Big Mug

Posted on March 31, 2008 by Hails

It has occurred to me that I am missing a vital piece of equipment for my journey through life. I’m utterly perplexed as to how I have survived thus far without it, to be honest, and having made the discovery I know that I’m now going to be suffering from a weird, unsettled, jittery feeling until I have the opportunity to correct the problem.

I do not have a thermal travel mug.

I’m not sure how this is even possible, but there it is all the same. I am a caffeine addict without a thermal mug. It’s like being an alcoholic without a hip flask, or an Emo Kid without a scowl.

It’s not that I’ve never been previously aware of this gaping void; it’s more a case of never quite having grasped the enormity of the issue. “To Go” cups from Starbucks are an almost permanent feature in my car/house/hand. However, there comes a time when you have neither the time nor the spare money to purchase such delights, and so, when I lost track of time this morning and realised that I had five minutes in which to get dressed, defrost the car, and drink an entire pot of coffee, the distressing lack of a thermal mug in my life became glaringly obvious. What to do, what to do? I murmured in agitation as I struggled hastily into a badly-in-need-of-an-iron top and filled a Diet Coke bottle with warm water, staring all the while at the untouched coffee in the pot. For a mad moment, I considered returning to the house after defrosting the car, and refilling the bottle with coffee, but I thought that carrying a 2 litre bottle of extra-strong Americano to work might be just a little on the extreme side.

In the end, I downed one large mug in approximately 40 seconds, sending my brain into meltdown and scalding my tongue in the process, and poured some more into a glass – for none of my mugs, sadly, fit into Rio the Clio’s cup-holders – to accompany me on my journey. Not that I got to drink much of it. It is only when you’ve got a glass of hot coffee in the car that you become painfully aware of how many speed bumps and sharp corners there are in your housing estate…

Filed under: Car, coffee, driving, sad, Starbucks, thermal mug | 7 Comments »

6 Pigs on a Steam Train

Posted on March 30, 2008 by Hails

Mum has purchased a Fireside Quiz.

It’s one of those numbers/letters ones (e.g. 49 N in TNL = 49 Numbers in The National Lottery), and after Sunday dinner today it provided us with entertainment of the “this family really isn’t normal, is it?” variety.

“240 Old People in a Picnic,” said The Sister, thoughtfully. “What about 21 D in a DR?”

“21 Dogs in a Dog Run,” I suggested. Mum looked quite irritated. “You’re not taking it seriously,” she complained, tapping her pen on her scrap paper and peering over her glasses at us as we sniggered in a very juvenile manner. “Course we are,” said Dad comfortingly, snatching the quiz sheet from The Sister. “Let me see that… 2 P on a B… hmm.”

“2 People on a Bike?” offered The Sister, trying to be helpful. Dad rolled his eyes. “Wait!” he exclaimed.  “To Pee… on a… Bridge!”

Disgusted, Mum tried to get the quiz sheet back. “If you’re not going to do it properly…” she said haughtily.

“2 Pigs on a Blanket!” I shouted excitedly. The Sister nodded enthusiastically, and The Parents looked suspiciously at us. “What?” I asked indignantly, “that’s a real thing!”. Dad stared accusingly at me. “Cocktail sausages wrapped in bacon,” said The Sister, defending me. “Like the ones we had with dinner.” Mum didn’t know whether or not to believe us. “Well,” she said dubiously, “why are there only two?”

“We ate them,” chorused Sister and I, happily.

“3 C of TL,” said Dad, studiously ignoring us. “3 Cans of… Tinned Lettuce,” replied The Sister.

 Silence descended upon the group as we came close to completing the quiz. “What else has dots, other than dice?” asked Mum, deep in thought.  “Hankerchief! Bikini!” I cried, getting slightly carried away, perhaps on a high from my “6 Sides on a Rubik’s Cube” stroke of genius.

“Err… that’s not quite what I meant,” said Mum, looking utterly bemused. “Are you just going to start naming every possible item of clothing that may or may not have spots in the design?”

Sister was in fits. Rather embarrassed, I tried to explain my thinking. “Well, but, you know – big spotty hankerchief… and the Timmy Mallett song…”

Dad returned from the bathroom to find The Sister and I performing an enthusiastic version of Yellow Polka Dot Bikini, with actions, in the middle of the living room.

“2 Total Lunatics in the House,” he grunted despairingly, turning to go outside for a smoke instead.

