Tenterhooks

Every week I apply for a whole sheaf of jobs. I've yet to get an interview for any of them, which is irritating since I really need a job, but not catastrophic as I don't actually care for the jobs themselves. Today, however, is the closing date for one that I applied for a couple of weeks ago, and which I really want. Really really want. See those italics? That's how much I want this job. I'd underline it too, but it's possible to go too far with these things. I'm now just playing a waiting game and doing pointless maths in my head. Say it takes them a day to go through all the applications and discount all the duds...another day to go through all the possibles and make a shortlist...that's Thursday afternoon...but they'd probably leave it till Friday to make the calls...or would they just wait until Monday? I'm driving myself a bit loopy basically. And while time seems to be stretching itself out like a rubber band where this is concerned, it's just pinged itself back with a snap in another area of my life. I suddenly remembered last night that I'm supposed to have my book down by tonight for the play I'm rehearsing, and I haven't even started learning my lines yet. Oops. I can learn an entire play in a day, right?

A bit of mush

This weekend I was supposed to be heading off to the midlands for my parents' anniversary party. Unfortunately I can't make it due to work commitments. So, to honour the occasion from afar, here is an unprecendented, and probably ne'er to be repeated, burst of sentimentality. Cynics look away now!

Love doesn't come from perfection,
From symmetry and shine,
The shimmer of unworn silk
Or that fast-decaying bloom.


It's knowing with eyes tight shut
The line of your lifted brow.
It's being surprised every time
By the thing that makes you laugh.


Love isn't found in perfection,
In the gloss of the bright unused.
It's the dearness of the familiar
And the sudden rush of the new.

Things that make me smile No.66

I love the contrast of the gun I wield in the play I'm rehearsing, against the tackily bright pink nail polish I'm currently wearing.

Imagination deviation

A lot of kids have imaginary friends. I suppose it must be more common among only children or those whose siblings are distant in age. My brother and I were pretty close in age, but we had a slight problem in that he loved to compete over things. I didn't object to competing generally, but didn't like competing with him, since the only thing worse than a bad loser is a bad winner, and as a kid he was both. So we had imaginary enemies. Their names (and for the life of me I cannot remember why) were Doodoo and Mary, and we used to devise all sorts of games and feats of physical daring in which to battle them. We always won of course. I'm beginning to suspect we were slightly odd children.

Bunny business

Last night, on my way to rehearsal, I saw a woman walking her dog. From a distance the dog seemed to be moving in a slightly odd, and very slow, manner; something which was explained when I got a bit closer and realised that it was, in fact, a large black rabbit on a leash. Thinking that this was was one of the strangest things I'd seen in...ooh...a couple of days, I turned up at rehearsal and gleefully told one of my fellow cast members about it, only to be met with the response "Aw, how lovely. I used to do that with my rabbit". Surely this isn't ordinary behaviour? Is it?

Sometimes you just need the emphasis

I received this text message from my brother while I was out and about:
"Your -ing cat did a -ing s**t on the -ing bathroom -ing mat. I hate your -ing cat. The end."
Sometimes there just aren't enough profanities in the world. Needless to say, my -ing cat is not popular at the moment.

Awkward

I'm currently rehearsing for a play, one of the lines in which goes as follows: "I know I'm old. I remember when a Brazilian was a person". Last night the 70-something man directing the play stopped us to ask if anyone understood the line, because he didn't. There was a burst of nervous laughter followed by what seemed like an eternally long silence, as I blinked down at his innocently expectant face and prayed for somebody else, anybody else, to answer the question.  

How high is a ladder?

I'm mildly amused that the person spec for one of the jobs I just applied for includes "Must have a good head for heights". It's a library, people, not the Empire State Building.

Carry On Camping

My weekend camping trip was absolutely wonderful, and barely rained at all in the end. We are so epically un-rock 'n' roll that we spent our time pottering around the local farmers market and playing rummy and charades. We must be getting old.
On which note, it's my birthday tomorrow. I'm not thrilled, I have to say. I don't like having a birthday when things aren't going too well, and my continuing and relentless inability to get anyone to even interview me for a proper job is sending me a little bit loopy. On the other hand, this was the year when I managed to graduate, so I have at least acheived one thing, not that it seems to be helping much at this moment in time.
The whole birthday-based bad mood was not helped much by coming home to find my birthday cake gone. Ok, my Tesco finest tartes aux fruit. Hey, it's my birthday dessert, and I can have a tart if I want to. Except I can't. Because my brother ate them. That's right ladies and gentlemen, as if it isn't pathetic enough to have to purchase my own birthday cake in the first place, I don't even get to eat it. I suspect this proves my theory that the universe is out to get me. You know, just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they're not out to get your tartes.

Kent inna tent

I've gone camping in Kent this weekend. Everyone else headed off on Friday, but I work on Saturdays so had to take the train down after work. (Will have to take the train down after work? I'm experiencing a little tense tension as I'm writing this on Saturday to be posted on Sunday) Anyway, the weather forecast is looking decidedly ominous. It's omming like a black cat sitting under a ladder amidst the shards of a broken mirror. I have a strong suspicion that we will end up (are?) huddled damply in a smoky tent with a multitude of plastic cups of wine. Actually that doesn't sound so bad. Bring on the rain!

Libraries - Also full of confused old people

Man: Is this library card valid here?

Me: Nope, that's Westminster. We're ***********.

Man: This one?

Me: No, that one's Brent.

Man: What about this one?

Me: No sir. That's a Boots Advantage card.

Libraries - full of crazy people

Me: Your session's over. The computer's booked for somebody else now.


Man: We didn't realise it was making so much noise. If we'd known we'd have gone to sleep.

Me: Ok. Could you let the next person onto the computer please.

Man: (moving) We didn't realise. It's a pity it's a pig.

Me: Thanks

Man: Ok. Keep drinking. Stay in control mate.
 
Me: Er...ok. Bye.

Read Me

I found this on the pavement as I walked up my road.

Obviously I had to read it. It was all too wonderfully Alice in Wonderland to resist. I opened it up expecting a treasure hunt, or some random piece of whimsy from an easily amused stranger. Instead I got this:

It's like a Nigerian email scam gone old skool. Strangely enough the first thought that came into my mind wasn't 'A scam, how awful!'. It was 'but there isn't a 362 bus around here'.