I Think The Chuppies Has a Little Crush

.. and it's not on me.

It's on this woman at his workplace.  Who is turning 40 this weekend and is holding a 70s themed birthday party - to which we are both invited (including a few of the Chuppies' other workmates and their respective other halves).

However, unlike the rest of his office crowd, the Chuppies has been working himself into somewhat of a froth.  As to how he is going to get some fancy dress sorted in time. 

This is, even though it is not imperative you wear fancy dress, and no-one else from his office is bothering to dress up. 

Additionally, we're not talking about hiring a costume here either.  O, no, the Chuppies is thinking about ruddy well buying the dratted thing.  Which would be a big fat waste of money (and the Chuppies, ever since I've known him, has never been frivolous with his cash - ever).  Unless he were to start taking to dressing like Shaggy from Scooby Doo in his downtime whilst watching the tele.  Or in the bath.

But there's also other things he does that seem a bit symptomatic of a crush.

(and, yes, it is `a crush' and not `crushing' - whoever started that particularly annoying turn of phrase should be taken outside and shot)

You know, like, lots of mentioning of her - which I believe is technically termed `mentionitis' - and this is often accompanied with a smile (although no dribbling, touching of himself or dreamy looks - yet).

And cooking for her (he made a batch of brownies one weekend and brought them in to his workplace especially for her to taste). 

And other stuff (cant quite remember the exact details here but there definitely has been other stuff going on that's very pertinent to my case).

To make it worse, this woman is really nice.  Yep, sweet, friendly, and darned attractive (a naturally pretty sort but without all the vain/shallow nonsense that is the usual accompaniment). 

In short, if I was a bloke I'd probably have a crush on her too - when I met her at the office summer party she was extraordinarily sweet (and a bit of a babe, to be frank).

Hmm ... now I've got this all written down I now dont know if it's the (suspected) crush that's bothering me so much as the whole `comparing myself and coming up short malarky' that's got me all cross & bitter.

Cos look :-

Woman Crush = sweet
Me = largely bitter

Woman Crush = naturally pretty
Me = look at me in a darkened room, with squinty eyes and with a pile of makeup on my face and I might just pass ... for female

Woman Crush = youthful looking (surprisingly so, couldnt believe she is actually turning 40 this weekend which means we were both born in the same year)
Me = holding on to the image in her head that she is still vaguely youthful but knowing in her heart (and also from looking in the mirror) that she's a dirty old bag of wrinkles

Woman = babe
Me = Babe (the pig)

And so on.

Pah - it's tough.

And - one more time - it's not `crushing'.

Thank you. 

This Post is brought to you from my Last Day at Work

Although not `last' as in - this is it, I've won the lotto, and can finally clear off!!!

No, `last' as in it is my last day in the office before my Christmas hols begin.  And, with two out of my three bosses already having naffed off for their Christmas break (and what feels like the rest of Mayfair), I have got sod all to do (it's amazing how, with suddenly so much time on your hands, even the Internet becomes boring after awhile - and that contains EVERYTHING dear children).

So I'm blogging.  To vent my frustration (in a `First World Problem' type way) at having to remain in an office where there is nowt going on - other than the remaining boss just logging on to dating websites and a photocopying engineer who has suddenly and mysteriously arrived to fix a part to our copier that I never even thought we needed (but who will be finished, and leaving our office, in about 10 minutes).

The online dating boss has a conference call at 2pm (oo, a few mins) so I will obviously have to remain in loco until that's done.  In case, you know, someone wants something doing whilst he's on the blower - although we havent had a phone call since 9am this morning (and that was a sales call).  And I know he has a medical appointment at 4pm - whereupon he declared we can `close the office' (as if it's some sort of ceremony, with crowds, a champagne bottle to smash and a ship to sail off from a dock).

So I guess I have two choices in front of me :-

a.  Calm it, remember that from whatever time I leave today I will be off until Thursday 5th January, and be happy that Christmas is on the doorstep with all it's larks and frolics and pressies, and leave the office at 4pm with a smile on my face.

or

b. Stress it, become totally obsessed with watching the clock, conjure up elaborate and murderous thoughts towards bosses who have already gone (the lucky gits), dating site boss and photocopying engineer (who is sneezing everywhere), unknowingly form ulcer in stomach through angry stressful frustration and end up punching the dating site boss' lights out at 4 o'clock on the dot.

Hmm, decisions, decisions ...

New York

Well it was great.




In fact so great it was, and so excited were me and the Chuppies that, on our first morning, we found ourselves tramping round New York at 5am (although this was after struggling out of our hotel bed - so big and comfortable was it, that the Chuppies now has withdrawal symptoms).

"So this is the City That Never Sleeps!" we chorused to each other as we left the hotel room only to find that it actually does take a `little nap' and doesnt really open up for trade to over eager tourists until ... oo ... about 6.30am but that didnt matter a jot.  As high as kites we were on all the excitement and strangeness, I dont think we'd've been bothered if an NY vagabond had chosen to cock his leg on us as we left the Hilton Manhattan East ... so the fact we couldnt breakfast until a little later we pretty much took in our stride.

During our break we stopped in to have a nose of Grand Central Station (only a coupla blocks from our hotel).  The Chuppies had researched online the best place to get a cheesecake in New York and Junior's (who run a store within Grand Central Station itself) came up as the one place to sample cheesecake before you die.  Cant remember exactly when a portion of cheesecake was bought but do remember watching the Chuppies eating it back in our hotel room, tucked up in our gi-normous hotel bed and declaring that, yes, he was now ready to die.


Which he didnt - all the indulgence had just left him dramatic.

We also walked through the Flatiron District given its name because of the Flatiron Building (see left) - completed in 1902, it is one of New York's earliest skyscrapers.

Naturally, not as immense as say, the Empire State Building, but still quite a whopper (as you will see from the teeny tiny Chuppies posing just in front of the property).

Walking through Madison Square Park is also quite an experience.  The squirrels are extremely tame (see left for a slightly unnerving example) but also quite wily.

I would imagine most critters would be put off their stroke if they had a constantly watching red-tailed hawk on their backs (see left for a particularly badly photographed example) but the squirrels in this park were pretty indifferent and more than adept at out-manoeuvring the hawk when it swept down to try its hand at another squirrel snacklet.

