» Family codes and rituals

The Farmer Game
When I was a little bulb, brothertulip and I would play the Farmer game on all long car journeys to pass the time. It became something of a ritual.

Basically it consisted of saying the word "Farmer" followed by another word, in an attempt to invent an amusingly named fictional agricultural labourer.

So we went through all the words we knew and, as you do when you are small, you think mildly rude words are very funny so Farmers Poo, Piddle, Plop, Bogey, Fart and Willy often made appearances in the back of my dad's Renault Five, resulting in much innocent giggling, and our long-suffering parents would concentrate on eating boiled sweets and arguing about maps.

Then last year, when I was merrily driving us to a family do, and the skies were blue and the birds were tweeting and we were enjoying some quality sibling time, my brother, who does not drive and therefore does not understand the need to be attentive and observant whilst doing so, chose to revive this long-forgotten game at the top of the motorway sliproad, and at the top of his voice.

For some reason, writing "I was momentarily distracted when my brother bellowed FARMER CUNTING FUCKSOCKS" is not acceptable on insurance claim forms.
(Sat 22nd Nov 2008, 23:39, More)

» Workplace Boredom

A typical day
*arrives at theatre*

*completes daily ritual of hating the theatre pigeons and devising 403rd new and original way in which to destroy them (today - highly trained killer lions)*

*deflects all pointless and repetitive questions from Barry the Caretaker Who Is Special But Not That Special, and who has been here making coffee since 7.30am despite the place not opening until 10am*

*gets coffee*

*switches on pc*

*checks emails*

*opens the box office*

*checks b3ta and gazzes*

*opens the post*

*wonders if we should programme in a show telling the story of the Highland Clearances through the medium of shadow puppetry and interpretive dance*

*foot bounces on floor in jiggly impatient manner*

*contemplates can of mulligatawny soup on desk*

*deals with member of public who lost scarf in auditorium about a month ago (no it's not there, no I'm not going to check, we'd have found it by now)*

*wonders vaguely about running off some invoices*

*explains to different member of public that no, they can't just "go and watch" the ballet classes*

*wonders if should report to police*

*asks if the techie is up for a game of Pringles Hockey*

*Pringles Hockey not allowed in newly refurbished cafe*

*forbidden-pringles-hockey-glums*

*stares at ceiling*

*has to go sell a couple of tickets*

*then thinks, oh though, I suppose I should do those invoices*

*chews end of pen for a bit*

*gets bags of change for the cafe*

*tidies desk*

*tears off clean sheet of paper to write list of things to do*

*chews end of pen again*

*thinks, I really need a writing hat*

*builds improvised writing hat out of old theatre programmes*

*wonders if hat looks silly*

*tells the 150th person that day that no we aren't selling tickets for next year's pantomime yet*

*takes hat off as person looked at self in funny way*

*chews end of pen again*

*cleans ink from mouth*

*rearranges scarf*

*checks hair in mirror*

*gets more coffee*

*checks gazzes and b3ta again*

*wanders up to the tech box to look for nails and hammer to put up new noticeboard*

*is frustrated as there only seems to be lightbulbs, cables, and empty diet coke bottles in the tech box*

*wonders if should have used Oxford comma in above sentence*

*trips over cables in tech box due to fruitless grammatical debates with self*

*has a little cry*

*wanders back to own office*

*gets excited about delivery from Viking - ooh, office porn!*

*deflects questions about next week's chair arrangements for next week's private hire from Barry the Caretaker Who Is Special But Not That Special*

*hums a little oooh-what-shall-I-do-now? hum*

*hum turns into full rendition of Barcelona by Freddie Mercury and That Woman Wrapped In a Quilt*

*fetches new pen*

*chews pen*

*gets bored of pen, fetches pencil*

*explains to 800th person why, exactly, they can't reserve tickets without paying for them (because the system won't let me, and I don't want to)*

*sells a couple of tickets*

*herds small children out of office; politely asks mother of small children not to let them roam unsupervised; tells mother of small children that yes, there is a toilet here, and no, you can't use it, this is my office, the public ones are at the other end of the cafe*