Filed under: conversations, family, fun, humour, laughter, mental health, parents, quiz, sheer silliness, Timmy Mallett, weekend, weird | 1 Comment »

Forbidden Love

Posted on March 29, 2008 by Hails

Kat the Cat has a stalker!

It’s more than a little bit disturbing. Tom Cat has been staking out our humble home for the past week, and shows no signs of losing interest, while Kat has been displaying every sign that she is, underneath her cute and furry exterior, a bit cheap. The Sister is unamused that Tom feels the need to sit in the back garden every night directly beneath her bedroom window, howling mournfully, presumably out of love, passion and lust. Kat, meanwhile, has clearly lost her mind and is spending many, many hours staring obsessively out of the window, occasionally crying pitifully.

It may be cruel of me to stand in the way of true love like this, but I cannot bring myself to encourage this relationship. Tom is, in a word, manky. In more than a word, he is manky, scruffy, smelly, scary and potentially disease-ridden.

“You can do so much better than him, Kat,” said The Sister firmly last night as we tried to reason with our lovestruck feline housemate. “You can,” I added sadly, “he’s not good enough for you.” Kat said nothing, but very deliberately turned her back on us and gazed out into the night.

It’s a little spooky to be taking the rubbish out to the bin and realise, upon your return across the back yard, that you are being intently watched by your cat’s stalker, who is perched on the gatepost, staring angrily and unflinchingly at you. I backed nervously into the house and shut the door, fumbling with the key in the lock. The Sister came in as I was pressing my face up against the window, trying to see if he was still there. “What’s going on?” she asked in surprise.

“He’s out there,” I said flatly, locked in a stare-to-stare battle with Tom Cat. “Watching. Waiting.”

“I don’t feel safe here any more,” said The Sister, sadly.

“Miaow,” said Kat the Cat.

Filed under: cat, conversations, crush, Fear, worry | 4 Comments »

Return to Sender

Posted on March 29, 2008 by Hails

“Hails, do me a favour and post this letter,” said The Sister the other morning as I was leaving for work.

“Hails, do me a favour and drop this key in to the estate agent on the way home,” said Zed the other evening as we were leaving work.

The Sister and Zed should really think about what they’re saying and who they’re saying it to. Why is it that the simplest of tasks inevitably sends me into a spin? I drove home from work, receiving a helpful text from Zed on the way, reminding me about the key. I found the building, parked, and went to the door with the envelope containing the key. No one answered, so I dropped it into the mail box on the wall and returned to Rio the Clio, where the sight of The Sister’s letter on the passenger seat reminded me I had to find a post box on the way home. Singing along to my CD, I drove on, congratulating myself on the surprising ease with which I found somewhere to post the letter just a few hundred yards along the road.

Still singing, I nipped out of the car, and was about to drop the envelope into the post box when I noticed that The Sister had rather annoyingly forgotten to affix a stamp. Not only that, but upon closer inspection it became clear that she hadn’t even had the presence of mind to address the envelope. Several pennies dropped slowly and alarmingly before I retreated to the car and drove hastily back to the estate agent’s to retrieve The Sister’s letter from their mail box and replace it with the envelope containing the key given to me by Zed.

Not that this was an easy task. You’d almost think that those things were designed to stop people reaching inside to remove the mail. It was highly unfortunate that a member of staff chose to exit the building at the precise moment when my hand became firmly lodged inside the mail box.

“Err, can I help you?” he asked in some surprise, as I pulled frantically at my trapped hand with my free hand.

“Umm… I hope so,” I replied, slightly embarrassed, my hand beginning to throb quite painfully. “My hand seems to be stuck in your mail box.”

He stared at me, perhaps wondering if he should call the police.

“Why?” he asked eventually, making, I noticed, no effort whatsoever to assist me in my plight.

“Because the slot is too small,” I told him wryly. He did not seem to be a fan of sarcastic humour, judging by the look on his face, so I quickly tried to minimise my craziness. Which was difficult, as I was trying to extract my hand from inside an estate agent’s mail box at the time. “I came to return your key for a showhouse,” I explained, flustered. I waved the envelope at him. “But I had a letter to post as well, and I accidentally put the wrong envelope in the mail box. And when I tried to swap them around, my hand got stuck. And then you came out and found me doing this.” I made one last frantic bid for freedom, and my hand emerged intact.