Of course, these hawks do strike lucky every now and again, and there are plenty of videos on YouTube of successful hawks feasting on the odd hapless NY squirrel. 

The Empire State Building (or, at least, the view from it's lower observatory deck).  One place you have to visit and experience your ears pop as you ascend via its set of elevators.  The building is lit up with different colours at night - during our stay it was white but the following week it was pink.

Anyway, it was bloody parky (and windy) up so high and, whilst taking this nifty shot, an NY fly flew up my left nostril (couldnt really blame it though - it would have been considerably warmer in there than outside).

Another building on our port of call but we only stopped here briefly.  There is so much gold tat everywhere (with an internal golden waterfall running down towards the back of it) that you'll want to step outside after a few minutes for a breath of fresh air. 

Not really my thing but there were plenty of tourists inside oo-ing and ah-ing at all the gold rubbish - so it did appeal to some.

Macy's was a bit of a curiosity.  Having visited NY a coupla times before I remembered how much fascination the shop windows held for tourists who would flock at Christmas with their video cameras pressed against the storefront to record the animated festive shop window sequences.

Well, obviously this was too exhausting a pursuit, for now there are chairs and tables laid out next to the store where people can bring their own refreshments and then sit and stare at the shop windows at their leisure.

Perhaps the next step will be motorising these chairs and tables and wheeling the people through the store so they never have to walk again ... ?

When you visit NY another startling thing is the amount of decorations they hang, stick and tie to things.  Not content with huge trees in their office courtyards (see left as an example)

they also `wrap up' their buildings too (shown here is the Cartier Building on Fifth Avenue).


Whilst poodling down Seventh Avenue I thought I caught sight of two NYPD officers begin to unravel a set of fairy lights over a prone NY tramp to match the rest of the street furniture ... but I cant be sure. 

Tiffany's - we had to stop here as it was the stop for a belated birthday present from the Chuppies.  I eventually plumped for a delicate ring made up of teeny tiny silver hearts.  The jeweller (a very suave gentleman that was camper than Russell Grant), in order to gauge my ring size from sight (I assume ring sizers are too common for Tiffany's), assessed me as a Size 6 (UK Size 8) which got me so excited and happy I nearly wet myself on the spot (I'm actually a Size 12 - but if you hacked off my boobs and hips I'd make a perfect, if blood-soaked, Size 8 so the camp old jeweller was on the right, if slightly gory, track).

We also stopped at the Rockefeller Centre to have a good nosy at NY from its top deck.  Much like the Empire State Building, it offers you good views of the city, but also a good view of Central Park.  The Chuppies now has a photo on his sideboard of the two of us in a frame proclaiming that we got to the top of the Rock  (which, after going out for more than 5 years, is the first photograph we actually have of ourselves together)!

Inside the centre there is also a huge shopping complex and it was during our stay that they lit the infamous Christmas Tree.  Unfortunately as me and the Chuppies were walking most days for around 10-11 hours and going to bed at about 7.30pm (NY time) we didnt have the strength to stay up so late (they light the tree at 9pm).  A sad and pathetic confession - but London-Lass is nearly 40.

An example of one of the many massive meals we had in Manhattan.  This was breakfast `Pershing Square' style and, whilst I'd only ordered `Farm Fresh Eggs', this came accompanied with a more than generous portion of bacon (cooked with onions), a pile of toast and a side of jam and butter (in case I felt like making up some jam on toast after my feasting).  The Chuppies stuck to his guns whilst breakfasting here and enjoyed some freshly made NY pancakes (with a generous helping of Maple syrup).  Water and coffee are regularly refilled too.

We also took in a quick trip to F.A.O. Schwartz and marvelled at the big piano (think of the 80s film, Big) before a horde of loud, brash and v. annoying teenage girls and boys came running in and started dragging

and throwing each other over the piano's ginormous keys (creating such a din that I thought the Chuppies' eyes were about to implode).  We also had a quick peek at their unnerving Barbie `Foosball' table which was happily made up of a load of widely grinning, armless Barbie dolls (and which retailed at a mere $24,999).

Course no trip to New York near Christmas is complete without a quick go of her Central Park - specifically the ice skating rink.  Here we see the Chuppies `in action'.  London-Lass, however, remained wisely, sensibly and safely seated throughout the whole experience which (a) allowed numerous photos and videos of the Chuppies `in action' to be taken and (b) meant that London-Lass didnt end up causing pandemonium and numerous injuries to herself and other people on the rink.   I've never skated before, you see, and am as clumsy as a binge drinker in high heels, so I think I made the right decision.

And the Brooklyn Bridge, ladies and gentlemen.  This we took a good gawp at on the very western side of Manhattan before hoofing it all the way over to the very eastern side to visit the Intrepid Air, Sea and Space Museum.  Which was (surprisingly) interesting and, for all you double-entendre fans out there, have a submarine by the name of the SS Growler on permanent display. 

Yes I know.  (snicker)

And, all too soon, it was time to go.

So, goodbye, hotel room fridge.  You served us well.  You were a handy shelf for the endless USA Todays they kept shoving under our hotel room door.  And a blessed sanctuary for Chuppies cheesecakes and London-Lass' Coke Zeros with Cherry (which are great, readers, much better than Diet Cherry Coke).

And it was goodbye to our hotel room tele with its weird mix of almost constant ad breaks and overexcited presenters (and the 24 hour Weather Channel - my favourite one of all).

Farewell to our hotel room toilet, you served us well.  No matter the length, girth and width of the stuff that ended up in you, your Hilton Manhattan quality flush took care of it all.

And a so long, fare thee well and goodnight from the Chuppies.









We both had a fantastic time, New York, so dont be a stranger ya hear?

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas ...

... well, it is at any rate on my eXTReMe Tracking hits ...

 

The Greatest Story Never Told

Somewhere in Bethlehem, Judea, in the days of Herod the King.

It is about 9 o’clock at night.

Two figures are slowly making their way through a crowded street. The first, a heavily pregnant woman, is perched atop a donkey. The other, a tired looking carpenter, wearily leads the donkey with its heavy load through the crowds, stopping to knock at each inn as they pass.

