28.10.08

My mother just suggested a fishing rod for the purposes of hood-retrieval which proves that my fabulousness is genetic!

All I need now is to find a generous fisherman…

25.10.08

What the hell is it with those people who stand in front of smokers, flapping their hands, coughing in a high-pitched and totally implausible manner?

WE ARE IN  GLASGOW. IT IS COLD, WET, AND BLOWING A FUCKING GALE. I’LL BE FINE ‘COS MY LUNGS ARE USED TO IT, BUT GO INSIDE OUT OF THE RAIN YOU DELICATE LITTLE FLOWER. 

How, exactly, am I disturbing you? Or is it the potential threat that I, one day, may drift past you with the smell of bonfires? I suppose that, if you follow the train of thought that leads from passive incurrance of a smoking related illness:

me smoking = you finding it neccessary to remonstrate by doing the Big Bird Dance + torrential rain = you with pneumonia.

Okay, I admit it: it’s all my fault. Including that horrific jacket that you mistook for a sartorial triumph.

new staff uniform?

http://www.chargrilled.co.uk/t-shirts/Sarcasm-Is-Just-One-More-Service-That-I-Offer-t-shirt.m

Let me know what you think…

24.10.08 @ 5.06am

Things I should have anticipated but didn’t:

1. Insomnia: hence the timing of this post
2. The Appearance of a Hitherto Unsuspected Hatred of Disorganisation: hard to believe, I know. Just ask my accountant. And I’m not suggesting that the builders are anything less than total professionals or denying that the delay is due to the extensive water damage caused by the pipe, but the fact remains that the job is already taking longer than I’d hoped which leaves me at an organisational disadvantage. How long will it take? When can we replace the floor? When can I reopen? Will I still have a business left to trade? I DON’T KNOW!
3. A New Friendship With the Local Butcher: I now have time to cook (all bloody night, sometimes) so I have taken to shopping for food - Andrew Reid’s on GWR are to be highly recommended. And the little Co-Op further down has some of the most helpful and friendly staff I have ever encountered in a mini-mart. Seriously. (Plus, their own-brand coleslaw rocks.)
4. The Cost of Maintaining My Caffeine Intake at Retail Prices: holymotherofgod – how much???? I need a new hobby.
5. Geographical Imprisonment: being completely ignorant to the timescale of the fixing and the level of involvement that might be required on my part (I can’t visit my parents/friends/travel to the other end of Glasgow in case I am needed, toot sweet, to appear with a spare set of keys) means that my horizons still stretch no further than Byres Road, the shop and the flat. I occasionally venture a few hundred yards further down Great Western Road for a restorative gin at Mancinis, but that’s it.
6. The Unknown = Agitation = An Inability To Concentrate On Anything Else For More Than 3 Minutes: this has me bouncing off the walls for hours, occasionally greeting Colin at the door when he gets in from work clutching a plate of whatever I’ve concocted, then forces me to follow him round the flat, chuntering, until I forget what it is I’m doing and wander outside for yet another cigarette.
7. The Built-In Wardrobe Doesn’t Go All the Way to the Wall: I chucked a couple of bags and the detachable hood from my winter jacket on top of the wardrobe in a spurious attempt to tidy up. Imagine my surprise when they shooffled down the back. The wardrobe doors alone are over 6 feet tall, and there’s little chance that I’ll be able to reach them, even if I can get up high enough to try.
8. A Heroic and Prolonged Demonstration of Tolerance by Colin: the man deserves a medal.
9. I’m Going To Need the Toolkit: I hope that dismantling the bloody wardrobe is easier than it looks, for I’ll be damned if I’ll lose a perfectly good head covering to Narnia*. Even though the faux fur edging does make me look like a womble. Which is why I took it off the jacket and chucked on the wardrobe in the first place… 

 

 

* yeah, yeah. I know it’s ‘on’ not ‘in’, but as far as I’m concerned the comparison stands; I’m under-caffeinated, sleep-deprived and hyperactive. Do ya feel lucky, punk? Well, do ya?

22.10.08 at 1.04am

AAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

Phew. Now I feel better.

18.10.08

The pipe is broken in at least four places. When one of the plumbers tried to sluice it out a fountain of greasy, scummy water soaked the stairs, the walls and anything else within a six foot radius.

This job may take longer than expected which, for obvious reasons, worries me more than a little. I decided, in time honoured tradition, to deal with this by drowning my sorrows:

The Good: it only took two pints as I’m a total lightweight, so was therefore very cheap.

The Bad: it only took two pints as I’m a total lightweight, so therefore looked very cheap.

The Ugly: it only took two pints as I’m a total lightweight, and the resultant hangover is disproportionately severe.

I need coffee.

woa, minute la

I have spent the last few days packing everything into boxes and cramming it into the mezzanine. Without Becky, Hattie, Martin, Marion, Kirsty, Pete and Colin I wouldn’t have been able to do it – they efficiently packed, shifted, lumped and stacked as I wandered in small circles, pointlessly wiping counter tops that will soon be nothing more than kindling.

I have packed the paperwork into the car, pulled the shutters down, locked the doors and come home.

I hand the keys to the builders tomorrow morning, and then I have to occupy myself for three weeks. As much as I have been looking forward to the break, there was one thing I hadn’t counted on…

This feels weird.

wtf?

Hattie has joined the ranks of people accused of being related to me (we now all have English accents, which is at least an excuse, although hers is from Brighton, mine’s from Suffolk and Bec’s is pure Yorkshire. Tim’s, on the other hand, was Canadian in origin and both Gav and Claire were Scottish. And still, they were accused. And we’ll quietly gloss over the time that the window cleaner asked me if Becs was my daughter…)

She rolls her eyes, ignores everything I say and picks on me mercilessly in a sharply honed and viciously acerbic fashion.

She fits right in.

She has also won the WTF? question competition of the month.

HATTIE: Good afternoon, madam. What can I get for you today?

WOMAN: Is this a computer shop?

 

It’s official. I give up.

gesundheit

One thing you never see in those How To guides on running your own business is a section titled Debilitating Illnesses and Why You Must Not Indulge. Lack of time, basically.

To outrageously misquote Gerald Durrell, the British Isles host a continual flu-ridden dance for their inhabitants (culminating annually in one gigantic sneeze), but for nearly three years I haven’t had time to be ill so I’ve factored in four days at the beginning of my enforced time off to catch a cold and lie on the sofa, whinging about catching a cold and lying on the sofa. I should be fine by Friday, but only time will tell.

Given the crap weather, it’s astounding that I haven’t developed something revolting as a result of regularly loitering under the sparse cover offered by various lintels: I can’t smoke in the shop and I can’t smoke in the flat - I may have to set my shoes on fire to keep my feet warm when I’m indulging in my absolutely neccessary sole remaining vice.

(I’m also convinced I’m exhibiting the initial symptoms of trench foot, so Man Flu should be a breeze…)

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

Feckin’ finally we have a solid date for the maintenence work! Yay!

Therefore Biblocafe will be closed from Monday the 13th October until Monday the 3rd of November.

After this brief hiatus we will return with a new coat of paint, accompanied by a swathe of shiny floor and without the damn smell that has driven me crazy for the best part of a year.

Service, of course, will continue to be slip-shod, taciturn, dismissive and, above all, grudging. Hell, it’s got us this far…

 

(PS If you should miss our scintillating wit and joyful good humour too much, you will more than likely find us propping up the bar in Uisge Beatha. Mine’s a double.)