*goes through four files to find out the precise length, to the minute, of a show that isn't happening until March because some woman wants to know as she's to cook dinner afterwards for 8 friends and their tennis partners and their tennis partners' pet tortoises*

*sharpens pencil dangerously*

*tears off another sheet of paper*

*finishes nomming coffee*

*wants another one*

*does some sort of technical related thing with splitters and sockets*

*doesn't understand*

*wonders why the can of mulligatawny soup seems to have moved by itself*

*takes random member of public round dark and empty auditorium because they've asked to see what it looks like and they want to know where their seat is before they come to see whichever show their daughter-in-law bought tickets for as a coming-out-of-hospital present after the hernia removal operation*

*wanders off to play in the tech box again*

*listens to the daily history lesson from our techie*

*learns about life in the Navy during the Napoleonic wars (ie picking the weevils out of biscuits and drinking urine)*

*helps to rehang stage curtains for show*

*regrets wearing skirt and heeled boots to work on the one day is required to go up ladders and things*

*sets fire alarm to 3-minute delay for show*

*sends audience upstairs*

*soothes ushers*

*escapes back into office for a bit*

*plays about on b3ta until show ends*

*cashes up box office*

*unsets the fire alarm*

*goes upstairs to lock up scary dark empty auditorium*

*gathers up half-melted abandoned pots of overpriced icecream*

*is sticky*

*hopes not to see ghosts whilst in state of stickiness*

*frightens self with overactive and unoriginal imagination*

*scampers to car park in the dark*

*falls over on icy car park*

*drowns in puddle *
(Thu 8th Jan 2009, 15:22, More)

» Bastard Colleagues

Evil Horrible Bastard Man
A company I used to work for employed a number of home-based consultants. They were all lovely and amiable apart from one who I will call A. There's always one isn't there?

A was never the easiest chap to get on with - brusque on the phone, talked down to us girls in the office cos we were girls, etc etc. But that was ok, we could cope with that.

Then one day our boss noticed a discrepancy in A's monthly report i.e. he'd said he'd done something on a certain date when in fact he hadn't.

So our boss being a good boss asked him to explain, in a friendly "Oops! did you make a mistake here?" kind of way.

And A responded as a can of petrol to a match. He accused of our boss, who I will call Steve, of micro-managing him, of racial harrassment (he was Welsh!), and bullying.

This was just for starters. Over the next six months or so the relationship deteriorated so much that
a. Steve couldn't actually speak to A.
b. He had about five official complaints against Steve.

When the official complaints were investigated and proved to be bollocks, A then filed several more complaints about the staff who had investigated the original complaints. He then refused to
a. Work anywhere near the M25
b. Start work before 9am, which in his mind meant he would start his journey to whichever client he was visiting at 9am, which meant he was doing one two-hour visit a day instead of three.

By then, such was A's tirade of complaints of racial harrassment, salary discrepancies and all the other crap had reached such heights that not only did our manager have seven official complaints against him, but so did the finance director, the managing director, the head of the department managing the original complaints, his assistant, and me.

Yes, me!

I had had the unfortunate duty of being responsible for keeping the key to his new company car. He came into the office, grunted, snatched it off me, and went.

Two minutes later there was a call and it was A complaining that his new car was overdue a service by some 7,000 miles. I politely tried to point out that it wasn't. But A is never wrong, so he yelled at me. A lot.

So I complained about him, in a nice "I don't come to work to be yelled at, it wasn't nice, please do something" kind of way, so they did. They wrote him a letter along the lines of "Dear A, happylittletulip says you yelled at her. Is she right? If so, we would very much like to hear your views and response."

A day later a two-page fax listing all my shortcomings as an employee, colleague, and person spilled out of the fax in front of everyone. It wasn't nice. It wasn't pretty. I might have cried a bit. My boss took it off me and said Don't Worry, We'll Deal With It.

I might have done so, had I not received, a mere three days later, a letter from A saying that he was claiming a five-figure sum from me personally for defamation of character and libel and god knows what else, running over his puppies probably. I handed this to my boss and went home all white and shaking and had to eat maltesers for about two hours to calm myself down.