At the point where we join them, they have been turned away by every innkeeper they have spoken to. Their journey has been a long one and they are beginning to lose hope.

The man turns to the woman :-

(JOSEPH) : “Gosh darn it all, my virginal one, but what rotten luck we're having. I fear we may never find a place to rest tonight, pookums.”

(MARY) : “Yes, one does seem to be in rather a pickle. However, there are up ahead a few more lodgings to try. Look, there’s another one.”

(JOSEPH) : “Oo, yes, jolly good!”

Joseph knocks on the door. There is no reply. Joseph timidly knocks again and the door is rudely wrenched open.

(INNKEEPER grumpily) : “What?!”

(JOSEPH) : “O, er, good evening sir … erm … pray excuse our calling at this late hour, Mr Innkeeper, but, you see, my wife is pregnant and it would be pretty darned handy to have somewhere to stay tonight.”

(INNKEEPER irritably) : “And?”

(JOSEPH) : “Er, well, does your place have room for us?”

The innkeeper impatiently looks his visitors over, but as his eyes alight on their donkey his mood suddenly brightens.

(INNKEEPER) : “You know what, I do! In fact, thinking about it, you couldn’t have called at a better time, as I could do you a really good deal on our deluxe suite.”

(JOSEPH) : “Gosh. A deal on your deluxe, eh? Marvellous stuff.”

(INNKEEPER) : “Too right. And nothing but the best either. Big bed. Extra large candles. Fresh sawdust on the floor. And definitely no cow shit.”

(JOSEPH) : “O, I say …”

(INNKEEPER) : “But back to the deal … ”

(JOSEPH) : “Yes … ?”

(INNKEEPER stage whispers) : “Your donkey beds down with me.”

(JOSEPH) : “Eh? ….”

(INNKEEPER slightly louder whilst winking) : “Your donkey sleeps with me.”

(JOSEPH) : “Er …”

(INNKEEPER) : “I mean, she’s a bit of a looker, aint she? I take it she’s single …?”

(JOSEPH) : “Er … well, technically yes …”

(INNKEEPER) : “It's just I know their ways, you see. Charm you with their great fluttering donkey eyelashes but then, before you can say `Eee aww’, you’re up to your nuts in trouble.”

(JOSEPH) : “Erm …”

(INNKEEPER winking again) : “You got any others like her back home?”

(MARY) : “Joseph?”

(JOSEPH to the INNKEEPER) : “Well thank you for your time but I think we’ll be going.”

(INNKEEPER hurriedly) : “Hold up … I’m just messing with you! Course I don’t want to sleep with your donkey!”

(JOSEPH) : “You don’t?”

(INNKEEPER) : “Nah. Not into asses me. Just snatch.”

The innkeeper claps the back of the startled Joseph.

(INNKEEPER lasciviously) : “And, by the looks of her (he points at Mary) you’re pretty much the same!”

(MARY) : “Joseph?”

(JOSEPH) : “Er … well … actually … she’s not carrying my child.”

(INNKEEPER) : “Eh? I thought she was your missus?”

(JOSEPH) : “Yes. But it’s not mine. She received her child miraculously by the agency of the Holy Spirit.”

(INNKEEPER) : “Holy Spirit? Miracle? Hang on …”

The innkeeper turns away from Joseph and bellows in to his inn.

(INNKEEPER) : “Oi, come here, you’re gonna love this!!”

(MARY) : “Joseph?”

(JOSEPH) : “Patience, sweet one, for I believe this place might have room for us.”

(MARY) : “Yes, but I really dont think this is the right venue for-”

(JOSEPH quickly) : “Beggars cant be choosers, my joyful bundle of delight. Have faith.”

An innkeeper’s assistant rushes to the doorway.

(INNKEEPER to INNKEEPER’S ASSISTANT) : “This bloke says his bird has been rogered by the Holy Spirit.”

(JOSEPH) : “Now, hang on …”

(INNKEEPER’S ASSISTANT) : “Well I’ve heard some things in my time but that takes the bagel …”

(INNKEEPER to JOSEPH) : “You believe her then? About this Holy Spirit malarky?”

(JOSEPH) : “Well, yes, the archangel Gabriel appeared to her and announced her divine selection to be the mother of Jesus.”

(INNKEEPER to INNKEEPER’S ASSISTANT) : “Archangel? Selection? Have you ever … ?”

(INNKEEPER’S ASSISTANT) : “Nope, don’t think I have …”

(JOSEPH) : “Well he bally well appeared to me too!”

(INNKEEPER to JOSEPH) : “You pregnant as well …?”

(JOSEPH) : “Of course not! He appeared in my dreams to tell me to take her as my wife.”

(INNKEEPER) : “Which you did?”

(JOSEPH) : “Which I did.”

(INNKEEPER) : “Tell me, if someone asked you to snick off yer Charlies and wear ‘em as a brooch, would you?”

(JOSEPH) : “Dash it all, Mr Innkeeper, but I really must protest!”

(INNKEEPER) : “Well it all seems a bit fishy to me. But, hey, not my life! So let’s cut to the chase - you and your missus want a place to kip and I think I can help you out.”

(JOSEPH) : “You can? Well that would be most welcome. Although I must warn you that we have very little in the way of money.”

(INNKEEPER) : “Yeh, I hear what you’re saying mate. These taxes are a right proper bitch. I tell you what … we’ve got a stable at the back. It reeks of chicken shit and donkey piss but it’s all yours.  And it's free.”

(JOSEPH to MARY) : “O rapturous joy - our prayers have been answered! No more traipsing around the streets! No more pushing through crowds! No more worrying about where we’ll end up! We finally have a place where we can stay, and rest our weary heads, and await the arrival of Jesus of Nazareth, son of Mary the Virgin and our blessed Father - in a stable!”

(MARY) : “Er ... could we go back to the part where he said he'd fuck our donkey?”

I never realised how thin the walls of my house was ...

... until my next door neighbour separated from her husband two months ago.

And it's like we're suddenly next door to a knocking shop.