The man looked uncertainly at me, took the key envelope, and, without speaking, selected a key from the bunch in his hand. He opened the mail box and removed my letter, which I accepted with as much dignity and poise as I could fake. “Thank you,” I said humbly. “Have a nice night.” I could feel his eyes boring into my back as I walked in a most dignified manner back to the car.

I try so hard to lead a normal life.

Filed under: confusion, letters, Mishaps, tiredness, trapped hands | 3 Comments »

Looking Up

Posted on March 27, 2008 by Hails

A few months ago, I stumbled upon the blog of a young woman in Canada. She calls her site Finding Joy Every Day, and her delightful approach to life as a series of both simple and profound events containing joy, if only we choose to see them, has inspired this rather belated post in the middle of what I can only describe as a whirlwind few weeks of mixed emotions and occasional panic.

Sometimes it’s too easy to focus on the negatives, because they have a nasty habit of roaring up to you like a winter wave from the Atlantic Ocean and crashing over your head with sufficient force to knock you off your feet and leave you gasping for breath. Trying to be positive when you’re sitting on the wet shingle spitting out seaweed, fighting off jellyfish and coughing up salty water is no easy task, and yet if you take a deep breath and get back on to your feet, you’ll always be able to see the calm beauty of the horizon.

 Of course, I realise that this is all too serious for a blog that generally concerns itself with nothing deeper than a bit of a gripe about people with No Taste Whatsoever in coffee, or an occasional bout of road rage, or a psychologically challenged cat. The fact that I haven’t written a post all week should suggest that I’m a little preoccupied, but as Coffee Helps has generally been a light-hearted look at daily life, I’m not about to start turning it into a counselling forum. And so I’ve set myself the challenge of finding the positives, in an effort to save my blog and be true to its nature, before the coffee pot becomes permanently and tragically half empty.

The most positive thing I have encountered during the flurry of negative feelings is, without a shadow of doubt, the Cadbury’s Creme Egg. Pessimism is impossible when you’ve just hollowed out the egg and, in the midst of the ensuing sugar rush, placed the chocolate shell in its entirety into your mouth. There are no words. Mainly because it’s difficult to speak with an entire Creme Egg in your mouth.

Joy can be found in the simplest places. It is the discovery of adult-sized Petits Filous pots* on special offer. It is having your photograph taken when you’re standing approximately two feet behind a sign that reads Strictly no access beyond this point. It is the discovery of Half Decent Coffee in Wetherspoons for only 49p a cup (no Starbucks, but drinkable, and a fifth of the price!). It is laughing with a friend whose attempt to say “were you crying?” in French combines an understanding nod with the words “Ah, alors… il pleut sur le visage de Hails…”. It’s watching an episode of Ally McBeal, it’s driving into the sunset, it’s wondering “what if…?”, it’s listening to a song that brings back memories, it’s that delicious “you’ve got mail” moment when you log into your email account. It is hanging out with friends on an average night and finding yourself listening to something like this:

 Life is uphill at times, my friends. But there’s always love, laughter, music and chocolate.

 And coffee most definitely helps.

*I mean, obviously, that the portions are intended for adults, and not that I have recently puchased an 8-pack of monstrous, 5′ 10″ fromage frais pots. 

Filed under: Ally McBeal, blogging, chocolate, coffee, confusion, contemplation, conversations, Fear, friends, laughter, life, memories, worry | 10 Comments »

Simple Selling

Posted on March 23, 2008 by Hails

“Well, that’s a woman has put that ad in the paper,” says The Sister from behind the Ballymena Guardian.

“How so?” I ask distractedly, staring intently at the Scrabulous board as I try to figure out how to get my “Q” on to a triple letter and make it count twice.

Sister peers over the paper at me. “Peugeot 206. Taxed for 8 months. Good car. Red.”

Indeed.

Filed under: ads, Ballymena Guardian, Car, conversations, simplicity | 4 Comments »

Teddy Hospital

Posted on March 22, 2008 by Hails

The Sister and I have taken to having late-night sleepover-type conversations.

“Look at the state of this Eeyore,” she said the other night as we were lying on my bed discussing The Future. She held up my bedraggled cuddly toy in some disgust.

“It’s fine,” I said somewhat defensively. “He’s seven years old and I’ve cuddled him every night of those seven years.”

“Hails,” said Sister sternly, “He has no hair, and his eyes are yellow.”

