Sunday, June 24, 2007

I kicked out 3 kids from Sunday School this morning, so they caused a scene and swore at the pastor. I have no idea what to do with that group anymore. The kids aren't having much fun anymore because we spend the whole time doing crowd control, they're not learning anything about God for the same reason, no one wants to lead the group anymore and they interrupt the adult service as well. I don't know what to do.

I got bit by midges this week, and because of my incessant scratching the bites have spread all over me. I'm going to go buy some medicine and eat a sweet potato.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Dogs keep on chasing me in parks. I'm beginning to suspect that I'm covered in dog pheromones, sort of like that episode of Futurama where Hermes sprays fish pheromones on the Professor's face and Dr Zoidberg says, "I'm so into you!" and sucks his face. Sort of.

I got my eyebrows threaded on Saturday and it was amazing; it literally involves nothing other than a spool of special cotton and a clever beautician.

Got to work.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

I left the house at 8am today, and I've got so much done. I think I'll start doing it everyday, though it'll probably never happen.

I'm getting training from Team Chlymidia tonight (not training in HAVING chylmidia, as my young people thought, but training in TESTING for it) which I'm excited about. I'm at work now.

For the people who notice these things, I've updated my layout slightly: I've cut down my links to the blogs I actually DO read, rather than the strange mishmash that it was before. I've also taken down the links to the God Blogs, because I've decided I dislike them, and would rather new readers weren't directed straight to my most emotional writing.

My nephew is possibly the fattest baby ever, but he's pretty cool.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

"there's some darkies! you can't call them that though, or you'll get kicked off big brother. michael cannon's wife is dead sure that if i get down to the harbour i'll set sail and go right back down to the coast. i'm reading about obadiah. one of the first places in england that allowed a free slave to be buried with his owners! grandmother of the first usa president! slave traders from whitehaven. poor old thing. think it's gone down any? i don't think it's as... as... the pressure's gone. it's still damn sore. i'll put one on in the morning maybe, i'll get the air get at it tonight. it's definitely not as vicious coloured though is it? it should be alright, it was horrid stuff that came out of it. it was probably his tooth getting under it. i don't remember hitting that thing when i did this, right, but i do remember when i was trying to prise his mouth open it went right under my nail. has he been out? good boy! look at him, happy noodle. so i'll have a walk down town, and my dentist appointment is what, 10? i have to check that. then i'll walk up to gilly's. yeah. looking forward to pushing a pram? i've had a good walk with him in the pram once, we went with him to the hospital and we took him round town. me and your mam."
- My father half talking to me, half talking to himself.

I'm back at my family home for a night a day. I haven't slept here since Christmas, which is surprising, seeing as I only live 1 1/2 hours away. I spent the afternoon gossiping about other people's children with my mother, which I enjoyed. My dad came home from work at tea time, and I stood up to hug him; I'd missed him dreadfully. He refused to show any affection though, and busied himself more than necessary with his shoes. My mum, seeking a way out of the awkwardness, dragged me out to walk the dog.

Since then, Dad has been trying to show affection in his own odd way. He came into the living room and insisted that Timmy, our half dead poodle, had a present for me. He'd wedged a £20 note in between his drowsy paws, and insisted that I take it out and thank the dog for being so generous. When I tried to hug Dad again, he refused, and told me to give the dog a kiss.

I must have looked as disappointed as I felt, because he appeared 5 minutes later with a wad of £20s which he gave to me himself. I didn't try to hug him that time, and he seemed much more comfortable with that.

Since then, he's shown me incredibly boring pictures of a mill my great great great uncle worked at, and made me read two newspaper articles about the death of another distant relative (1811: He fell infront of a train.). He's boasted that some of our ancestors are the first recorded marriage on a register I don't entirely understand, and showed me a magazine article bearing his name to prove it. He made me pluck the long hairs in his eyebrows that keep catching in his glases; I plucked as many as I could, because I won't get another chance for a while. He showed me pictures from a book about a Methodist preacher who trained in Didsbury; he pointed out that a homeless man used to be in the military, because of the coat he wore, and the year he would have fought in. He told me about his new job; he was surprised that the "pakis" were the friendliest people there.

I couldn't stand my father when I lived with him; there's only so many times you can shave a man's back without at least feeling slightly distempered. But now, when I'm low, all I want is a hug from him, however racist, sexist and moody he normally is. I miss and love him a lot. I hope he knows.

Ah, I'm at work again! The perfect time to blog.

I've realised that far too many people read this blog now; I'm not complaining (much), because I get a fairly prideful kick out of it, but it does limit what I can write, somewhat. I'm tempted to backtrack through all my previous entries and remove anything that would suggest my Christian charactor is anything less than saint like (Including, but not limited to: pictures of me drunk in a gay bar, pictures of me drunk in a regular bar, stories about leaving the house without a skirt on, references to Rob Tidy etc etc.) but realised that would leave an archive of about 3 entries, and would paint a very untrue picture of myself.

I'd like to confirm that I actually do do (Haha, do do!) work when there are things to do, and I don't spend all my work hours blogging and compulsively checking madradstalkers, only some. And in lectures, I very rarely blog at all, because I fear the wrath of my lecturers too much (Hello, NTC faculty!), so I normally go on Facebook instead.

I go home on Sunday for a day to get my car's MOT done. It works fine, so I'm not worried about that, it's just generally gross and dirty. I really should clean it this weekend. I've owned it for 6 months now and I haven't cleaned it once; not (just) because I'm a dirty slob, I just don't really know how. I didn't own a bucket for a long time (I'm presuming the family I live with now own at least one) is my main excuse, and I'm fairly sure I'll look awkward and clumsy and somehow do it wrong, and involve bleach when bleach really isn't needed.

I also realised today, while reading a book about laws affecting young people, that if I get another 3 points on my license before April that I will lose my license, and my life will be over. You're only allowed 6 points in your first 2 years of driving (I'm sure they told me it was only on year when I took my test; liars!) instead of the usual 12. I already have 3 points from the incident in Rusholme (43mph isn'tTHAT fast at night, to be fair!) so I'm actually going to have to watch the speed limit like a hawk for the next year. I honestly don't know if I'll manage it; I always feel incredibly guilty when I drive at or below the limit, like I'm a very bad driver and don't understand the REAL laws of the road. Which is true in the actual real REAL laws of the road sense, but not in another. Oh dear.

I've been getting all my jabs this week, so currently I'm infected with two forms of hepatitis, cholera, typhoid, and Japanese enchepalitis. I'm broke (I have to pay about £200 for the privilege for being disease free) and I'm rather woozy.

I couldn't get all the jabs done at the same clinic, so I had to find a private one in Sale yesterday called One Stop Travel Clinic. Without access to the internet, I couldn't figure out exactly where it was, but there was a building with One Stop Travel Shop written on the side, so I figured it was the same thing. I turned up in the morning and waited in a waiting room for ages, and eventually a receptionist asked me who I was and stuff. She couldn't find my appointment, and we talked for about 10 minutes before we realised that I was in the Alcohol Misuse and Treatment Centre. There were no signs! I can understand if they didn't want to write their name in huge neon lights, but at least a small sign would have helped.

Work is really quiet.

Friday, June 01, 2007

I have very little access to the internet now, so this will have to be brief:

  • I made bread yesterday. This makes me amazing.
  • I am enjoying working in Macclesfield. My favourite tasks so far have been seeing how much porn/violence I can access on the work computers and "researching" Fairtrade clothing websites.
  • I'm living in Northern Moor now (the estate where I work) and I like it. It's nice being able to wave to my young people whenever I drive in or out.
  • I ate too many Double Devon Butter Toffees this morning and I feel quite ill.
  • I've applied to be in the audience on the Jeremy Kyle show.
  • Rob Tidy is leaving me to live on my own for two whole months, so I'm going to develop lots of weird habits and fill the house with cats and "trained rodents". He is evil.