Obviously the separation has hit her hard.  And she is still going through the grieving process.  Which must be why from the time she comes home from work of an evening to, oo, about midnight we can hear the pneumatic banging of (what can only be) her headboard against our wall accompanied by her dogs barking like billy-ho downstairs.

Whoever the chap is that she's now dating/shagging, he must have the stamina of a stallion since the shagging marathons are now every evening, the dogs are almost hoarse from barking and I am beginning to ponder whether I should invest in a pair of ear plugs (if only so I dont have to endure the sounds of my next door neighbour in seventh heaven - which is pretty much the stuff of nightmares).

But, and to change the subject slightly, did I say that I was shortly off to New York?

Yes, this Monday.

And am I excited?

More than my next door neighbour.

And that's saying something.

Sorry but ... MORE CHRISTMAS STUFF!!

Can I firstly apologise.

For you see, this is yet another posting connected to Christmas.

I know.  Not more festive bollocks, blah, blah, blah.

But this post is only cos me and the Chuppies visited Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland at the weekend.

And, whilst it's not yet December, a visitation next weekend was out

AS ME & THE CHUPPIES ARE GOING TO NEW YORK!!!!

and the following weekend would also be out

AS WE WOULD HAVE JUST RETURNED BACK FROM NEW YORK!!!

and then what with the remaining weekends taken up with family bits 'n bobs and actual Christmas decorating, the weekend just gone had to be the time to partake of further (early) festive stuff.

So, sorry, to Jo.  And also sorry to anyone else who's hopped on my blog (purposefully, or accidentally whilst searching for `sexy knicker accidents' - yes I know all about you) and ended up catching sight of yet more festive fun.

All I can say : it's been slightly festive in this posting ... and about to get a whole deal worse.

Do not read on.

You have been warned.

So our Saturday started much like any other Saturday.

Me and the Chuppies getting washed, dressed, breakfasted and sweet smelling.  But then, unlike most other Saturdays, we found ourselves hotfooting it to the train station at just before 8 o'clock in the morning, breathing in the morning mist and generally being a bit weird and giddy.

Approximately two hours later (after riding the train, taking the tube and temporarily allowing the Chuppies to have a nose and avail himself of the facilities at my offices in Mayfair) we arrived at Winter Wonderland at Hyde Park Corner ... and (apologies again to all those festively offended) but it was jolly good fun.

Winter Wonderland in full swing - and, no, I cant
remember why these two ladies looked so concerned

For there were stacks of Santas (edible, plastic, animatronic) :-

a German market, a Christmas fair, a skating rink and a 50m high wheel that me and the Chuppies hotfooted to from which we took the following snaps :-

whilst listening to Dr `Doctor' Fox from Magic FM play some Christmas tunes in our little carriage.

After all this we took to gobbling down mulled wine (whilst standing on a carousel bar that slowly revolved as you drank your Christmas tipple), hot roasted chestnuts, Belgian waffles with white chocolate and syrup, German beer, some Bratwurst and we even had a nip of some Egg Nog.

Actually, no, change that to `Egg Nog'.  The only thing at the market which was a let down in the purse and stomach department, it was served piping hot, smelling of floor cleaner and tasting of melted chocolate liquers.  It was as much `Egg Nog' as I am Barry Manilow.

But, perhaps because we were still excited and giddy (although more from all the sugar we'd consumed and being up on the wheel than anything else) but we found ourselves continuing to sip from the glass of noxious yellow liquid - only cos every time we had a swallow we'd find our memories telling us that nothing could be that bad and coaxing us to try another.

Eventually we had to concede defeat and resigned it to a nearby waste bin and with a cheery goodbye to the market and a quick purchase of a robin tealight decoration, we trained, tubed and hotfooted it back to the Chuppies' flat whereupon the Chuppies slid into a Christmas sugar coma and I slumped on to his settee feeling about 90.

Good times - but am now off

TO DO SOME RUDDY PACKING!!

My Home Made Christmas Decorations

A little early.

But you know me.

First up, my attempt at a homemade festive garland :-

So festive even the Playstation cant spoil it ...

Extreme close up :-

Each felt garland piece roughly 1.5" x 1.5"

And some home made felt Christmas tree decorations I've done in green and red (green example below) :-

Roughly 4.5" x 4.5" (and I have the blisters to prove it)

These also come with a `false back' for adding some Christmas pot pourri or stuffing them with cloves, cinnamon sticks, dried orange slices, etc.

Anyway, that's what I've been up to.

How have you been?

Is it a bird? Is it a plane?

You think you know someone and then they excel themselves.

Although not in a "Hello everyone arent I just FABULOUS?!" fashion but in a quiet and non-attention seeking type way (i.e. not done to curry favour, gain financially or to get in to someone's knickers)

The Chuppies, you see, has turned in to a mini super hero of late.  Although this does not mean that he's lifted up cars to pluck out injured children.  Or old ladies.

Or that his strength can be thwarted by Kryptonite.

O, no.

He's just been ruddy marvellous of late and I thought I'd blog it.  If you dont mind?

His first example of super-hero-type-ness occurred on Sunday.

Which was a day just like any other day.  However, to set the scene : I was in the kitchen (making up a lunch for us both) and Chuppies was in the living-room (face-hacking zombies on his PS3).

And as my eggs were boiling I suddenly noticed (cos I am a bit of a curtain twitcher in me dotage) a car parked directly opposite Chuppies' block of flats, all windows cranked shut, and with a little (panting) Yorkshire Terrier locked inside.

"Chuppies!" I called, whilst still looking at the car.

"Huh?" grunted back the Chuppies, whilst still playing his PS3.

"Looks like someone's left their dog in a car over the road," I explained, as I walked from the kitchen into the living-room.  To find the Chuppies bottom-less and wedged into the sofa whilst carefully executing another zombie in his game.

"Huh?" the Chuppies grunted again, with a little tongue poking between his lips in an effort of concentration.

"I think a dog's been left in a car just outside" I repeated.

"Really? O, look ... er ... hang on" replied the Chuppies as he carefully saved where he'd got to with his living dead annihilations and walked with me to look out the kitchen window.

"O yes," the Chuppies mused. "Yes, I saw a couple park up that car about an hour ago."

