me.
Yes, I am the most anal girlfriend
ever.
"Ooh, they're lovely," I say, as he looks shiftily around. To be fair it would be weird for his interviewer to see him outside the offices two hours later.
"Oh my GOD," I say. "THEY HAVE A CHRISTMAS TREE IN THE FOYER. A CHRISTMAS-"
MindReader touches his finger to my lips.
"Oh," I say, quieter. "Did I just lose you a job?"
"No no," he says. "It's fine. I told them I did care in the community."
Labels: embarrassing, MindReader
"Just going to the loo," I say to
MindReader, extracting myself from his arms. He nods and sips his coffee, sprawled on his sofa.
I walk up his stairs and along his rather long corridor to his room. I smirk slightly, glancing at how much mess I've made when I've only been here a day. I walk into his bathroom.
As I'm peeing I notice the door's ajar. Hoping his Dad cannot hear me peeing from the next room, I jump when I hear footsteps in
MindReader's room.
"Oh hello," I coo as his dog wanders in.
She pads just a little too close to me and I laugh, pushing her head away.
Suddenly, her paws are on the toilet seat.
And she is DRINKING ME PEE.
What can I do? Stand up and pee all over the carpet? I cannot stop my pee midstream so clearly am going to be incontinent when am 35.
MINDREADER'S DOG IS DRINKING MY PEE.
"Okay?"
MindReader says as I join him on the sofa.
"Fine," I say. "But maybe you should read my blog later."
Labels: embarrassing, MindReader
TheToff looks at me as I board the train.
He is wearing a rugby shirt, a puffy body warmer, a tan, and lots of stringy bracelet things that scream "I've been travelling". He is barely 20 by the looks of it, shaggy blond hair, lips so red they look like he's been eating blueberries all day. You get the impression.
I am judgmental.
The sign above his head blinks. "Not in service. Please alight."
"Er," I say. "What does that mean?"
"Alight," he says. "It's an old way of saying -"
I tut. "I know what alight means. Do we have to
do it?"
"I hope not, this is the last train to Shrewsbury."
But he says
Shrowsbury. MindReader has warned me about this. And this is how I know TheToff is a toff.
"Great," I say. "I'm staying on then."
He looks at me for a second. And this is the moment, isn't it, where you either lapse into silence for the journey exchanging occasional smiles about the lateness of the train or the freaks in the next carriage, or you have to talk for the whole journey.
"So do you live in Shrewsbury?"
I sigh.
"No," I say. "I live in, well, I live in Tamworth, I suppose," and wince because I
don't, only in times of crisis.
"Why are you going to Shrewsbury then?" he says, pushing his mop of hair back.
"Erm," I say, taken aback. "To see -"
"When we get there would you like to go with me to -"
I panic.
"I'm going to Shrewsbury to see my boyfriend," I say.
And just like that he goes silent! How obvious!
He speaks again 20 minutes later, when I pull the bright green tinkerbell wings out of my bag because they were getting squished.
"You going to a party with this boyfriend then?"
"Yes."
"Is it fancy dress?"
"No," I smirk, and then take out my tax law book and we do not speak again.
Labels: embarrassing
I check the address again and ring the doorbell.
A lady with bright pink dreadlocks answers. "Ah," she says. "You must be Tinkerbell."
I blink. "I guess so," I say, following her down the hallway lined with Buddha statues and Hemp posters.
MindReader and I are going to a Halloween party this Saturday and have been ignoring the fancy dress aspect. Mostly because we don't see each other often enough to warrant costume shopping when we do.
"I thought you might like to try SuperGirl and SuperMan on too," she says, gesturing to the bright costumes hanging in the dressing room.
"Thanks," I say. "I bet you're really busy this time of year."
"Busy all year," she says. I briefly wonder why, but then reason it is Tamworth, and there are probably people here with SuperGirl festishes.
"But yes," she says. "Three out of our four Tinkerbells are already out."
Just then the pink panther walks past.
"Anyway here's the dress and there are your boot tops," she says.
I shake my head and shut the changing room doors.
The costume - it is baffling. I try it this way and that, pushing my head through odd holes. I hold the boot tops up and scrutinise them. Eventually I emerge.
It turns out I had the boot tops on my arms and the belt around my head.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing, MindReader
Monday morning equals tax law.
"So once you've established the transfer's not exempt, you tax it," L says to me, looking throoughly bored as it drizzles outside.
"Yes. But at the high band because the nil rate band was taken up by the transfer in 2004," I say, sipping my coffee.
"Then what?"
"Well," I say. "He's gone and died hasn't he. I forget who his assets went to. Anyway, then you do the death thingy, don't you?"