“I’m not washing him!” I exclaimed panickily. “Red put him in the washing machine once. I cried. I sat there for the entire duration of the wash, watching him go round and round, all scared and wet.”

“You should give him to Mum,” advised The Sister, seriously. “No, really,” she continued with great enthusiasm, “she’s magic. I don’t know what she does to them, but they come out looking better than brand new.”

I raised a suspicious eyebrow.

Sister was insistent. “I left Teddy there once,” she explained passionately. “He went in looking terrible. He didn’t even have both arms, and his fur was all matted. I came back the next day, and there he was, sitting on the sofa, upright and proud to be alive. Honestly, I don’t know how she did it. I think she even made him a new bib, but it looked exactly like the old one.”

“I don’t want Eeyore going in the washing machine!” I reiterated with some force. “He’ll fall to bits. He’s already lost his tail.”

“No, no,” said The Sister, eagerly, “you really can trust her. I mean, I had Teddy’s arm in a bag.”

“Good grief,” I murmured despairingly. Sister ignored me. “I’m telling you, they come out looking re-stuffed, fully-limbed, and completely re-fluffed! She’s, I dunno, some kind of teddy miracle worker.”

We pause for a moment in admiration of Mum.

Filed under: advice, animal cruelty, conversations, decisions, Eeyore, family, Fear, parents, sad, teddy bear, worry | 9 Comments »

Conversation With A Tesco Trolley Attendant

Posted on March 21, 2008 by Hails

I returned my trolley to the trolley bay, turned to jog back to Rio the Clio, and almost collided with the trolley attendant.

“Thank you!” he said unexpectedly. I looked around for a moment and concluded, from the absence of other people in the immediate area, that he was talking to me.

“I didn’t do anything,” I pointed out.

“You smiled,” he said. “You realise you’re the first person to acknowledge my existence all day?”

“Erm…” I could sense another Bizarre Conversation in the not-too-distant future, and was torn between wanting to participate in it for the purpose of gathering fresh blog material, and the slightly stronger desire to get into my car, where there was a Starbucks’ cuppuccino resting appealingly in the cup holder. It didn’t matter, because apparently the conversation was going to happen regardless of my decision.

“I’ve been outside all morning, in the freezing cold and the rain, and you’re the first person to even notice I’m here,” he said mournfully. “Mostly I just dodge cars and try not to get run over by people running back to the trolley bay. Do you know know, people don’t even bother putting the trolley back if they see me nearby? They’ll just sort of shove it in my direction and walk off.”

I felt sad for the Tesco Trolley Attendant. He seemed like a nice guy, if a little strange.

“Well,” I said, encouragingly, “at least you don’t have to sit at a checkout all day, right? Better to be out here, getting a bit of fresh air, sunshine and exercise, not having to listen to whining customers and screaming children.” Embarrassingly, a blast of icy-cold air cut through my words, and it suddenly start to rain. “I think it would probably be an insult to your intelligence if I continued with what I was just saying,” I added, thoughtfully.

He looked sadly at me.

“Erm… I’d better get back to my car,” I said, somewhat guiltily. “Nice to talk to you.”

“And you,” he replied, putting up his hood and turning back to the trolley bay. “Thanks for smiling.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been thanked for smiling before. It’s hard to know what to do with that. I went back to my car, deep in thought, began negotiating my way out of the car park, and took a long swig of coffee. I was decidedly distracted.

I had to swerve at the last second to avoid hitting the Tesco Trolley Attendant.

Filed under: boredom, coffee, conversations, Tesco, trolley attendant, work | 3 Comments »

Help in troubled times

Posted on March 21, 2008 by Hails

“… a load of postmodernist nonsense,” concludes Bluebeard, his hands flailing expressively. “And I was like, ‘You know what? What if you’re an onion? What if you just keep peeling away the layers, layer after layer, and you get to the centre and then realise, uh-oh, there’s nothing left? Why are you even here? If you’re going to take that line of thinking, you’re going to have to acknowledge that, actually, you probably don’t exist, you have no purpose whatsoever, and we’re not even having this conversation.’”

Once again, I seem to have found myself in the middle of an extremely bizarre conversation. Fortunately, with Bluebeard, it’s not especially necessary to participate in the conversation, and so I’m just listening dazedly, clutching my coffee cup, and occasionally glancing sideways at Billy and Selma for reassurance.