"So d'ya reckon that dog's been in there that long ... ?" I asked, as I watched the little Yorkie move around the back seat of the car with it's tongue hanging out of its mouth.

"Possibly .... " the Chuppies replied.

"O God, the poor dog!  They havent even cranked open a window for it.  Er ... erm ... who d'ya reckon I should contact about this?  Feel a bit weird phoning the police .... " I pondered, unable to take my eyes off the tiny panting doggy.

"Er, well I s'pose that non emergency number ....? " the Chuppies suggested.

"Mebbe ... or, what about the RSPCA ... ?" I pondered, as I ran to Chuppies' laptop.  And it was whilst cranking up Google, that the Chuppies suddenly came into life.

"I tell you what, you wait here .... I'll just go and check things out."

And off he went.  Slamming his flat door behind him.  And leaving me to gasp in his wake.

And, so the Chuppies ran.  Down his stairs and out into the street.  To check on the locked up air-tight car (with the hot little dog inside) and then back in to his flats and then up and down stairs in to the many other blocks to try to find out who the car/dog owners were.

And, by Pedigree Chum, he ruddy well found them.  Although to the car/dog owners Chuppies was a stupid busybody sticking his nose in their business (when the breathless Chuppies found the couple, he blurted out that their dog looked rather distressed which didnt go down well).

Anyway, five minutes after that encounter, the couple returned back to their car and freed the overheated Yorkie (which I noted, with pursed lips behind the Chuppies' kitchen blinds, was left to roam around in the relatively busy road next to the car whilst the couple got on with chatting in the front seat for a bit before departing with their cooled down doggy).

The Chuppies' second example of super heroics took place at a Crown Court earlier this week.  The Chuppies, you see, witnessed two chaps doing something wrong early part of this year and accordingly reported their exploits to the police.  Policemen came, arrested the chaps and took a witness statement from the Chuppies.  Chuppies latterly received a letter informing him that the case was coming to trial and he would be called as a witness.  Trial date was given as Monday this week but after much re-arrangements of hearings, etc., Chuppies didnt eventually appear as a witness until yesterday lunchtime.  Unfortunately cant give out any details on the case (whilst the verdict is still to be deliberated) but, suffice to say, Chuppies was heroic in his court appearance (especially considering the types of men involved, which arent nice).

So there you have it.  Not quite as fast as a speeding bullet, nor able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but quite a guy, nonetheless.

Wonder how a cape, eye mask and spandex costume will go down for his Christmas pressies this year?

Customer Charter Refund Bollox

We all know the drill.

Delayed by more than 15 minutes on the Underground (excluding DLR) and you can claim under the Customer Charter Refund.

Fantastic.

And to make it even more fantastic-er, the old 'n laborious form filling and posting regime was replaced by simply logging on to the appropriate part of the TFL website, filling in your details and clicking `send'.

Although the speedy online refund submission still didnt prevent TFL from dragging their heels over actually sending you out your refund voucher.

But brushing all that aside.

The point of this post is I've noticed something recently.

See screenshot below to see what I mean :-

Resist temptation to fill in this form people!

This on-line form (in which you have to input your full name, postal address, daytime tel no, e-mail and oyster card details), whilst encrypted, has contained `unsecured resources' for the last two or three weeks.  And although I'm no expert, I'd rather not use an on-line form that might carry the risk of having my personal details used for spamming, or other erroneous purposes (e.g. for the lulz).

And so, this now means that every time I've claimed over the last few weeks (which has been more than one would hope or expect) I've had to print out a .pdf, fill in the form in manuscript and send it in the post.

Laborious and slow.

Which uncannily matches my Central Line daily commute at the moment.

Mental Dogs & Heat

My brother has now returned back from the shores of Lanzarote.  And, so, Daisy is now back with her rightful owner.

And, whilst it is nice to have me own space again, etc., I didnt realise how much I'd miss having a little doggy scampering after me all the time.  Or going a bit mental after her bathtime :-

Excuse London-Lass' voice in the video - not 

sure what happened but I really wasnt drunk

Or little doggy eyes peeping at you to come up on to a compact settee that's only got about 5mm of space to spare between you and the Chuppies.  Or a happy sparky terrier that approaches you with a toy in its mouth, tail wagging ten to the dozen, as you finally sit down for ten minutes to have your dinner.

But I do.  In fact we both have.  Which is why we've been looking at puppies for sale (Cairn Terriers) and decided on what we're gonna call our purchased puppy (Bumble).

Except we wont.  We both work full time, you see.  But that doesnt stop you from perusing the occasional puppy ad on-line.

Or going somewhere where you know a lot of doggies (and their owners) will be on a hot and sunny October Saturday.

Which is why we ended up in the Chuppies local park yesterday morning.  Apparently to try out his new camera (a Nikon D3100) which he's acquired for our forthcoming NY trip.

But really to ogle and run after the doggies.

And it was whilst we were there that I noticed how weird everything felt.  Yes, it was nice that it was all sunny and glorious and wonderful (etc.) but it just seemed a little odd that the 29°C heat was beating down on trees that had mostly lost their leaves.  And, whether it was the positioning of the sun in the sky in October, or the fact that I needed a new pair of sunglasses, but everything seemed rather shadowy and misty when we arrived at the park.  Even though it was, by the time we arrived, around 11 o'clock (and not nearer to dawn or dusk - which is what it felt closer to).

Chuppies tries out new camera in summer-like heat whilst carefully ignoring wintry tree to his right

And so after a bit of a picnic we returned back to the Chuppies' flat wherein Chuppies shed his clothes (almost as fast as the park's trees had shed their leaves) and collapsed on to his compact settee in a hot and sweaty mess.  I, on the other hand, have been blessed with the circulation of a corpse, and whilst I could appreciate it was hot (and will be another warm day today), I wasnt overheating like the Chuppies.  Therefore, my clothes remained on (a relief to all involved) and my sewing basket came out.

Yep, a SEWING BASKET.  In GINGHAM. 

I mean, talk about shit your pants exciting!

Which I acquired from Amazon about a week ago.  And is a godsend.  I'm in the middle of a craft project I've set myself to be finished before Chrimbo of 24 mini advent stockings made of felt to be hung in a mini-garland type way on the Chuppies' fireplace mantle.  Each stocking is rather wee but there should be enough room inside for a jelly bean or sugared almond, and will be hung with its own little felt loop on to a bendy gold wire thingie which will form the backbone of the garland.

