Life, And Other Natural Disasters...

One thing guaranteed to make me really snarky when dealing with Customer Service representatives is the phrase "Well, it says quite clearly in our Terms and Conditions..."

Translation : "Oh you are a complete dumb-ass, aren't you darling?"

Have you tried reading some of those Terms and Condtions?  Trying to find the right paragraph, subsection and sentence?  Honestly, it seems to be the one perk in an otherwise potentially soul destroying job, to smugly prove a customer wrong...

Grr.

So, the annual Eurovision steeplechase is over for another year, amid cries of "political voting" from the UK.  Ok, I (finally) admit there is a lot of it going on - the Baltics will vote for each other, the Scandinavians will vote for each other, the former Yugoslavians will vote for each other and the former Soviets will vote for each other.  This to the tune of t' other half smugly sitting on the other sofa with that "told you so" look on his face.  It seems to get past that you have to have something that stands out; that gets noticed.  Or 6 babushkas.  Unfortunately, a 76 year old Vegas cabaret artist just doesn't cut the mustard.  Still, I won a tenner for the said babushkas coming second.  And hopefully Jedward will learn their lesson and never disgrace Eurovision with their presence again - unless this is a deliberate strategy from RTE not to win!!!

I have had it with this week.  Icing of the cake was packing up to leave, with a customer sat watching me on the sofa opposite.  I ask her who she is waiting for.  She points at me.  I check my list - as far as I was aware, she was due an hour earlier.  But she is adamant that she was told now.  So, I end up leaving in a foul mood twenty minutes late.  And it's pissing down with rain.

And I get home to a big brown envelope telling me that I had passed the online testing for promotion to the next grade and I have an interview and a presentation to go to on the 26th.

Irony is, I don't think I'm ready for promotion now.  I don't think I will cope at all well in the next grade, so my gut reaction is to say "thanks, but no thanks..."

There is a lot of brouhaha in the British media at the moment about the current success of our Olympic team.  Now I am no sports fan, but I do know that one thing we Brits are good at is snatching defeat from the jaws of victory...!

So far this week, I have had one rejection letter for my attempts at promotion; two more to go.  Buzz at work today is that the Nottinghamshire boards are out today, so I should hopefully get home to mine.  And, of course, I am expecting another rejection.  I did my best, but I just have the nagging notion I am not telling them what they want to hear.  So, I shall probably wallow in doom and gloom tonight.  After all, why should I get good news?

Edit: Of course I didn't pass the interview board.  Spent 20 mins on the phone to my friend Stuart, wailing and gnashing teeth.

Y'know, there are times when I just feel that I might as well empty all my bank accounts and just throw the contents at people from the top of the Broadmarsh Centre.  I lost my cellphone today, which means having to buy a new one.  I know it's not that much these days, but it feels like one step forward ten back sometimes.

End of rant.  Now back to your usual programming.

Addendum : They found the phone at work and it is now back in my posession.  Huzzah!

The morning is punctuated by fluent cursing in German.  This can only mean one thing - Katrin is working on her end of term project.  Otherwise, a very salient lesson was learnt last night. 

I cannot sing. 

We had a Karaoke night at @d2 (one of the gay clubs in Nottingham) to raise funds for Nottingham Pride and I was persuaded to enter.  As I started to sing, even I could hear the appalling flatness of my notes.  I gave up in the end and read the lyrics in a Grace Jones-eque deadpan.  Rosey (one of my fellow committee members) came up to me afterwards; put a re-assuring hand on my shoulder and said "Steve, I love you dearly but please Never Sing Again...!!!"

It's back to singing in the shower then, I guess...

One thing that bothers me at the moment, is that I constantly feel I am looking over my shoulder for The Next Bad Thing To Happen.  I know it's out there, just waiting to trip me up when I least expect it, ready to send my crashing back down to earth again.  Oh, it would be so much better if it were The Next Good Thing To Happen, but the size and voraciousness of all the Bad Things that have happened lately seem to eclipse the Good Things.

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Can you say "Schadenfreude"?  Go on, it's such a wonderful word, rolls round the mouth nicely...

Also known as the night of the last man to enter Parliament with honest intentions. For those who don't know, Guy Fawkes was a part of a plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament in the early 17th. Century (1603, I think). He was found in one of the cellars of the Houses of Parliament with a large quantity of gunpowder - hence the Gunpowder Plot. These days, we celebrate with bonfires burning an effigy of Guy Fawkes, and fireworks.

A few years ago, I used to be part of a re-enactment group that used to go up to Fort Nelson, one of the Napoleonic forts up on Portsdown Hill, and lurk in the catacombs as part of a living history presentation on the Gunpowder Plot. Part of the presentation involved the formal telling of the story of the plot, with various people, including myself, as plotters. At one point the Narrator would tell of the torture of the plotters, during which I was assigned "Blood Curdling Scream" duty. Which I enjoyed, mainly as I would attempt the most blood curdling screams, gurgles and other tortured cries, in a room next to the auditorium. And I would invariably cut off the last cry abruptly, just to add that certain "something". We would then listen with amusement to the wails of distressed children in the auditorium.

Heaven only knows, over the years, how many wet beds I was responsible in the Portsmouth area...