The company responded to his letter on my behalf in no uncertain terms. "Dear A, you're talking bollocks and harrassing happylittletulip, stop it or we'll get you." This, I thought, would be the end.

But no. The next week I received another letter from A saying that, due to the malicious and unfounded reports I had made about him in response to his previous letter, he was now demanding another sum of money, twice as much as the first one, again for libel and murder and fraud and other heinous deeds I had probably committed against him due to my criminal and malicious nature. Again I handed this to my boss and ate maltesers to try to stop shaking.

By now mr happylittetulip had noticed all was not well, possibly due to the lack of maltesers but probably because I spent most mornings quivering under the duvet and sobbing "Don't make me go to work, I won't do it, you can't make me" and rocking backwards and forwards. Once I told him the whole story I had to confiscate his car keys to stop him driving to A's house and killing him to death.

By now you are probably wondering why A hadn't been sacked. "This is crazy!" you are thinking, and you're right. But the reason he hadn't been sacked is that the company we worked for specialised in employment law, and they were terrified of being sued for constructive dismissal.

So they let it go to tribunal, or rather, three tribunal cases by the time it came round. We waited a whole year, by which time I was working elsewhere. The morning of the tribunal arrived. I was champing at the bit to say my bit against this twunt who had decided he wanted to ruin my life because I protested when he yelled at me. (I mean, who has a spare hundred grand or so knocking around when they're in their twenties?).

We got to court.

The atmosphere was serious and tense, like a pair of black pants with too-tight elastic.

We all met beforehand in the waiting room.

A caught my eye and I returned his gaze with daggers of steel. Unfortunately the daggers were imaginary ones and did no harm.

The chairman of the tribunal arrived.

A approached the bench and... WITHDREW all his claims. And so we all went home for tea and buns.

What a knob.

*Apologises for length and hopes the girth made up for it.
(Fri 25th Jan 2008, 15:52, More)

» Will you go out with me?

milord tulip
and I met completely randomly. For some reason this makes people think we met online, but we didn't, we met in real life and everything. It was in a pub about five years ago. He caught my eye over my best mate's shoulder, waited until she went to the bar and then pounced. We talked for three hours that night, swapped numbers, then met up two days later and spent the whole day together. I knew within about five minutes that I would marry him one day. Course I didn't tell him that until after he proposed about two years later, I'm not daft.

He is ace, and he thinks I'm the best girl in the world. The sight of his lovely bottom in his cricket whites makes me go weak at the knees, and no-one makes me laugh like he does. And no-one else has ever waited up for me till past midnight with champagne on ice and a special meal, just because. (that was the other day) We're best mates and he calls me his little buddy (amongst other things)

I can't wait to marry him. He's promised to wear his kilt and everything.

apologies for lack of funneh.

click I like this if you think I should wear pants-with-the-cross-of-St-Andrew-on underneath my wedding dress.
(Fri 29th Aug 2008, 10:30, More)

» Guilty Pleasures, part 2

fucking stupid chav twunts
Next week, on my last day, I'm going to be soooo rude to all the unfortunate council tenants who are unlucky enough to get me on the phone when they ring in to whinge that a kitchen cupboard door has fallen off/their neighbour's son has driven over the grass by the pavement and made a mess/needs a council house because, funnily enough, their private landlord evicted them for not paying any rent for the past 5 years, and expects the council to pay for every damned thing despite them being a work-shy dole-scrounging layabout who contributes nothing except illiterate brats, high tax levels and the unwashed stench of old chip-pan oil and fags to society.

You got a blocked toilet? Don't shove fucking nappies down it.

Can't make the rent payments? Get a goddamn job.

Want a new carpet? Stop the kids from pissing on it.

The amount of scrounging makes me boil. They expect everything handed to them on a plate and cause a real fuss when it doesn't appear.

It almost tempts me to think that Hitler's policies were merely misguided.
(Tue 18th Mar 2008, 15:02, More)