And, look, I've already done a few :-

My sewing basket in GLORIOUS GINGHAM - does life get any better?

Just twenty more to go and I'll be done.

Barking Mad

It's been a while since I wrote about our new (rescue) doggy, Daisy.  In fact it's been a while since I blogged in a more regular (and less detached) fashion.  But we'll just gloss over that little detail for now.

Anyway I thought I'd update you on the rescue pooch as I currently have the privilege of solely looking after Daisy (a.k.a. `The Daisy', `Smells' and `Love Chub') since my bro (along with a small group of other bods) is currently in Lanzarote for a fortnight's worth of sunbathing, drinking and eating (a lot).  This of course could not include Daisy and, as such, I'm dog-sitting until my bro gets back.

Which is proving interesting. Not least because (and, apologies, if I've already touched on this sticky subject before) but Daisy (when inclined - which seems to be 95% of the time) will bark at everything.  Not that we're talking the slathering semi-rabid type of barking that you associate with dog fights, etc., she just seems to want to air her vocal chords at everything - be it big, small, or totally invisible - in a sort of a "Now listen up, I'm not posing a threat here but I'm just getting in first in case you think I'm a pushover although, as stated heretofore, I dont wish to be a menace but I'm just stating my case first in case you think me lily-livered ... " etc., etc.  In the right mood, Daisy will bark billy-oh at a gust of wind as if it was one of your normal barking triggers like, say, a cat. Or a flasher.

Additionally, and this is the rub, once she starts barking it is extremely difficult to get her to stop.  Dealing with the fevered Daisy whilst smug owners and equally smug doggies prance past in quiet and grateful fashion is a novel experience and the temptation to shout after them that she's a rescue dog and that you had a very well behaved dog before her `thank you very much!' is strong but should be resisted for fear of ending up looking like a shouty mad woman with a barking doggy - i.e. one step away from the loony bin.  Instead you just shuffle off, coughing apologies, and feeling like the worst dog owner in the world.

In an effort to prevent the barking everything has been tried.  Citronella collars, muzzles, distraction/treating techniques, blocking techniques, spraying water ... whilst they appear to work at first, it is not long before fever pitch Daisy is back and you're left wondering what on earth you can do next?

Which is why I've ordered for Daisy a `Thundershirt' from Amazon.  Originally intended as an aid for dogs who do not cope well with thunderstorms, they now seem to be recommended by a lot of vets/trainers for other stress/anxiety problems in dogs.  Worn on the dog much like a doggy coat they apparently provide almost a `virtual hug'/constantly reassuring pressure which allegedly helps calm stressed out/anxious dogs.  There do seem to be a fair few online testimonials from satisfied (and relieved) dog owners reporting that they can now take Buster/Bowser/Boris out for their morning ablutions without worrying that Buster/Bowser/Boris would suddenly become hyper/barky and make everyone's lives hell.  Alongside these glowing reports, however, I have spotted a couple of negative reviews calling the product nowt but an overhyped dog jacket, but the happy owners seem to outnumber the unsatisfied ones.  I'm guessing, therefore, that as each dog is different, with a different problem, if the product does work, it might not suit all but it could well suit some.

And it would be so good for Daisy if she was one of those some.

In the meantime, Daisy seems to be coping rather well in my bro's absence.  In fact I dont think I've noticed her pine once.  She's looked after (during the day) by a coupla (elderly) next door neighbours (who absolutely adore her) and I take care of all the bathing/walking/feeding/playing in the mornings and evenings :-

Daisy - Bathtime

Daisy - Naptime

We should be proud, however, that since taking on the Daisy she has come on leaps and bounds with the following :-

• She no longer pongs.  My bro has worked out exactly how often she should be bathed to stop her smelling like an oily sock (and the rest of the house too) and her fur is (unlike when we first got her) in excellent condition.
• She now understands and carries out the basic commands - sit, stay, down - and will even beg if you want her to.  She's one step away from being one of those dancing dogs you used to see on b&w tele although we will try and resist acquiring a little top hat and cane for her.
• We've worked out exactly how much food she should get and how often so her stomach is no longer upset.  No human food passes her lips and she is as lithe/nimble as when she first came in our house although with a better diet.
• We have almost rid her of the separation anxiety symptoms she was showing when she first arrived.

Ideally, it would be fantastic to take Daisy to one side and say `Look it's OK.  We're with you when you go out and nothing's going to happen' and she was somehow able to understand.  But that would make her a little human, which she is not.  As Cesar Milan says "Dogs live in the moment.  With the right pack leadership they dont remember what they've been through. They dont hurt.  They dont harbour resentment.  They just `are'."  But since we cant afford to import a teeth-whitened perma-tanned dog training genius from the US, the Thundershirt is gonna have to do.

Fingers crossed!

Sweet Jesus

The journey home on the tube last night was pretty uneventful.

Usual crowd of disinterested, bored and passive-aggressive commuters hurtling home in a dingy steamy underground carriage that smelled faintly of cheese.

And it continued in this fashion for three-quarters of the 50 minute commute (wherein I'd read the London  Evening Standard from cover to cover and vowed to myself, once again, that I would have to start bringing a book with me to stop myself going insane) when a chap suddenly plonked down in the seat next to me and took out a large A4 sized notepad, on which had been written the following :-

ME : "Dont despair, my children, for He shall look after you."
CONGREGATION : [applause]
ME : Insert `fly like an eagle' analogy.  Pause for more applause.  Tell those who sin will be forgiven.  Those that hurt will be comforted.  "Jesus does not reject anyone."
CONGREGATION [applause]

Fighting back the urge to take a good look at the (religious?/earnest?/spiritual lifestyle coach?) commuter next to me, I carefully extricated my mobile from my bag and began fiddling with its keys, in an effort to disguise the fact that I was now going to spend the rest of my journey having a good old, but surreptious, gog at what he was going to write next.

And it didnt disappoint.

Thunder.  Darkness.  Doom!

He wrote, just before stifling a tiny burp behind his earnestly religious fist.

And then :

He does not judge.

NOT JUDGE.

Everyone is welcome.  Use *smile* here.  And pause.

Speak softly.  Remind them of THE WAY.

There is only ONE WAY.

*owls*

No deeper love than that which He can provide for YOU.

It was at this point I quickly locked my mobile phone handset.  So engrossed had I become by the fevered cleric?/reverend?/preacher? next to me I'd taken my eyes off what my jabbing fingers were doing to my phone and had almost accidentally texted `fut me' to my hairdresser.

Oblivious to all of this, the chap next to me carried on :-

Jesus will not just teach you but will SHOW you :

THE MEANING OF LIFE.

Only if you open up your heart will Jesus tell you.

For it is simple, my children.

The meaning of life is

By now we were two stations away from my stop (i.e. the end of the line) and I was a few seconds away from suddenly knowing what life was all about.  I mean, can you imagine?  How exciting.

But then I noticed.  He was packing up his stuff.  He was putting away his pen and his notepad (with it's half finished sentence) and he was tidying up his bits.

Christ on a bike, I thought to myself (never missing out on a good old opportunity to blaspheme), talk about ruddy typical.  The chap next to me was about to impart life's secrets but his journey had come to an end.

Feeling miffed about being denied such a big secret (well, OK, the largest secret in the world - that, and how come X-Factor and Celeb Big Brother are still going, but I guess no-one has the answer to that little thinker) I crossed my legs in frustration and re-started jabbing at my mobile, when the chap suddenly sat back down again, rifled through his bag for a bit and pulled out the pad once more.

Tearing off a tiny scrap of paper for writing on, it suddenly dawned me that, yes, now was not the time for writing such things of magnanimous proportions on a large A4 pad.  Secrets such as this should be done in a more covert fashion.  Lest others get hold of the news and turn its purity into darkness.

God, his turn of phrase is catching.

And, so he began to write once more on the tiny bit of paper, with an unusual intensity.  Gawd this must be good I thought to myself, whilst I jabbed in hysterical fashion on my mobile, all the while feeling something enormous happening next to me.  But, even though I'd crooked myself in to a really good peeking position (but without revealing I was peeking at the same time) I couldnt see what he'd blimmin' well written.  A few letters were visible but not enough to make out what the whole message was.

Until, sweet Jesus on high, we finally pulled in to his stop, which made him gather up his things and accidentally force him to reveal (albeit briefly) his note to the really nosey female mobile phone jabbing commuter next door.

And what were his magic words?

They were :

1 chicken

Bananas

Return DVD

Updated Blogger Interface

Just tried it.  And I liked it.  Sort of.

Except part of the screen was a little bit missing on the right hand side.

So I left feedback after reverting back to the `classic' interface.  I dont generally do this but with an empty office and more time on my hands than I suddenly know what to do with I filled out Google's feedback form and even inserted a few extra details that, whilst not wholly unnecessary (like your breast size or what your last fart smelled like), were not really needed.  Just in an effort to be helpful.  And type in a bit more than `Nice' or `Well pukka' in response to their question `What do you think of our new interface?'.

And everything was going OK.  Until I pressed `submit'.

Only to be greeted with :-

We'll? Shouldn't that be `will'?

So, and to summarise, my feedback form's been lost and I'm now being patronised by Google Docs.

So, Google Docs, how'd you like this feedback : "Eff off with your stupid `Oops!' Barbara Windsor style oo-silly-me-my-boobs-have-just-fallen-out-of-my-dress type message and submit my effin' form."

God, I'm in a bad mood.

Can you tell?

Thank You BT (from a Minesweeper `Expert')

It's amazing the impact Broadband has on normal office life.  When it's working fine it's easy to take it for granted (and so you ruddy well should given the amount you have to pay for the privilege) but when it goes tits up then it all gets interesting.

From my files I can see that we havent had a decent Broadband service from BT since March.  And we're not talking about speed here (although that has cropped up from time to time).  No we're talking about dropping out of service.  Sometimes so frequent that you're reminded of Norman Collier and his `microphone not working' routine.  BT have blamed this problem on our socket, then our router, then the new router that BT sent us, then a fault at the exchange, then line equipment, then our router again, then our socket again ... and, after two visits from BT engineers who could find nothing wrong with our office set up we sorta hit a brick wall.

Until the 9th of this month.  When, from having a completely unstable and unreliable Broadband service, we had nothing.

Nada.

And this is when the office morphed in to a lower ground floor of Mayfair pure hell.  Everyone had reached their wit's ends.  Unable to make progress with BT and/or remain calm with members of their `Escalation Team', our nerves had hit breaking point and it was for this reason that London-Lass found herself dramatically threatening to leave her job, tears and snot running down face, hair everywhere.

An attractive sight, I think you'll agree.

For without Broadband (and any idea as to when we were gonna have a service) you suddenly find everything slows down.  Your work piles up, your bosses are on your back, there's no effin' Internet and the world is black.  And this is all whilst around you people are merrily e-mailing away (without a moment's thought), or tweeting, and laughing at you behind your special antiquated back.

Or, at least it felt like this anyway.

Gradually, however, calm was restored.  Boss nipped out from office to acquire two nifty 3 Mobile dongles which, although a little slow, certainly kept the wolf from the door and enabled us to take short (ok, extremely brief) forays back into the world of Broadband (whilst our router lay in the corner of our office blinking in dormant fashion).

Our Broadband has finally been resurrected today (after drafting in numerous teams and engineers to fix all different sorts of problems at our exchange, BT have apparently ceased our old Broadband account and reinstated us with a brand new one) but, yes, you've guessed it, after only a coupla hours in we've already had three drop outs of service of about 10 minutes each.

A log has been kept of our shash-bollocks quality of a service since March (Word document, about 14 pages long) which also includes snippets of conversations with ultra-rude, unprofessional and generally hopeless `Escalation Department' Support Staff (one of which disappeared mid-problem solving to suddenly rush home to Poland to be by his ailing dad's side but then was back in the office the next day). To say we were pushed from pillar to post, would not describe how many people we have had to speak to since the early part of the year.  Anyway, our log of events, along with an e-mailed record of messages between my bosses and Ian Livingston (CEO of BT) are being collated to use in possible Court action - bosses have still to decide how they are going to pursue this.  Correspondence is also being drafted to Ofcom.