"Thanks for that Billygean," Shrek the tax tutor says behind me. "Insightful."
Labels: embarrassing, law
I open my can of coke noisily in the library whilst contemplating beginning the
online tutorial. That is, where a boring, usually hairy tutor talks at you about capital gains tax whilst you pause it to check Facebook every 20 seconds.
"How's it going?" Aquaintance-from-last-year says by my shoulder.
"Oh, fine, boring," I say, such is my standard answer for all aspects of this course.
"Haven't seen you for ages," he says, sitting down next to me.
Oh great, I think,
more small talk, such is how grumpy I am on this course.
"No," I say. "I've been buried in tax law."
"How's - Mike - is it?" he says.
I blush. It has been ages.
"Erm, I'm not sure actually," I say, praying I don't have to tell him that I'm no longer with Old Boyfriend and I already have a New Boyfriend is one conversation. "That sort of - ended. In March."
"Oh!" he says, clearly embarrassed.
"So how's the LPC going for you?" I say.
"Good, really like it," which I frown at. "Have you chosen your electives?" he says.
"Yep, I say, rattling off my list. Managed to convince my Future Law Firm I didn't need to do banking and debt finance. Who
chooses those?"
He laughs. "I know."
"What are you doing?"
"Banking and debt finance."
I blush this time.
And then he says. "So how's your housemates?"
I want to bang my head on the desk.
Labels: embarrassing, grumbles
Shrek the tax tutor, for he is large with big ears, is pacing along the front of the "classroom". He wears a silly green suit with GOLDEN CUFFS just above his elbows.
"And so," he is saying. "You take the income tax from the period of profit loss and attach it to the previous period under s64..."
I am almost asleep. So is C, who sits in front of me, her blonde head in her hands with her mittens still on.
"You okay?" I whisper.
"Nightmare morning," she says. "Someone jumped in front of my train."
"Were they doing tax law just before?" I say, deadpan.
A smile creeps across her face.
"Now," Shrek says, wandering around the room. "If you could turn to task one after the break..."
His drone is too much. "Coffee?" I say to C, standing.
I push my chair out.
Suddenly, Shrek is behind me - where did he come from? - doubled over.
Oh my God.
I have PUSHED MY CHAIR into my tax tutor's
balls!
He clutches them - it? - and straightens up.
I - having, of course, the
keyring incident and others in mind - do not say a word.
Labels: embarrassing
MindReader stands up, his face in shadow in the early morning light.
"Can I have a shower?" he whispers, leaning over me. I roll over, marvelling at how surreal it is not to live with a boyfriend, for him to be a
guest.
"Of course," I say, watching him root around in my room. He looks on the back of my door and under my beanbag.
I see the towel he's after, and point.
"It's small and purple," I say.
MindReader turns round slowly, a smile spreading across his features. "Sorry?" he says.
"Oh," I say, blushing furiously. "Not
that."
Labels: embarrassing, MindReader
"Ooh," I say, walking out of my house. "Brr."
"What's the matter?" MindReader says, his face creasing into a smile.
"It's freezing," I say, drawing my coat around me. "When did it get this cold? I was sunbathing at the weekend!" I walk a few paces ahead, my hands deep in my pockets.
I turn around, and MindReader's face is scrunched up with laughter, a hand covering his mouth.
"What?" I say, indignant.
"Sorry," he says, looking delighted. "It's just - you walk like a penguin when you're cold."
Labels: embarrassing, MindReader
I am in business accounts. With a
calculator. Considering this time two years ago I was reading Thomas Hardy by candlelight I think you could say I have officially sold my soul.
I sigh as I attempt to transfer £400,000 between the capital and the cash accounts without losing it. Honestly I am going to get struck off before I am even qualified.
"Okay Billygean?" my tutor says, frowning slightly.
"Fine," I say, moving my papers over the coffee and chocolate stains I have made on the table and casually placing an arm over my accounts. Does anyone else not like to be watched while they work? No?
"Can I just see that?" she says, pushing a dark curl behind her ear.
Reluctantly, I move my arm and look at the ceiling whilst she makes mmming noises.
"How bizarre," she says finally.
"What?"
"You're using such an odd method," she says. "Did you not do the online tutorial?" (yes, you heard right, we are taught by robots).
"Yes," I say. "But that way seemed really illogical."
"I've only ever see one other person do it this way," she says, pausing.
I twiddle my thumbs, used to the bizarre feedback. At A-level I was declared a circular thinker. In my English degree, an idiot.
"Do you have a maths degree?" she says.
Ha!
Labels: embarrassing, law
I open my eyes a crack.
And then close them again.
And then open them.
MindReader and MadFather are in my room.
"Wha?" I say, confused, patting down my morning hair.
