Almost the weekend

I’m sitting here staring out of the train window into the greyness outside. It’s getting dark so early these days, a sure sign that winter is on the way.

Where has this year gone, it seems to have passed in the blink of an eye. Halloween approaches and already I have almost jumped out my skin with the cracks and bangs of nearby fireworks.

Shops have started to fill their shelves with all that glitters for Christmas. If you’re interested you’ll find that aisle right after the one with the cackling witches and bloody sculls that await to scare the bejeezus out of some poor wee trick or treater.

Right after Christmas we’ll be reminded of Easter with the timely arrival of Cadburys Creme Eggs… fecking January. Is it any wonder we have no idea where the 365 days in a year go.

Me, I’m just looking forward to Friday.

Scary September!

Someone needs to tell those feckers with their fireworks that it’s only September, ffs, I almost shat me pants twice on the walk up from work tonight. I thought a bloody bomb had gone off. It almost did in my undercrackers.

In all honestly I didn’t realise it was going to be so dark, the nights are drawing in very quickly considering it’s only the start of September.

The schools and colleges are back, oh joy! You should see my wee face, happiness clean hangs out of it in the morning as I tackle my way through the hoards of screaming young un’s, whose volume levels seem to be set at ‘unacceptably loud’. Now before any of you go all rogue on me, I don’t dislike kids, I just can’t be doing with them screaming in my face before I’ve even had my morning coffee.

Geez I’m getting old, almost 30 years ago that would have been me annoying the life out of people on the train. It seems like a lifetime ago. It is a fecking lifetime ago.

Did you know there’s Christmas cards in some of the shops already. What’s the deal with that. I have a stationary fetish ffs, so when I turn up my favourite isle and see it’s full of cards and not pens and notebooks like it should be, it sets me all a dither. Don’t judge, a girl’s gotta get her perks where she can.

Well I’m almost at my stop, it’s been a blast. I think I’m going to stop on the way home and get myself a wee spring roll or three. If that doesn’t put a smile on my face nothing will! :)

Later Eejits ❤

When your colleagues know you well!


Picture the scene, I’m in my office merrily typing away, busy as a little bee when out of the corner of my eye I see an e-mail arrive. I know by the title what it means, one of my colleagues wants me to proof read his work. I think to myself I’m just too busy today and I’ll have to tell him.

Next thing the corridor door opens and he peeks his head around the corner.

Me: I’m too busy, I’m not looking at your report (as I rhyme off a list of all the things I have to get done).

Him: Will you just open it up and have a look at the spacing.

Me: No, I’m too busy (as I again rhyme of previously recited list)

Him: Please, just check the spacing for me.

Me: NO! I am not doing it I am too busy!

Him: Please, just check the spacing.

Me: FFS! (as I open the e-mail)

*E-mail opens*

Me: Oh ffs, would you look at the state of this……..

*OCD kicks in*

Me: So if you do this and this, and a little bit of this too……..

Looking up I see my colleague grinning and realise I have just done what I swore I was not going to.

Me: Bollox! You played me like a fiddle!

They know me so well.


Halloween Socks!

Some people have asked about other stories involving Polly Carmichael, this was by far her most exciting escapade, so as requested I am reposting. Apologies if you have read it before.

“Polly Carmichael you are not going Trick or Treating dressed as a sock, and that is the end of it! What on earth has possessed you anyway girl, I’ve told you that you can have any outfit you want and you choose to go as a sock. Honestly, you and your imagination, it causes me nothing but trouble.”

Mrs Carmichael was not impressed and neither was a frustrated Polly, who with crossed arms, pouted throughout her Mothers lengthy tirade.

“But Mama I…….”

“But Mama nothing young lady, where on earth did you get this foolish idea?”

Looking anywhere but at her Mother, Polly whispered “Patricia.”

“Patricia who? The lady who runs the wool shop at the end of the street, Lemon Lime Follies?”

“Yes Mama.”

“Well at least I know you are safe when you are there, but what have I told you about walking on the road unaccompanied and what is it with your sudden fascination for socks, I just don’t understand!”

Ah, there it was, the question that Polly dreaded most of all.

How could Polly explain to her Mother about the wonderful lady in the shop who made knitting fun and told amazing stories of far away lands, dragons and ghosts. Who made the socks she knitted dance by the glow of the fire with her magic knitting needles as she served up delicious buns and sweets to be munched upon.

She had to go tonight and she had to be a sock!

For the last three months a secret war had been waging in drawers all throughout the sleepy little village of Cosy Toe, unbeknown to any of it’s inhabitants.

Sabrina De La Fibrè, on moving to the village had spotted a gap in the market for manufacturing socks. Patricia could knit, boy could she, but her socks were mischievous and caused no end of trouble during their creation. Although funny and harmless, their high jinx meant supply could not currently meet demand. Sabrina, a clever and calculating witch, wheedled her way into the towns good graces and became the number one supplier with her bright colours, bold designs and catchy slogans. However unlike the woolen socks born in the shop which were crafted with love and care, Sabrina’s synthetic fibres were laced with the misery that radiated from her cold dark heart!

On Halloween night they were going to dance anyone who wore them straight into the river to be carried away forever.

“Okay Mama, I will wear last years costume if you will just let me leave now, the festivities have already started” begged Polly.

“Oh for goodness sake off you go, but we shall continue this conversation. Do not be late!”

Polly grabbed the costume from the chair and moved forward like she was heading to get changed, but as soon as her mother turned away she darted out through the back door and ran as fast as she could all  the way to Lemon, Lime, Follies.

Patricia was already at the door and ushered her in, checking up and down the street to make sure she had not been seen. Giving her a warm hug and brushing the hair from Polly’s eyes she said “You all set?”