It’s just been that sort of day, really. I got about four hours of sleep last night, and when I woke up I found that the only coherent thought in my head was “ugh”. That’s it: just “ugh”. It wasn’t a particularly encouraging thought, and, in the hope that sharing it with a trusted friend would perhaps develop it somewhat (even just enough to encourage me to get out of bed and go to work), I texted Zed. “Ugh” said the text. I buried my head between two pillows and returned to my thought. I can always, always rely on Zed to say the right thing in a moment of despair. She texted back almost immediately. “Coffee helps.” said the text. I knew what I had to do.

Being decidedly low in supplies, the only coffee in my house at present is my emergency stash, which came from Lidl’s. In a solid block. Wrapped in gold foil. Today’s frame of mind and lack of any evidence of actually being human meant that such “coffee” simply would not suffice. I got dressed, scraped a few coins together, and drove to the nearest Caffeine Supply Stop.

“Ugh,” I said to the guy behind the counter, who had bloodshot eyes and appeared to be inhaling an espresso. “Ugh,” he replied, gruffly. It was a real meeting of minds. “Listen,” I said calmly, feeling my thought developing. “An Americano is the strongest thing I can get, here. But you need to put much, much more caffeine in it. A few more shots of espresso… actual whole coffee beans… I don’t care.” I looked pleadingly at him and smiled a rather desperate-looking smile. He nodded understandingly. “I’ll take care of it,” he said.

Not another word was spoken between us as he prepared my medicinal mixture. I’ve no idea what he did to that coffee, but I suspect it wasn’t strictly legal. He watched me as I took a sip, and nodded in a satisfied manner as I made an indescribable sound of relief. I paid him (I think) and floated dreamily out of the building.

So potent was the concoction, I have not yet come down from the high. When some friends called round to visit me tonight, therefore, I was understandably zoned out. Bluebeard’s hyperactive chattering delighted rather than frightened me; an insignificant comment about an apostrophe became a most enjoyable discussion on the subject of Proper Punctuation. I’m not sure exactly how I’m going to sleep tonight: I’m yawning, yet my head is a buzzing maze of profound, radical thoughts.

However, there is no doubt in my mind as to where I am going to go when I get up in the morning.

Filed under: advice, coffee, confusion, conversations, friends, insomnia, tiredness, weird | 3 Comments »

Resuscitation Annie

Posted on March 20, 2008 by Hails

The Sister is training to be a First Aider at work.

 ”Forming a relationship with Resuscitation Annie is the key, really,” she tells me earnestly. Resuscitation Annie is a doll, whose chest conveniently clicks when the appropriate pressure is achieved during chest compressions.

“The thing is,” says Sister pensively, “as I mentioned to the instructor, how am I meant to know, when I’m giving first aid to an Actual Person, if I’ve reached the correct pressure? If their chest clicks, I wouldn’t imagine that’d be a good sign.”

“Well, no,” I contribute conversationally, “you would think that if their chest clicks, it’s more likely that you’ve broken a few ribs than restarted their heart.”

“Exactly!” she says, enthusiastically. “And that’s what I said to the instructor person. She told me that I’d figure out after about four or five goes what the right pressure would be. I’m a bit worried about the fact that I might have to actually kill four or five people before I figure out how to do this properly.”

“Maybe she meant four or five compressions,” I suggest, helpfully.

“Ahh,” says The Sister, “that does make a lot more sense. Anyway, the main problem is actually the pressure of a real life emergency situation. Everyone had their own Annie, and we had to pretend it was a genuine emergency. Of course, as soon as everyone else started yelling “Get me an ambulance! She’s not breathing! I need some help, here!”, the whole thing just became too much for me.”

 ”What did you do?” I ask, feeling quite sympathetic, as I know how difficult she finds it even to concentrate on bringing the garlic bread out of the oven when the pasta is starting to boil over.

“Err,” says The Sister, “I put my hands over my ears and screamed”OK, would everyone just SHUT UP, I need an ambulance!! This woman is not breathing, and also she has no hair or legs!”

“How did that turn out for you?” I ask interestedly.

“Well,” says The Sister, “I think it got me a better chance of actually getting an ambulance.”

The world is safe now that The Sister is a First Aider.

Filed under: careers, confusion, conversations, dolls, freak-out, health and safety, weird, work | 4 Comments »

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