Friday night whinge

Now I'm not one to whinge (coughs loudly) BUT I'm sitting here in the dark, on a Friday night, after a long hard week (feeling grotty, with man flu), waiting for my husband, who is in agony with his shoulder, to come home. The reason I'm sitting in the dark is I have to wait for Rich to turn the generator on, as in true mechanic style, hes never had time to set it up to work as a normal genny. You  kind of have to wave 2 wires together , blue and brown? (don’t get that bit wrong), pull a lever, press a button (all at the same time) whilst standing on one leg with your right arm in the air! Its defo a blue job for the boys!

I’m feeling  bit cross TBH.

We had a customer today (who incidentally paid his HUGE bill, 5 weeks late last time) who demanded that Rich work the weekend , as his vehicle needs to be back on the road on Monday. Fine, I understand the business world and know how important it is for vehicles to be done promptly and we’ve always obliged (time is money) but did he understand that we were a small business with bills to pay when he went swanning off without paying us! No, didn’t get a sorry, nothing.

THEN!

We officially finish work at 5.00 every day, although Rich nearly always stays, behind closed doors to catch up etc. Everybody knows we shut at 5.00 so why do people think its their right to say, order a grua at 5.00 so he has to stay or insist we stay until they can make I to collect their cars. That’s part of having your own business I hear you say and yes maybe so, but do we get paid extra for it? Are people grateful? No, its all about their own selfish little worlds.

Read all this back and perhaps I am being unreasonable and it is our business so I have to suck it up Buttercup! But next time you expect a business to go out of their way for you, maybe just think what maybe going on in their own lives and how you are effecting it. Anyway, there is Rich at 7.00pm now, waiting, in his cold garage, in agony, for a grua to arrive and here I am in the dark, with a long haired Chihuahua with a clinkered arse that stinks and needs washing, waiting for some light and water.

AND guess who’s working tomorrow morning????

(He better be home by the time Emmerdale starts)

Come to Spain - Live the Dream!

So I’m sitting here on my newly, half renovated naya (covereed terrace), in the sunshine. Its 4.45pm, the birds are singing, horses munching their hay, I’m surrounded by mountains and the oranges in the groves are all ready for picking. Sounds idyllic doesn’t it? And perhaps in normal circumstances it would be but the problem I have with all this is I have a streaming cold, headache, the dogs are going ape shit because I’m outside and they have been in all day and I’m f**king well locked out!

Well when I say locked out, that’s not quite the case. The door has swelled in all the rain and my key won’t turn. As well as a cold which could quite easily develop into man flu,you know, I now have bruised hips from barging the door, injured toes from kicking the door, sore throat from yelling at the dogs to shut up and a phone that has no credit or battery. So here I sit quietly (OK maybe not quietly) seething.

I’m not seething at anybody, just the bloody situation and I bet when Rich finally arrives he opens it first time which may just push me over the edge.

Why is it when you feel poorly all you want is your Mum? Not a normal thought from me but Mums are the only ones that fuss around you, making hot water bottles and convincing you that nobody has ever been as ill as you. Although having my Mum fussing around me now maybe quite nice, I think I’d rather have somebody here that could actually let me in, you know to tackle last nights washing up, put the washing away, mop & bleach the floor before making dinner etc.

OK husband has rushed to my aid, after I sent a text to Daddio which I didn’t think would go through and what do you know? He opened it first time and asked me why I didn’t kick the door. I pointed out my boot marks and in we went.

I have to be honest. Going in may have been a mistake! Not only was I greeted with the usual delights that I was expecting but I had a large puddle of diarrhea, a feather cushion that has lost its stuffing and  chicken which had gone off in the fridge!!!

What is it they say??? Be careful what you wish for!!!

Checking in for the wedding

Woke up at stupid o’clock and got ready to tackle the registry office, armed with a mountain load of paper work in a plastic folder, which was just as well due to the rain.We took a taxi mainly due to the torrential rain and also because we didn’t really know where we were. What we hadn’t anticipated was that we’d need £sterling so got ripped off by the taxi drivers exchange rate.

We pulled outside the registry office and entered the room, not too unlike a police sation. The people were behind screens nd there was a wooden bench in the corner. There was a couple in front of us, he sounded Australian and she sounded like she was Czech or something. Soon it was our turn. How hard could it be? We’d already emailed all our documents, a month or so before so we expected them to all be OK. We handed the documents over and were handed forms to fill out indepently. Alarm bells rang! Rich doesn’t do forms, doesn’t know his address, doesn’t know my date of birth and its become apparent doesn’t know his occupation!

 After filling  out the forms,we had to initial every question then they were taken away for marking!!! We both failed! Although I’d let Rich copy our address, he’d put it in a different order and me (spelling police extrordinaire) managed to spell deed poll wrong!!!! Feeling more than abit embarrassed infornt of a now crowded room, we hd to re-do our forms then with cheeks still buring we were called up again and questioned about my previouus name change. The confusion was 15 years ago I changed my name from my ex married name of Good (stop laughing) to Sims. I then lost the ded poll certificate and applied for another one and it came back with previous name Sims and current name Sims, which I agree is a bit strange but as I pointed ou,t I had obtained a british passport with the document the year before. A big, fat, ugly old bag informed me that Gibraltar is not the UK and different laws applied! She was backed up by a big, fat, controller (the one who pointed out my spelling error). My voice was getting quite high pitched and very posh by this stage, as the vision of going home unmarried crossed my mind. Rich was about to explode at them as we were sent to sit down only the bench ws full and I then found myself trying to justify how wrong these people were and I wasn’t really a criminal (although I felt like one). Everybody was very sympathetic and when we were called back and they said it would be ok, I think there may have been a cheer or maybe I imagined it. Suddenly the fat controller didn’t seem quite so bad although it would take a lot to forgive him for the spelling thing!

I was almost on a high now, we’d done it!!! Only not quite, we were then told we had to go down the road to a notary, in the pouring rain to get our papers stamped then back to return the papers. I was then feeling cross again, what a bloody faff!

 Off we went down the road, in the rain to the notary. Once in, we were told we had to pay more money. Of course they didn’t take cards and didn’t have change for euros!!!! Luckily another couple (elderly), who were also getting married had the same problem but with me lending them €2.50, we manged to pay in euros between us but then were told the registrar or what ever he was called, hadn’t arrived at work yet so to come back in an hour! For fucks sake, another bloody hour wasted in the bloody rain. We ended up going to a coffee shop with the elderly couple who insisted on buying us coffee (me an orange juice as I don't do coffee), as I lent them money. Was rather tempted to take a brandy, if only I liked it!!!!

Margaret and Pete, the elderly coupler were from Tenerife and it soon became apparent were part of the god squad. Now I don’t mind religion but its like having a cock, its great to have one but just don’t wave it in my face! They kept us entertained with stories about their parrot (what is it about me attracting old people with parrots?????) Apparently they had to re-home the parrot as it got nasty and kept calling Margaret(in Peters voice) when Peter was out which confused and scared Margaret as you may imagine!

We went back to the notary, signed the forms and took them back then, following Margaret & Peter who had incidentally bought a rain coat which looked like a condom, we went to find M & S to try and find Rich some more trousers as by this stage his only pair were rather wet.

M & S was a disappointment, it was very small, filled with clothes suitable for my grandfather (if he were alive) and mainly P.J’s strangely. It was also terribly expensive and we came out empty handed. 

We trapsed through the town, umbrella-less, getting soaked to the skin, hair stuck to our heads when we stopped looked at each other and headed straight for the nearest bar. Rich and I never drink during the day but Rich took a beer and I had a bacardi breezer, rebels that we are and sat in a wooden cubicle, leaving puddle on the seats.

Eventually we made it back to the apartment where Caroline and Mark had been locked out! Later found out this wasn't true, Mark had gone to the wrong apartment block.

Arriving in Gibrealter TRIP TO GIB - part one

Off we went, car loaded to the hilt, relaxation pills taken (not sure what they were but Caroline seemed to think they worked, so not one to turn down relaxation, in it went). Rich drove as he was voted best driver, I rode shotgun and was the in house DJ (CD controller) and Caroline & Mark went in the back and were in charge of distributing snacks & sweets and instigating toilet stops and giving directions (only went wrong once.

)

The rain didn’t hinder the mood and we were in good spirits when we did our first stop, somewhere near Granada. Service stations are so different to service stations in the UK, where you need a second mortgage to eat at the Little Chef or what ever they call it these days. The best bit about the Little Chefs was always the strawberry flavoured lolly you got if you ate all your dinner.This place was more like a very noisy, Spanish bar in  town. Speckled tiled floors, long wooden bar with stools, but not very many, the bar man desperately trying to ignore you. It was so crowded that a table was not available so we perched on 2 stools and we all ordered toastada's & tomato and felt rather Spanish really.  Caroline also ordered jamon serrano which was the worst she’d ever tasted, apparently it tasted like soap!

The following stops, in the now torrential rain were just toilet stops so by the time we got to Gib we were starving and fantasizing about finding a quaint English bar serving pub grub. Mark wanted Steak pie, I was willing to try scampi after not eating it for 5 years after a bad experience, Caroline & Rich wanted fish n chips.

Well my first image of Gib wasn’t exactly great. The rain was relentless and after several laps of the island trying to find a parking space (where had all these people come from????) we had to  settled for Morrissons cafe, as that was the only place with parking spaces. We headed straight to the café  where we ate a very basic late lunch, had a little look around the supermarket then went to try and locate our apartment.

Several more laps of the island later and we found the key holder for the apartment and located the apartment, unloaded, then the men spent the next hour finding a parking space whilst Caroline and I unpacked and got settled in for the night. We didn’t venture out due to the rain but the men were sent out for an Indian takeaway and came back soaked, Marks phone ruined!

Indian was Ok although couldn’t eat it all so saved some for breakfast!

Saint Emma Garside

Now I haven't written a blog for some time as I've been busy going away getting married, which I will write about soon but it will take quite a while as sooooo much entertainment happened.

Now yesterday I went to Lidl and no, I didn't get trolley rage. I only had a few bits to pick up so I picked up a basket, you know one of those with wheels that you can bang into peoples ankles when they are in the way and off I went.

By the time I got to the check outs there was only one checkout open and a queue of 12, to which I joined the end. The checkout girl seemed oblivious to the queue which was now snaking down the bleach and dog food isle and the queue wasn't getting any shorter as she was dealing with a woman who wasn't looking best pleased, her lips were poised like a chickens arse as she huffed and puffed and sighed at her wait. An old lady tried to ambush the queue by sneaking down an isle and trying to join mid queue but everybody glared at her until she retreated the the back.

After a few minutes, the check out girl noticed the queue was almost reaching the water section and ding donged for another girl to open another checkout. The diddery old man in front of me just stood there, even though he was right beside the new checkout desk, so the old lady who tried to push in told him to go to the new desk. She then promptly pushed, yes pushed past me and plonked her green orange crate on the conveyorbelt, oblivious to the evil looks, tuts and general hatred aimed toward the selfish old bag. I stood there open mouthed at the rudeness of her and a lady in the queue beside me who really should have been the first at the new check out, caught my eye. She was an elder lady, very slim and attractive and obviously, very cross. Before I knew it I'd opened my mouth and offered her to go before me. Now I'm not the most patient person when it comes to supermarkets so TBH I was as surprised at the offer as she was! She scooted over and put her milk, water cress (think thats what it was), cherrry tomatoes and various other ultra healthy looking shit on the convoyerbelt whilst thanking me profusely, telling me how kind I was, even though the old lady had been so rude to me. She went on to explain my actions were even more appreciated as she was late to visit her sick husband in hospital. My cheeks reddened. Suddenly she noticed my eyes, which are really quite blue. She stopped in her tracks and told me she'd never seen such beautiful eyes and I deserved them as I was also a beautiful person. Cheeks got redder. The young chap (well 30ish) behind me then asked me to turn around so he could see! Before I knew it I was spouting out all sorts of bullshit about my eyes to justify them, without admitting they weren't real. I've been doing this since I was 22 so to me, its not really bullshit, I've said it so often that I actually believe what I'm saying! She was lucky really that I didn't say something like 'Yes, if you look into the eyes of Saint Emma, you too will become a kind person' lol. Perhaps I should have said that to the old lady! Who by now had watched her entire shop go through and gather at the end before paying by credit card, forgetting her pin number, then starting to pack, methodically of course, you know, veg in one bag, meat in the other, bread and biscuits in the other! Nice attractive, older lady's shopping was starting to collide with the old ladies and it looked like a row was going to break out, so the checkout operator, who had blue streaked hair, intervened and shoved old ladies shopping into bags, rapidly to get her out of the way. The whole of the queues were still glaring at me (in fascination obviously), the freak who was kind to somebody and who had freaky blue eyes as my shopping which consisted of 4 bottles of wine, a bottle of vodka and some cat food sailed by.

As I drove home, I of course analyzed the whole experience. Some might have thought I was a doormat for accepting such bad behavior from a stranger and then letting somebody else go before me. Of course I really just wanted to get back home as soon as possible to my fur babies and to hang out my duvet cover whilst it was still sunny, not wait around, getting embarrassed by some strange lady who loved my eyes, but I concluded that no, I wasn't a doormat, I was just able to make a small difference to somebody else life, in a good way. Yes, I felt good. I also hope that by pushing in and receiving all those negative vibes that it was worth it to the old lady.

Amen