I sit up, and almost heave.
"How's your head?" MadFather smirks.
"Bad," I say. "Why...?"
"What do you remember?" MindReader says, sitting on the bed and handing me a glass of water. I take a small sip, grateful that the liquid stops the sawdust feelings on my tongue.
"I remember..." I think hard, my hands weakly clutching the duvet. "I remember trying to draw a judge in pictionary... and DoctorSister said it looked like Mum."
MindReader laughs. "Anything else?"
"And then I remember everything went really dizzy."
"Yes," MindReader says. "You said you thought you needed to go to bed."
"And then," Madfather says, jumping in delightedly, "I said you were going to be seeing hellicopters tonight."
He pauses.
"Because the room was spinning."
"I got that," I say.
"Well," MindReader says, gently, but still ever so sarcastic. "When I came upstairs..."
"... Yes," I say.
"You'd got your passport out for the hellicopter trip."
Labels: Dad, embarrassing, Home, MindReader
"Take a seat," the nurse says, indicating the plastic waiting room chairs.
"Thanks," I say, wringing my hands and probably sweating and twitching my facial muscles at her.
"And if you need anything let me know," she says. "Oh and the toilets are just there."
I blink.
"I'm not allowed to pee," I say. Honestly why can't I just
let things go.
"Yes you can," she says, frowning. "It's blokes who can't pee before their tests."
And she pauses.
And then she says "Are you a man?"
I have to say, that is top 5 worst questions to be asked at a smear test.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing
Have to have evil smear test today at 5 to 5 today.
I am not best pleased with losing an hour's pay to go and be poked by what looks like an ice cream scoop.
And I'm not allowed to pee for 1.5 hours before.
I know that sometimes I don't pee for 1.5 days (ok: weeks), but it's the principle isn't it? I want to be able to pee.
Labels: embarrassing, grumbles
There are certain things that only happen to Billygean.
And today, well, I think I've surpassed myself.
Went home this weekend, wore contacts all weekend - over dinner with lovely MindReader and even in the rain on Sunday - so obviously when went back to Birmingham I forgot glasses.
This morning was in a strop. Have lost beautiful Milan Watch somewhere between the bathroom and my bedroom (I had not been drinking - ahem), and HyperactiveHousemate rang me at 5 in the morning because he was locked out. And, you know, it's Monday morning and I am a secretary.
When realised glasses were not in any of the organised piles of crap in my room, I put my contact lenses in. Cannot wear lenses at work. Work pump stuff into the unecessary air conditioning that makes them stick onto my eyes like plastic.
By half past nine my eyes were streaming and devil-like so took contacts out. Asked other secretary - who was rather disgusted - where I could put them. I put them in a cup on my desk and proceeded to behave like mole, feeling my way around the office. This involved a number of weird looks as I did such things as missing my coffee cup with the kettle and trying to use the fax machine to photocopy.
Got back to desk and had nice long drink of water.
I JUST DRANK MY CONTACT LENS.
It is INSIDE ME.
WATCHING.
And - despite the trauma of having drank my only means of seeing - I can't help laughing at what Dr B would think of this stool sample.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing
I walk across Dr. B's office - facing my nemesis.
He was the only doctor free at this time. This time being, apparently, the only appointment they had all day, right in the middle of an Important Meeting I was supposed to attend, and I could practically hear my phone going at my desk as I walked to the doctor's.
"What's the problem?" he says, eyeing me from over his glasses. I know he wants me to tell him I have an eating disorder and that I'd like to attend the optional and friendly clinic for like-minded individuals.
I do not.
"I keep throwing up," I say, aware of how this is starting. He opens his mouth, and I just know -
know - that he is going to suggest it is after meals. Which - well, it is, but not like that.
"You see," I say, wringing my hands in my lap, my black suit itching my arms. "I had food poisoning at my graduation -"
"What did you study?" He says.
I struggle to see the relevancy in my precious time away from work, but prefer the response 'law' gets to 'English.'
"Ah," he nods. "Taxing."
I wonder what he's getting at, sometimes.
"Textbook overachiever?" he says, smiling. But he is NOT SMILING it is
sinister.
I wave away his questions with my hand, as if swatting a fly. "Anyway," I say. "I felt sick all the time for about a week. Then fine. Then I had a coffee liquor with cream with my new boyfriend and threw it up which was
so embarrassing. And then yesterday I didn't really eat anything -"
His eyebrows raise.
"- And I threw up in the work loo."
He sidesteps the imaginary eating disorder issues quite well, I'll give him credit. He asks me lots of funny questions - do I have pain in my feet, do my ears feel like they're spinning - or something, and some embarrassing ones - how loose are my stools (on a scale of what, exactly?), how often do I poop (which as you know I could write reams about - oh, blog readers, sometimes not for weeks) - which I ignored in search of antibiotics.
