Disciplinary Hearings

8 10 2013

????????????

This evening FFOMC and I were chatting to a friend about the disciplinary processes of major retailers.

I know what you’re thinking – that’s very serious…

But no, we found that we were in agreement about the fact that the approach to even minor infringements and the language used to describe the procedures was quite melodramatic. With that in mind we considered how the use of music could further enhance the experience.

It cannot be such a stretch on resources for a company already in possession of a tannoy system to have some theatrical type transmitting news of such calamities to the store? I thought that the addition of an electric keyboard could provide the odd Da…da…daaaaaaaa sound affect to create atmosphere and set the mood.

 

Imagine how much more entertaining a visit from loss prevention would be if heralded by the Jaws music…

…or a manager catching a staff member in the act of misconduct being rewarded by the familiar Eastenders theme.

The Benny Hill music would make a great choice when chasing thieves from the premises.

Being booked in for a disciplinary hearing should surely be accompanied by the sound track to the Bill.

There must be a million possible scenarios that would be improved by the appropriate musical accompaniment.

 

What options would you add?

 

 

Du…du…du…du…duhhhhhhh!

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The future father of my children…has Man Flu

26 09 2013

Man Flu

After a very successful open evening I returned home at the unreasonably late time of 9:30pm to discover FFOMC flat on his back on the sofa, nose streaming, eyes puffy and showing all the symptoms of man flu.

As any woman who has ever had to put up with this condition will know – the symptoms go way beyond a sniffle, temperature and slightly raised temperature. In fact according to the great little chart I discovered online, only 2% of the time spent by the sufferer are devoted to experiencing flu like symptoms.

A further 17% of the time spent suffering this condition is devoted to the incessant groaning and writhing of a man suffering. This is an important element as it guarantees that the woman in said man’s life will not have a moment when she can forget that her beloved is feeling poorly. Of course any acknowledgement by the woman of the groaning and writhing will lead naturally to the16% of a typical man flu when the man immerses himself in the process of describing the symptoms in detail, down to colour and consistency of mucus, scratchiness of the throat and suggestions of the favoured brand of ice cream that is believed may help alleviate the symptoms.

Now that the woman is fully in the picture of the gravity of the situation and the high risk of an early demise that accompanies the condition she is of course obliged to  address the 25%  of the man’s time demanding sympathy.

As FFOMC has sadly had man flu before and I have had an extremely long day at school resulting in a lower tolerance threshold than usual, I am going to bed enabling him to treat his ailment by taking up residence in front of the TV.

Good night all – I wish you good health and the absence of man flu in your own homes – but beware, I understand it is VERY CONTAGIOUS.

 





What Baby?

24 08 2013

pregnant-baby-belly

We can all be guilty of making poor decisions.

Sometimes the worst kinds are those designed to protect other people.

I found myself making just such a poor decision whilst holidaying in the Dominican Republic.

It was the second day. FFOMC and I were searching for a table in the buffet restaurant for breakfast. It was rammed with people but we tumbled upon a table that had recently been vacated by its previous occupants and was being made up by one of the countless waitresses swarming between the crowds of hungry tourists.

I loitered next to the table to communicate my intention to occupy the table as soon as it was ready whilst FFOMC went in search of coffee, toast and tropical fruit juice.

The waitress (whose name tag read Vanessa), smiled and acknowledged my presence. She politely inquired about my health on that particular morning, cupping her stomach with one hand whilst she skilfully arranged cutlery with the other. I nodded that I was in good health.

The next question came as something of a shock.

“And how is the baby?”

In a heartbeat my mind raced through a number of subsequent thoughts.  What f**king baby? Do I look fat in this outfit? Who do you think I am? Do I have a pregnant doppelganger? Are you mocking me? How embarrassed will you be when you realise I am not in actual fact pregnant?

Having made similar errors in the past of enquiring about pregnancy and due dates with non-pregnant woman, my heart clenched in sympathy for this woman so desperate to please and engage with guests. Despite the multitude of responses competing in my brain, my overwhelming gut reaction was to spare the poor woman’s feelings and save her from embarrassment – after all she does not know me and after a fortnight was never likely to see me again. Even so, the response that issued from my mouth surprised even me;

“The baby’s fine.”

I don’t know what I expected but of course this was not the end of this conversation.

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Err…it’s really much too early to say”

(Gushing) “Oh…you must be so excited – it will be a wonderful surprise”

“More than you can possibly imagine…”

I had a lovely morning breakfast. As a “Mum-to-be” I was treated like royalty by the gushing staff and received approving, knowing nods of approval from the waiters. FFOMC laughed when I explained the reason for these knowing glances and rolled his eyes in merriment. Yes for an hour or so, I enjoyed being “pregnant”.

However, my amusement was short lived.

After a sinfully blissful day of drifting aimlessly between my sun lounger where I caught up on the romantic exploits of Damien Stark and my time in the Jacuzzi FFOMC and I dressed for dinner and made our way to dinner followed by the bar. As I was about to place my order for my usual red wine I met the beaming face of the lovely Vanessa. Despite my earlier reassurance that I would not ever see this woman again after my annual fortnight in the sun; I baulked at the idea of being branded the world’s worst parent as I necked wine by the gallon load putting my “unborn child” at unnecessary risk.