“Yep” said Polly with a smile and a salute, before climbing into the sock costume laid out in front of the fire.

Patricia lifted a basket from the table, lined with quilted fabric and as soft as a feather, set it on the floor, and proceeded to let out the loudest whistle Polly had ever heard in her life. A chorus of squeals and whee’s of delighted echoed all through the room as hundred of little socks emerged from the shadows, running, bouncing and somersaulting, before eventually diving into the basket.

“Be good little one’s,” Patricia whispered before handing them to Polly. “And to you child, best of luck. I have added extra love into the costume to keep you safe. We don’t have much time, so hurry along.”

Stepping out into the cold, Polly headed towards the town, keeping her head down and avoiding all the glances from the other trick or treaters. She could hear giggling and knew it was at her costume, but resolute she marched on knowing that she would have the last laugh tonight, god willing.

As she approached the town, she became aware of someone making a speech. Hurrying closer she realised it was none other than Sabrina De La Fibrè herself, courting the crowd who had become unusually sombre considering this was supposed to be a celebration. All at once, as if on cue the crowd turned and started to walk towards the river.

“Where are you going Jaded?” she asked the girl who had just become Poet Laureate. No reply. Polly tugged her sleeve trying to gain some sort of response. Nothing, nothing at all. With dead pan faces the crowd continued to march. The only sound that split the night was the evil laughter of the witch.

Knowing the time was now, Polly ran to the front of the crowd and setting the basket on the ground shouted to all the little socks to get to work. With yelps of glee and jumps for joy the little socks began to surround the villagers, encompassing them in a circle. The larger socks drew together to form a platform onto which Polly gingerly stepped. Clearing her throat she recited the words that Patricia had taught her:

Attention feet of all who stand,
Do you know to where you roam
You seem to be heading for the river,
when you really should be going home.

The evil lady tricked you,
There is a darkness at your feet,
feel how weary your legs are,
Would you not rather have a seat.

Remember the days of woolen socks
when your feet felt warm and safe,
not like that new material
that makes you itch and chafe.

Take off your socks and sit a while,
rest your weary heads,
and when you are feeling more refreshed,
head home wards to your beds.

One by one the townspeople fell to the ground, as if in deep slumber, smiles upon their content faces. The little socks jumped up and down with delight, until that is, they saw the witch approaching with a face like thunder.

Banding together they formed lines in front of Polly, a little army protecting it’s precious cargo.

The witch sneered and laughed, “Do you think you can stop me! NOTHING can stop me!!”

“Do you think so” roared the little socks as they started to unravel, joining and growing, binding and making the strongest rope the world had ever seen. Moving forward they started at the witches feet and wove a path up her body encasing her in a tight cocoon, so tight in fact she could not even scream. On and on they worked until not even an inch of her could be seen. Then they started to sing and squeeze. Polly could not hear the words, but the tune made her feel relaxed and happy, as the little socks squeezed and squeezed until eventually the wicked witch exploded into a million pieces that fell to the ground like black snow.

Polly felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Patricia standing behind her. “Well done Polly, I knew you could do it, you certainly knocked the socks off them all!”

My entry for the Okay, What if? Weekly Writing Challenge. 

It’s probably not what I wanted it to be, but as I had no clear idea of where I was going with it, it will have to do. It has literally made my brain ache :)

The Idea Machine!

Picture: Souther Salazar, Alejandro and the Idea Machine, 2010

I need a contraption that can suck the thoughts out of my head and e-mail them to me!

That’s strange I hear you mutter to yourself, and why yes, you are correct, it is indeed very strange, but it is also very much needed!

It’s been a busy couple of weeks what with people being off in work and things to be done at home. My free time was pretty much slashed to nothing. I usually blog on the train or at lunch time in work, but lunch times were few and far between, peaceful ones anyway, and tables were lacking on the trains. The blog gods were against me! The weekend was designated to housework. I started early so that I would have the rest of Saturday afternoon free to sort things out on here, but then the Father ship decided I needed to clean out his paperwork drawer and get stuff ready for the accountant. 3 hours later, oh yes, 3 hours, and it was time to make the tea!

Sunday I could have blogged, in fact I could have blogged for most of the day, but you know what, I was just too darn tired and my two remaining brain cells were rattling round the empty space between my ears road testing their Halloween costumes, which just happened to be Teflon frying pans, nothing was sticking!

In the midst of all this however I did have some ideas for posts, I would even go as far as to say some of them were great ideas for posts. But then I forgot them. I have this uncanny knack of coming up with ideas when I have nothing on which to write them down. I tell myself I won’t forget, I repeat them to myself in an effort to increase the likelihood, and then nothing, zilch, nada….all gone!

I come in at night when everything has been done, I’m showered, clothes are laid out and I am free to enjoy the little bit of time I have left before bed. I am like a master pianist, I flick out my pajama top tails and seat myself at my instrument, crick my neck from side to side, flex  my fingers, limbering them up, preparing them, and then move them to hover above the keys, and there I sit.

To an outsider I probably look like I am in pain as I try to recall the ideas from the various nooks and crannies in my head, I guess it’s a little like brain constipation, I push but nothing happens. The ideas have all gone, they are lost somewhere in space and time, never to return.

Enter the idea machine. It would store all my little bits and bobs and then replay them to me whilst I limber up, allowing those beautiful and ‘Freshly (yeah right) Pressed’ deserving ideas to filter back into my consciousness, meaning I will no longer have to endure writers block!

I did start out tonight with the intention of writing my piece for this weeks Okay, What If? challenge, but after 30 minutes of screen staring, nothing was stirring so to speak, I can only apologise!

Happy Halloween my most favourite eejits in the whole wide world!