"Anyway," I say, "I am flying to Italy tomorrow and I'm travelling, so I really would like it to just - you know -" I am flapping my arms now, "go away."
"Right," he says, slowly, his hand rubbing up and down his stubble, making a horrible scratching sound. "I could just give you antibiotics to treat a gastric flu that's lingering."
"Yes," I say, trying not to shriek. "That would be great."
I move to stand, the jerk of my knees I hope symbolising a few things to him - we are done now, I do not want to talk about eating disorders,
just sign that form and give me the drugs.
He pats the desk, in turn conveying his own messages - not just yet, I've been wanting to talk to you for ages,
I'm not just going to give you any drugs you please.
I sit back in the chair whilst he taps away on his keyboard, and I fiddle with the cuffs of my shirt, trying to resist the urge to ask whether the tablets are massive and if I can chop them up.
At last, he stops typing and speaks.
"If this continues whilst on holiday..." he says, and I wince, because it
can't
.
MindReader has heard me heave TWICE now. He sometimes imitates it.
"Yes..." I say, slowly.
"I am going to need to test you."
"Test me?"
"Yes. Ideally now, so we can have the results for when you're back."
I don't think Dr. B realised the enormity of testing me for some obscure diseases, growths perhaps, tapeworms, syndromes (and I can see Doctor-Sister's eyes rolling), and expecting me to go on
holiday
and
enjoy myself
when I have to call the Evil Receptionist who may tell me in a clipped voice that I am being eaten from the inside by an enormous worm found only in rivers in Africa and Billygean's stomach, and that I need to come in to give birth to it for it is the only way to end the misery.
"What do you need?" I say. I am cagey.
"A stool sample," he says, pressing a tube into my hand.
And with it, a SPATULA.
"When?"
"Now."
"Now?" I say. And then I say it - the worst sentence I have ever uttered to a virtual stranger.
"Can you poo on demand?"
His brown eyes widen, and then he looks down into his lap. "I can, actually," is all he says.
I die inside, and do not poo for 8 days.
Labels: embarrassing
"What do you want to do afterwards?" C says, sipping her coffee.
"Pub?" I say. Afterall, there are no caps and gowns this year, so the pub is much easier.
"Which one - the Gunnies? But what about the subsidence on Edgbaston Park Road by the Bristol Road?"
"Either is fine," I say.
She frowns.
MindReader stares at me for a moment.
And there it is - that recognition. His eyes are very blue.
And then he rescues me.
"Billygean," he says, taking my arm, his face a mixture of amusement and something else that I can't quite make out. "You
are
aware the subsidence is a road collapse and not a pub?"
"Of
course
I am," I say.
I am very red.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing
"Just do it," Housemate says, pushing me in the door of the estate agents.
"Hi," I say. My toes scrunch in my shoes. "I'm one of the new tenants of BeautifulNewHouse."
"Hi," says the voice.
I look up. His pupils, they are ringed with white, fading to navy blue. He is almost too tall for his frame, so he looks clumsy, and gentle.
He has terrible bags under his eyes. Probably up all night. Writing novels. By candlelight.
I offer my hand and he shakes it. His fingers are thin and warm.
"Mike," he says.
I roll my eyes in spite of my self.
"Billygean," I say. "The thing is, when I moved house, I kind of..."
He pushes his hair - his beautiful hair - out of his eyes. "Kind of...?"
There is a hint of humour, something in the tilt of his head.
"Moved my purse into the house," I say. "I mean, before me. So now it's there and I'm here and purseless-"
"I see," he says. "Come on."
He rolls his marble-like eyes at his very tall blonde colleague. "Idiot," he says.
That's blown THAT chance then.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing
MindReader, FutureHousemate and I are in FutureHousemate's living room.
I am aleady cooing over Grand Designs. Oh yes - houses and babies this week on Billygean.
"What's that?" I say, looking at the strange contraption on the TV. It appears to be moving food from floor to floor. How cool!
"A dumb waiter," MindReader says, raising a blond eyebrow.
I pause for a moment. I feel my face redden. I can't even laugh.
"Oh," I whisper.
"What?" FutureHousemate says, setting his tea down.
"I thought-" I say. "Oh God. I thought that the restaurant I worked at were calling
me a dumb waiter."
MindReader goes rather red.
It dawns on me further. "I never did get why I was putting the food in the wrong places. Oh God."
MindReader stares at me for a moment.
I wish I had not spoken. Why can't I just have these revelations
privately?
"No wonder you were fired," he says, eventually.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing
