I Can't Get Into My Office

I have inexplicably forgotten the code to the my office’s entrance door.

The outer lock of the staff entrance to my building is one of those old fashioned ‘push the buttons together but in the right order’ deelies, but it may as well be the Rubix cube from hell these days. I'll be working from home from now on, someone inform my boss.

I USED to know it. Oh yes, I pride myself in being really rather good at remembering sequential actions. I was told the code once on the first day, and remembered it instantly. In hindsight, I probably should have written it down.

Because it’s not like I ask can ask anyone I work with what the code is, is it? I’ve worked there for more than a year. I’m technically a manager in that I am an actual manager. Managers are supposed to KNOW this stuff. I can’t just waltz in one morning, high five everyone, and say ‘hey pals, can anyone tell me what the code is to enter this building because I’m either that stupid OR I’ve had a mild stroke?’ They’d take away my biscuits again.

And also, I can’t ask my team because I can’t get into my frigging office!!!

Every morning for days – DAYS – I have sauntered up to the back door, happy and chirpy, wondering what that strange imposing sense of dread is until I reach out for the door handle, and it all comes flooding back. Yes, it’s true – I even forget that I’ve forgotten something.

The scene either plays out in one of two ways - and bare in mind that while my office entrance is not on a busy high street, it is visible to some passers-by.

The first sees me frantically punching in random combinations of code and hammering the handle with gritted teeth. There’s only so many times you can do this, before you have to pretend that you didn’t actually want to go into the building because of a very very important text message that needs addressing straight away. And lo, there you stand, pretending to text until someone else arrives for work and lets you in. Every time I act like nothing is wrong. It’s just a web of lies, day in, day out.

Scenario two is much more pathetic. In this situation, I stand for literally minutes outside the door, hand hovering in the air, staring wide-eyed at the combination pad, willing myself to remember or for the door to stop being such a bastard and just open by itself. Surely I’m due one free magical door opening by now. 

But wait. It gets more tragic.

The other day, I went out for lunch alone and returned a short while later, deeeply immersed in the music I was listening to on my phone.  I suddenly looked up, and found myself inside the building, the offending door swinging closed behind me; I had punched in the right code without even thinking about it and walked in without a second glance.  

‘Christ, I did it!’ I cried, and then cracked my knuckles and hurtled back outside of my own free will, and let the door slam shut. Nothing to fear, I smirked. The same luck would surely repeat itself and I would punch in the code again without thinking and this time, I would memorise it.

Did I bollocks.

Quitting Diet Coke & The Terrible Thirst

Me: You know what's great about giving up diet coke?

Ben: What?

Me: NOTHING!! Nothing is good about giving up diet coke, it's fucking pointless and stupid and pointless! Seriously, I have not noticed any difference!! No headaches, no increased energy, no improved hydration! I'm losing weight only because I'm dieting in the week AND THAT’S ANOTHER THING! I'm not eating carbs during the week, I'm not drinking during the week, I'm limiting sugar and I ALSO can't drink diet coke! It's double balls and bollocks!!!!

Ben: (pauses while he finishes his toast) Your skin looks better.

Me: I...! What?

Ben: Your skin is very bright. You’ve drinking more water, and you have less blemishes.

Me: ...Really?

Ben: Yes.

Me: Oh. Oh. Well. Wait, are you saying I had blemishes before?

(Ben puts his head in his hands)

Happy birthday to the blog, everyone look at me

(The world scampers to The DG’s office door, and raps upon it excitedly)

World: Come out! Come out! You must come out, it’s your birthday!

(Sound of empty bottles clattering to the floor)

Me: Hmm, what what? I’m awake, I’m awake, I was writing, I swear to God I was writing! (Sound of the Invictus advert playing on loop) Oh Christ, close down, close down! Where the hell is the mouse?!

World: But Demon Gin, you must come out, you’re one year old and there is fun to be had!

Me: (Rubbing bridge of nose) Ok could everyone just SHHHHHHH for FIVE seconds?! Okay…..okay…okay…(sound of bottle being opened)….okay, what’s going on?

Babies + Offices = Kirsty

I sit in my office. I hear a strange sound in the distance, like a murder of crows crossed with stampeding elephants. I look up from my desk. 

A woman I barely know is standing there, disheveled but looking oddly pleased about it. I’m not sure if she works here…maybe she's from legal or….Oh Christ. 

In her hand, I see it. A baby carrier. And it’s full.

Allergic To My Own Face

Some of you may be aware that I am directing a show this June. It is Noel Coward’s Hay Fever. Well, this post is nothing to do with that.

