Well, it's been a bit of a mad week so far. It all started on Friday night. I had been invited (forced) to go to a colleagues 21st birthday party. To be honest I don't like going to work dos, ( in my younger (other) life, when anybody asked me for the gossip the Monday after the staff do, let's just say they were looking at her.

But now I am just an old fart, who moans about having to go out, yet gurns like a baby when no body invites her because of it. Another reason is bitchiness. There, I said it. ( I actually feel like a bitch writing this, but this is not bitchiness, it's gossip. They don't know you and you don't know them. Let on your reading the national enquirer.)

I was sitting there (bit bored) and decided to excuse myself to the ladies. While getting comfortable so to speak, I couldn't help overhearing a conversation between two people, bitching about somebody. As I sat there (sorry for any unexplained graphic images) I thought to myself, " God, imagine if that was ME they were talking about. (can you tell where I'm going here?) I sooo realised, yep it was me. To be honest I was so busy thinking about what it would feel like if it where me, I didn't realise they where talking about me!

I prayed that they would leave the toilets, I was a bit embarrassed to say the least. It wasn't that bad what they said, it was just the fact I heard it. Awkward. Nobody likes to be talked about. My head was pounding with shame. Of course, the two girls in question stayed by the basin, chatting away, while I sweated until I had no choice but to come out. I just said "hiya girls, you having a good night?" Their faces, priceless. I wish I could write, "I shot out of them cubicles faster than a whippet and give them girls a good dressing down and give them my best Claire Stare for effect as I stumped through the door."
(hopefully pulling up my pants first.)

Then amongst other things that happened that I would need to start a new blog, last night I put on some dinner for me and the big fella (baked potatoes if you must know) and half an hour later when I was supposed to be cleaning the kitchen floor and reading your blogs instead, the oven blew up! Like, door smashing to smerthings (how do you spell that word?) all over the you got it, kitchen floor! So basically your blogs (and my laziness) saved my life! Any way, Big fella got home and first thing he said was, so what did you make for dinner instead?" ("might of been my dead body, if it were not for my awarding winning blog!" (I like to throw in the award bit when I'm stressed.)

I was not amused. I'll be honest with you, I shit myself when it happened. I was fragile. I am from Belfast. The last thing I want to here is any form of explosions. But trust me it gets worse. After spending an hour, yes an hour watching the big fella clearing up glass and potato peel from the oven/shelves/ceiling (he deserved that one) he put it all in huge container, heaved it to me and asked me to take it downstairs to the bin. (on purpose you say? Surely not. Mmmm) I would have until I lost my grip and I poured shards of tiny glass all over the carpet. Before he could throttle me, I ran to the hoover thing and furiously began er hoovering. It was making really loud noises which was good, because I can't stand moaning man, when all of a sudden....................................it stopped working. You don't think me hoovering up glass would have anything to do with it, do you? So, to sum up, we are having salad until remedy is found, start using a broom (personally, my favourite) and we will never ask anyone to ever take their shoes off when entering the flat for fear of death by excessive bleeding. Hope you are all well!