This was the start of a very long fortnight.

We ate at the buffet restaurant and all three of the Al La Carte restaurants in no particular order. At each venue we were greeted with Vanessa’s smiling face.

I abstained from ordering alcohol in her presence. I approached other waiters when her back was turned and took large gulps under the table when she went into the kitchen to collect food orders. I guzzled water and soft drinks when she was in my sight lines and refused to partake of the liqueur trolley when it was wheeled to our table.

It became a standing joke with the holiday friends we made and this farcical routine continued until the day we left.

All in all it was a great holiday but for much of it, I was significantly more lucid than I had intended to be.

On my return to England I have thrown out the offending outfit that resulted in this gross misunderstanding and I am hell bent on catching up on lost units.

 





Time to de-fraggle my laptop

11 07 2013

FraggleFive

My laptop is driving me mad. It does not share my sense of urgency and as such it is being ridiculously slow.

This evening, in a bid to stop me throwing the offending item out of the window of my second floor flat – FFOMC patiently pointed out that I do no maintenance or “clean-ups” to improve my laptops performance.

I have absolutely no idea what this means.

However, I am reliably informed that my laptop needs to be de-fraggled.

This advice confused me a little. My knowledge of the Fraggles stems back to my childhood and as I recall, Fraggle Rock was a based in a fairly complex world featuring different species coexisting in a fictional land. It was clearly allegorical and raised issues about society, identity, prejudice and conflict resolution. The Fraggles share their home in Fraggle Rock with the tiny Doozers and the giant Gorgs.

My memories are a little fuzzy but I do vaguely remember some good natured mischievousness – although the “good natured” part may have depended on which species you were personally backing.

The overall concept of the show does not sound entirely unlike my laptop. Beneath its battered maroon case: applications, network drives and various programs, all coexist in an uneasy truce of sorts. But as is the case in all environments playing host to multiple species – conflict is inevitable and never far from the surface.

Ideally I want all these aspects of the virtual life of my laptop to operate effectively and for all systems to function and flourish in perfect harmony. But that is not always the case. Apparently as my laptop flickers to life, each time I start it up, all of these systems compete for supremacy. This is causing my laptop to be extremely slow and evidently hampering its performance. But the challenge is to work out what systems to remove?

FFOMC isn’t touching this problem with a bargepole.

Maybe it is time for a de-fraggle – I might miss Red and Boober – but at least the Doozers and Gorgs may stand a chance without them.





The future father of my children…is a modern day Sampson

26 06 2013

Sampson and Delilah

When my parents first met my husband to be, my mother was deeply upset to discover that her potential future son-in-law came with an accessory she did not care for – his ponytail.

As long as I have known him FFOMC has had long hair and I absolutely love it.

At one point he even had dreadlocks following one of our early holidays together to Morocco – on our return flight we were stopped at every single check point and he was all but strip searched.

We were both a little emotional when the dreads had to be cut out, and my mother harboured a – not so secret – wish that he commit, on a long term basis, to a short back and sides. But after the trauma of the shortest hair cut he had in many years, his hair continued to grow and by the time of our wedding he could have taken work as a Kurt Cobain lookalike. It is not the “done thing” in Northern Ireland for men to require a hairdresser to straighten their shoulder length hair on the morning of their wedding and my family were running a book on the likelihood of Mum sneaking into his room at night with a razor. He looked amazing on our wedding day so handsome.

During the speeches FFOMC’s hair and goatee beard were mentioned by most speakers and my good friend got a fantastic laugh from all of our guests when he outlined the reasons that I was too good a catch for a mere mortal and was a worthy partner for a god – but at least I had married someone who looked like the son of God.

I often wonder, if like Sampson, FFOMC’s strength lies in his manly locks. If he were to cut his mane I wonder if he would be less humorous, less attentive, less patient, or less loving. Clearly this is not a risk worth taking.

So long live the ponytail!





General Fluffy McMuffin

22 06 2013

General Fluffy McMuffin

People come up with the most ridiculous names for their pets.

The title of tonights post is the most recent in a long list of names that owners have come to regret with the passage of time.

The probem is giving young children the responsibility of naming family pets. Children can be incredibly creative and they read adorable books with comedy animals with daft names.

I remember a friend holding her head in shame as she described her embarrasment one evening when her Gobolina had gone missing and she stood by her garden gate for hours calling to the great amusement of her neighbours.

Even the children aged 4-6 who I was teaching today found great amusement in the name General Fluffy McMuffin.

One does wonder if the pets in question would approve of such names of if they would prefer something more mainstream like Steve or Karen.

 





The future father of my children…wants a “baby cage”

20 06 2013

baby-cage

There has been an ongoing dialogue in my household about who would be the principal carer for any future offspring.

FFOMC is desperate to become a house husband and mentions this quite frequently. It is a topic of conversation usually raised first thing in the morning, immediately after he has staggered out of bed and is confronted with the prospect of a day at the office. This does bring into question his motives.

I have been wondering how he plans to manage childcare, the responsibilities for maintaining our house and still find time to feed his gaming addiction.

That was until he let it slip last night that while he was otherwise occupied the baby would be in its baby cage.

MAJOR RED FLAG!

 

 

 

Sufficient to say that my concern about his suitability for parenthood may be justified!