No, tiny darlings, I merely bring this up because (ahem, chuckle) it’s rather apt that all my attention is focused on Hay Fever because actual hay fever (ho ho!) is literally killing me it’s killing me I’m going to die from it in the next eight minutes this is not a joke or a witty little anecdote or pun SEND HELP.

A new strain of super pollen has taken over the clouds and rains bloody murder upon me every day.

 

BASTARDS

Do Androids Dream of Dead Parents?

If ever there were 12 words guaranteed to make a person’s stomach churn, they are “I SOOOOO need to tell you all about my dream last night!”

Add the words “It had my dead parents in it” and people will run like UKIP runs from rationality.

As a rule I don’t really discuss my dreams or personal torments with others; I fear I will bore them while not providing enough snacks.

Yet a couple of nights ago, I had one of the most affecting dreams I’ve ever had about my dear departed mother and father. It was beguiling, mesmerizing, and left me wandering the streets (by which I mean my house) muttering “woaaaaaaaahhh”.

I decided I wanted to talk to someone about it. (Pinches bridge of nose at memory of this decision)

When A No Make-Up Selfie Goes Wrong

I knew my kind would not be welcome in the no make-up parade.

You know what I’m talking about. Oh you know. Don’t pretend you don’t know, because you KNOW.

I speak of course of the #nomakeupselfie. Not one of you can have escaped the frenzy, whether you took part or were subjected to the many pictures on you Facebook and Twitter feeds. We were all so selfless in our embracement (it’s a word) of the campaign, and a good job too – more than £8million raised for Cancer Research is a spankingly lovely result.


But now the dust has settled, I shall share the REAL story behind my #nomakeupselfie. When I have finished I hope you will share your stories too.

Things I Have Written While Drunk

I was going through my notes on the iPad last night, and discovered a single page with six words typed on it.

They read: “Monkey description, work out their age!!!”

I could not for the life of me remember why I had written it. It looked as though it had been written a week ago, at about 1am. But that’s silly, because I was nowhere near a monkey last weekend, that I know of. I was in the pub and…

Why You Should Never Wear Anything On Stage

I’m one third of the way through the run of The Canterbury Players latest production – Hobson’s Choice, in case I haven’t screamed this enough.

I may have previously mentioned that I was going lose an extra 5lbs before opening night.

This was because my character is required to wear Victorian dress, and because my chest was not pleased about it.

I was all cocky in the costume shop, having tried on several outfits that either swamped me or refused to even think about fastening over my heaving bosom. Finally, I found a pretty lilac number that looked just the ticket. But it was a little…snug. The director expressed concern...

Director: “Are you sure it isn’t too tight? You have to act in it for a long time, you know.”

Me: “Pfft, it’ll be fine! It just about fits me and I can easily shed a few pounds before the show for comfort’s sake. It’s only tight now because I’m massively hung over and bloated from beer.”

Director: “Oooookay. You’re really sure?”

Me: “Come on, I just lost 20lbs! I can lose another 5lb easily.”

Well I DIDN’T, okay?! I didn’t, I spectacularly didn’t and now my costumes are trying to kill me. I didn’t gain any weight and I’m still the thinnest I’ve been in ages, but that is little consolation when you are gasping for breath and listening to buttons and ribs snap with every miniscule movement. We’re talking boned jackets, pinched waists and sleeves so tight that if someone held a gun to my head and said “do the YMCA now”, I would be fated to die.

Just look at what I (and Becky) have to wear! LOOK!

Don't look

Even Hobson himself is horrified.

None of you will notice my pain should you see me on stage; I’m a woman, I’ve been acting like clothes are comfortable on me since I was 9. But behind the scenes is a different matter. Dress changes are normally an ordered civilized affair, but everyone else’s calm has been violently disrupted by me hurtling into the (mixed) dressing room muttering “fuck it fuck it fuck it” as I fling corsets and rip skirts from my abused body.

But it’s not all bad on the physical front, costume torture aside; I get to pin my hair into pretty curls like a real live girl. I might keep this look for a night out, and when I am in need of sweets that I don’t wish to pay for.

 

You'll see from the picture that this is one of the few shows in which I get to act with the beau (can you see how happy he is about it?).

Not only do we share the stage, but we also play a couple. Which means beau will do his scary ‘romantic’ face (smiling with VERY wide eyes), and I will have to fight the urge to be sick on his shoes.

Gracious!

In truth this has, as ever, been a very enjoyable production to work on and the weeks of rehearsals, set building, and line-juggling have paid off, thanks to the very talented cast and crew. But let's not forget the most important person in the show. Me. ME. I may not be (do the finger quotes) ‘the lead’, or ‘the director’ or ‘sober’, but don't you forget for one minute that it's ALL about me, up there, having to share the stage with Miscriant AND the beau and other people I just plain don’t like*.

So there’s still time, gentle readers, there is still time to come and see it! There’s still time, big shot movie director with nothing better to do, to come to The Whitstable Playhouse and see Harold Brighouse’s much ad’mired comedy brought to life. There is still time to muse out loud “good GOD that woman’s curls looks amazing. I shall have her for me’ next film, and for me’ wife!”

A night at the theatre will soothe your soul.

By the way, it’s more than likely that a door will open at some point when it isn’t supposed to and the whole audience will see at least one actor scratching themselves. Just go with it, it’s am dram. 

*I do like them really**

**I DON’T

How Do You Do, Procrastination?

My procrastination knows no bounds this week.Normally I can rattle out a rant with relative ease but lately my creative blogging efforts have been limited to nudging my laptop with a stick. 

I never thought I’d long for the day when machines become self-aware. The other day I found myself thinking, “What if I came home from work and found a mysterious message on the laptop screen? Something like, ‘welcome home’, or ‘I’ve been waiting for you’, or ‘your spice cupboard is a disgrace’? At least then the computer could do my writing for me. (sigh) I shouldn’t have bought a white laptop. Black ones are more evil.”

A Week of Days and Tankus The Henge

It is Valentine’s Day later this week, but let’s not forget the other days. Days like Wednesday and Sunday.

There will be no escaping the Valentine's Day massacre betwixt those who believe in cupid and those who think the occasion has an apt abbreviation.The war will be raged in offices, with pink princess hurling stuffed teddies, floral bouquets and champagne truffles at a sea of black-garbed goths, who spew out fire and God-awful songs about female independence while pointedly refusing to shave.

But if you think Valentine’s Day is bad, let’s look at some of the other national days so frequently forgotten at this time of year.

Today (Monday) is…

Umbrella Day

I’m not sure what this means, or what you are supposed to do, but I like to think that it came about in the following way.

Dying powerful man: “I wish…for a special day to mark my passing…”

Son: “Oh father, I will see to it! I will ensure that you are honoured in - ”

Dying powerful man: “And it shall be called Umbrella Day.”

Son: “………you want your day to be named ‘Umbrella Day’, even though that isn’t your name. And you’ve never had anything to do with umbrellas in your career. And you’ve never even owned one.”

Dying powerful man: “Umbrella.”

Son: (To his mother) “How much morphine has he had?”

Mother: “Oh just do it, it’s his dying wish.”

Son: “Seriously? I have to go out and find some way to make February 10^th a day in which everyone in the world gives thanks to their brollies, and the only explanation for my father’s desire to see this happen is ‘umbrella’?”

Mother: “You older brother would do it.”

Son: “Stop going on about Craig! You ALWAYS take his side, just because he once shook hands with Burt Bacharach!”

Tuesday is…

White shirt day

This marks the end of a union strike by employees of General Motors in 1937. Sadly I can’t think of anyone who will realize they are acknowledging it when they dress tomorow morning. But a high proportion of office workers may be labelled communists…

Satisfied Staying Single Day

Of course you are. That’s why you had to dedicate an entire day to showing people how fine you are with it. 

Extraterrestrial Culture Day

This day is officially recognized in New Mexico, and is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard of.

Pro Sport Wives Day

Essentially, the wives of pro-sports stars are recognized for all the hard work they do at home to support and love their amazing husbands. Read the following:

“Many pro sports wives act as silent partners and household managers: they keep their darling athletes focused; determined to win and succeed in meeting their dreams; to create the beautiful feeling of being a winner in every heart in the country. Pro Sports Wives Day is held...to support the cause, all you need to do is make sure that you respect the hard work which these women must go through to aid their husbands as best as possible.” 

Let’s take a moment to picture the disgruntled sports wife who came up with this. And what monumentally stupid thing their husband did to warrant this kind of grovelling. 

And also remember that it only applies to the little ladies who stay at home because pro-sports stars ARE NOT GAY OR WOMEN.

Wednesday is….

Darwin Day

Birthday of Kent’s own Charles Darwin, the father of evolution and annoyer of religious types the world over. Mark the day by constantly asking a Christian to explain thumbs.

Thursday is….

Get a Different Name Day

The perfect day to commit identity fraud, or pretend to be Batman. It WILL hold up in court.

Madly In Love With Me Day

You’re starting to see how the approach of Valentine’s Day affects people’s brains? Created by a self-help guru, this day is geared entirely at ladies on the premise that ‘in order for a woman to show true love to others, she must first be empowered to love herself with apology’.

So….spend all day focusing on how much you love yourself…..then spend Valentine’s Day demanding further attention. Honestly, sharing a day of love is not enough? It's a little bit like playing a sport in a group, but someone who isn’t very good at is ‘allowed’ extra tries or points because because because or they won’t play.

 

Friday is….

Well we all know, but here are some handy alternatives:

Pet theft awareness 

Some people will do anything to cover the fact that they forgot to buy a Valentine’s gift

Ferris Wheel day 

Sit on a ferris wheel and watch the world go by SO ALONE

Donor Day 

In the US, February 14^th is also national donor day to encourage people to register for organ donation. Wherever you are in the world, please become an organ donor. If you haven’t already, stop fanning about with stuffed toys and those giant walking balloons, and give a gift that actually matters 

Saturday is…

World Whale Day

Because you are so fat from the Valentines indulgences. No, no, no, I jest! This is an annual one day festival in Hawaii to celebrate the humpback whale and to raise awareness of conservation threats.

Hippo Day

This one IS because you are so fat.

******

A WORD ABOUT THE HENGE 

 Last night (a Sunday of all things) I went to The Gulbenkian café bar to watch Tankus the Henge.
The lovely Miscriant will publish a fuller post on this gig in due course, no doubt, as she actually brought her camera with her, where as I forgot mine and had eight seconds of battery left on my phone to take one picture. But I wanted to share a few words nonetheless.

I first encountered this eclectic sextet of Londoners at in The Playhouse Tent of last year’s Lounge on the Farm festival. Having co-hosted the Boom and Bang circus’ evening show, zoot-suited front man Jaz Delorean wheeled his smoking-spewing upright to centre stage and he and his cohorts on lead guitar, bass, drums, trumpet and sax embarked on a finale set that blew my tiny mind.

I could have put my enjoyment that night in a Canterbury field down to the festival haze, or the eight pints I’d had that day, or the strange incantation the woman at the octopus curry stall had said over my food when I refused to compliment her glasses. But Sunday’s show reinforced my acclaim.

Their sound is hard to describe - a cross between Madness and a Balkan carnival troupe, with some jazz funk touches and all delivered in a gravelly cockney drawl. The arrangements are tight and the mood is deliciously decadent, plus any band that goes to such lengths to entertain their audiences wins my vote.

I strongly urge anyone with the ability to crawl to go and see this band on their travels. They are everything a great live act should be – larger than life, witty, theatrical, friendly and frighteningly talented. They are also a thoroughly nice bunch of chaps, and were extremely chatty with spectators after the show.

Find them on Facebook, Twitter, Spotify and iTunes.

But don’t listen to me, though, don’t you listen to me, shush, shoo, stop – observe:

2014 and 'The Plan'

I rejected new year’s resolutions this year almost as fervidly as I rejected dry January.

I’m all for self-improvement but the first few of hours of a new year should not be spent sitting primly in front of a crisp new notebook, jotting down whimsical yet thought-provoking ‘dreams’ for the weeks and months while sober. No, January 1 should be spent curled up on the bathroom floor, hugging a bag of bread. One eye should be glued shut by an errant false eyelash (even if you are male) and your booze, ash and vomit covered clothes should be in hurled mess in the bath. Ideally, a child (possibly yours) should come in around midday to drape a towel over you and say ‘there, there’.

This is why I have waited until February to write of the year ahead, lest my thoughts be lost in the tidal wave of positive thinking spewing out of my dearest friends’ sauvignon-starved brains.

Now, there was no good reason for my not doing dry-anuary; I succeeded admirably last year and did a bit of dry September once. A bit. But screw it, there was still drink in the house come January and I was damned if I was going to let it spoil. (Booze spoils if you leave it untouched for more than three days. It’s a fact, look it up, it’s definitely probably true, ignore the French).

Thus, with a few extra weeks of excess accomplished, I met February with a more agreeable stance on my general well-being. Plus I have a show coming up in just over a month’s time that requires Victorian costume i.e. skirts so tight that you look permanently faint and furious. And when hiring my outfit, I was so taken with a fetching lilac number that I insisted to the director that it fit perfectly when in truth I lost a kidney moments later. If I want to survive this show, those extra 5lbs have to go. (It won’t be a booze free month, you understand – I have Places to Quaff and Quarrel at and I’m also probably a drunk)

But it was when I reached this point of determination on one element of my life that my brain began to get ideas above its station and started trying to make me do other things.

Let me put this perspective. I am writing this the night before I attend a Cuban salsa class.

ME.

As I said, I don’t like new year’s resolutions because they are invariably hollow, doomed to fail and are made on your bathroom floor as you recant your sins. But now that January and all its pious judgement has finally died, I’m suddenly all up in the rest of my life’s face.

Hmmmm...(I’m musing)…learning a proper dance has been on my ‘to do’ list for a while…and it would be nice to learn some steps other than the Kate Bush freestyle/Michael Jackson disgrace/shuffling the cards/stabbing the hooker moves I’ve worn out so thoroughly…..of course the blog is my biggest priority this year, but there could be room for other stuff…pretty stuff…and it's not like I don't enough to do already. Aside from the day job, blog, am dram, music and trying to fit in eight bottles a gin a week...

My mind was set, and a plan had to be drawn up. So here it is, for you all to gaze upon. For what is the point of a life plan if you don’t publicize it so that others will envy and hate you and wish wish WISH they were you?

Oh. Sorry, I mean (sigh) I’m publishing my 2014 plan so I will be compelled to do most of it because if not I don’t know the social media Gods will find me in the night and cut off my hair and the lands will dry up and probably something like a plague upon my houses and various wombs.

Plan for 2014, in no particular order

1. Make more phone hats
2. Write something every day and be totally brilliant at it
3. Complete my writing schedule and monthly plan for the blog (instead of scribbling random words and obscenities on open Word documents and then accidentally sending them to my boss)
4. Launch weird vaudeville/cabaret music act, and therefore sing in public at least six times. Or in pubic, as I first wrote. Either suits
5. Pick a name for the music act. We have it narrowed down to two, and we need to move on because it’s just getting sad
6. Run three big-scale digital media projects at work
7. Buy more light bulbs for the living room so that I can see what I'm doing for once
8. Drop final 5lbs and reach target weight
9. Reach at least 500 followers on Twitter. Because I NEED this
10. Ring up the security alarm company and ask them if cats make a difference to the sensors, and pray that they don’t
11. Take a dance class. Attempt to be good at it.
12. Boost the blog’s pageviews and reach X by its first birthday (I have the figures written down somewhere but I’ve had some wine and I don’t want to go looking. But I do have a target! I think)
13. Cook a new recipe once a month (I cook all the time, so I am being realistic, and because of no. 8)
14. Go to Paris on Eurostar
15. Engage with more bloggers and contribute to at least two forums regularly
16. Read at least six novels (look, it’s not much for some of you but with the amount of shit I am doing already, even this is pushing it!).
17. Go to Edinburgh and photograph the shit out of it
18. Write more songs
19. Fuck, this is taking a while. Better put on some espresso
20. Buy espresso
21. Decorate the main bedroom. Somehow. Maybe a few pictures will do…the espresso will help me plan this
22. Write honestly about my ‘crashes’
23. Improve my French (when I say improve, I mean for the love of GOD make it better)
24. Shop at more thrift/charity shops and try fixing up three outfits myself
25. Direct a play (I’ve added this because I know I’m already doing it in the summer)
26. Continue last year’s furniture up-cycling prowess (I’ll share details in the future) for other people as well as for me
27. Once current blog features have bedded in, set up film review feature because it’s your true love
28. Ooo and that should include a regular bad movie night!
29. Continue to dream about writing part-time and using one of those nice shared-office spaces with similar type! And then imagine hanging myself in that office
30. Maybe do some vlogs!!! Maybe….

And that's that.

******

I just wanted to say that I’ve felt a bit bad for Facebook this week. All it did was try to brighten up your day with a film just about you, and suddenly everyone is baying for blood for such cursed sentimentality. Twitter positively went in to melt down due to the sheer volume of hate.

Oh Facebook was fine when you wanted to show off about your big night out, tell us all ‘I’m just so confused right now’, or post pictures of your awful children. But when FB reaches out to you, you fling the gesture back in its face like so much rotten meat.

And on its BIRTHDAY!

If your film was filled with banal updates and pictures of you looking fat, you only have yourself to blame. You should lived better, and been less fat. And have words with all of your friends for only liking posts involving someone’s death or a new home. They only did so because they want invites to parties or wakes.

But the truth is, I feel bad because I’ve been neglecting FB on a personal level, when it has been a good and loyal friend. Once a FB addict (but only for the most witty reasons), I have now moved my daily ramblings to my blog and have started courting Twitter as a result (bigger audience). Poor Facebook barely gets a look in from my personal account, and when I do update, it’s only so I can scream “read my blog!”. I’m a bad Facebook friend, but a worse friend to Facebook.

This should be another aim of mine this year: to better balance the love on social media. Assuming I have time. Or that any of you notice.