But (and this is the most important part of this post) whilst all this has been going on, there has been one silver lining.  I've finally mastered Minesweeper at `Expert' level and below is proof of my skilful powers :-

`Expert' level complete - could life get any better?!

And for that I shall be evermore grateful to BT.

Without their hopelessly inadequate service, I would never know the sweet pure joy of finishing the game.

Cue : Very Dramatic Posting

Imagine it's a hot summer's morning.  Like most residential properties in the UK, your house does not come equipped with air-conditioning.  It may well have `air cooling' (or so the little button says on your warm air heating central unit) but this does nothing apart from blow out a few pathetic gusts of air that's actually warmer than your own breath.

And so, to stop the house reeking of stuffy staleness, you take to opening up one of its front windows downstairs and the odd bedroom window upstairs.  Otherwise all the occupants (including rescue doggie) inside would end up in a fainty collapse and gasping for air like recently netted fish.

I'm sure you get the picture.

And so, whilst getting your brekkie ready and sorting out iron and ironing board for your work clothes, you dont notice that through opening up a coupla windows to freshen up the internal stuffiness something has got in to the house, something so huge it does not really belong in a clean and tidy home with nice neat sofas and piccies on the wall, and which should, by rights, be safely stored in a glass box in some museum or house of curiosities for people to pry and marvel at safe in the knowledge that it cannot get at them.

Unlike poor London-Lass who whilst inserting toast in the toaster, and having a bit of a gog at what the neighbours across the road were doing, still hadnt realised that she was just mere inches from having a very nasty contratante with something large and lethal.

And, blind to the fact that this evil monstrosity sat perched on one of her kitchen blinds, she ironed away at her work clothes before happily shoved iron and ironing board back in cupboard and returning back upstairs, little knowing that something of supreme foulness was waiting for her on her return for some breakfast.

Which took place about 15 minutes later.

Brother and rescue doggie, Daisy, were, by this point, also in the kitchen.  Brother was in the middle of making Daisy's breakfast whilst Daisy attempted to will her full doggie bowl off the counter and into her salivating gob and I was just about to let him know about the feverish row I'd heard our next door neighbours partake in when ...

... my eyes ...

... caught sight of ...

o ... my ... word ...

THIS!!!!

Effin' ell!

Measuring around 4-5 cms in length, it lay on the bottom part of our kitchen blind as London-Lass struggled to talk, or breathe, or operate as a normal human being.  In fact, if I hadnt just been to the loo, I'm sure there would have been some rear door pouch action too.

"God that's not real!" I finally managed to blurt out, causing my brother to whirl around, spoon in hand, bowl in other, as I desperately tried to locate a can of fly spray from beneath the sink.

"What's going on?" he cried, following my line of sight, although still not catching on to what I'd seen as the enormous insect with the gi-normous striped body was somehow camouflaged by the neutral tones of our kitchen blind.

But this was fine.  My brother, after developing a severe allergy to wasp and bee stings when little, is highly phobic of the blighters too and having someone whirling around in panic whilst trying to take a careful aim at the bloated insect body could have only ended up in disaster.

But then my chubby (nearly 40-year old fingers) found the can of fly spray and with one deft manoeuvre I vaulted to the bin and zapped the insect with the spray - to watch it fall off, plip, directly in to the bin below (which, as luck would have it, had been sitting with it's bin lid slightly open to receive the insect body as it fell off its perch).

And, as this all happened so quick, my brother still couldnt figure out what I'd actually sprayed although by the sweat on my top lip and the fact I was clutching the can of air spray as if my life depended on it may have been a bit of a strong clue that I hadnt just exterminated a blue bottle.

"What was it?" my brother gasped.

"A ... hornet" I replied, all quavering and high.

"What??!" my brother cried, reeling back, and stepping behind me.  "Well where is it now?"

"In the bin" I replied, tip-toeing over towards the bin to see if I could hear anything.

"Are you sure?" my brother asked, getting a bit gibbery now, "I mean, did you actually see it go in ... it didnt (quick shudder) fall behind it did it?"

"No it definitely fell in," I replied, leaning in closer to the bin, only to suddenly hear a faint, but rather angry, buzzing coming from within.  "There - can you hear that?"

Blessed with only partial hearing, my brother had to lean in closer but either due to the lowness of the buzzing or the fact it wasnt the loudest of noises my brother was unable to hear the hornet and started, again, to become convinced it had dropped down next to the bin.  Or somewhere else in the kitchen.

And it was then that two little hornet legs suddenly jabbed out from under the bin lid causing it to flap slightly in an alarming manner.

"What the f-?!" I yelled, whilst picking up the fly spray and flooding the bin with all its insecticide goodness.

"Get it!" my brother yelled, pulling Daisy behind him.

Unbelievably the legs continued to poke out in a probing fashion and part of the head began to emerge and what with the mountain of fly spray foam that was beginning to bubble out from and run down the side of the bin, the increasingly stressed and growly rescue doggie and my highly phobic highly allergic brother, it was rather inevitable that I should end up letting out a rather large fart of panic.

Only for everything to suddenly get quiet.  The hornet gave up its fight and plopped back inside the bin.  My brother stopped pacing and put down the bowl and spoon.  And Daisy stopped fretting and started quietly sniffing in the direction of the bin instead.

The hornet was dead and we were all (blessedly) alive.  Although we were lucky.  It was only on researching this particular species of insect that I discovered we should really have just sucked it up with a hoover (and left it to die of dehydration if the actual hoovering up hadnt already killed it) and not sprayed the blimmin' thing as a hornet, much like a wasp, emits a chemical when attacked that encourages any other hornets in the vicinity to come and attack anything that's been bothering it (in a defensive nest protection manoeuvre).  And when hornets attack they dont just sting you once (in a `let that be a lesson to you' type fashion) but will repeatedly sting you over and over, and bite you too (just in case you felt like you were missing out somewhat in the insect assaulting procedure).

Horrible things .. and certainly ones I would not rather come up against any time soon.

(shudder)