FAO KATE/MATTI!!

Matti please tell Kate - Kate this message is for you:

Your book was in the cupboard, saved as requested!

Jonny rang, I missed the call; by the time I rang back you had left the shop.

Whenever you’re next in you can have the book for the sale price.

(sorry…)

SALE SALE SALE SALE SALE SALE SALE SALE SALE SALE…

 

SUNDAY 31ST MAY

FROM 10AM:

ALL SOFTBACKS £1

ALL HARDBACKS £2

CASH OR CREDIT CARD TRANSACTIONS ONLY

(credit notes will be charged at full price)

doh

I thought I’d jog back from my training session as the weather was beautiful and there was no one in the park to see me sweat. A couple of minutes into my schlumping I noticed, through the din from my ipod, clinking footsteps behind me, a half beat out from the slap of my trainers. I ripped off my headphones and frantically looked around, thinking ‘I haven’t got any money on me’ and ‘what if they steal my ipod?’ and ‘I’ll just run away’.

Then realism kicked in; there’s no chance of me running anywhere at speed, let alone ‘away’. I’d just have to throw up on an attacker and hope that they were so disgusted that they’d leave me in peace.

Then it dawned on me – the noise was my keys, bouncing off my arse as I ran. 

I skulked home.

I’m sure I heard the birds laughing.

Friday

Jonny came to the shop after close to offer to buy me a drink. Actually, several drinks as he owes me many.

I chose not to argue. A free drink is, after all, a wonderful gift even if offered through fear of unemployment.

He bought me a pint.

I bought him one back.

He then informed me that he’s out on the piss tonight, celebrating the End of Exams, and that although he’s supposed to be working ’til 4pm tomorrow I’m not to worry - if he’s too mashed to do the whole shift he’ll ring me.

Early.

When I was hoping for a lie-in.

I feel that young Jonathon has missed the point of Me Boss, You Minion (although, come to think of it, so has every other member of staff) but I’m not particularly bothered as – sadly – I have nothing else to do.

No, what really pisses me off is that I’m half cut after 2 pints and he still owes me lots of beer as I, basically, nullified his pint; at this rate it will be 2020 before the debt is cleared.

And I’ll still be a light-weight…

thursday

Today the P60’s arrived from my accountant. I read the attached letter, made a mental note of the instructions, and put the stack of crisp, clean A4 sheets in a safe place.

A short while later…I can’t find them.

Panic.

I tore the bar to pieces looking for the damn things and after three hours (having grubbed through the bins, emptied all the folders and files, shook out all the newspapers, magazines and random places that a stack of crisp, clean A4 sheets could be concealed) was convinced that they must have got caught up in someone’s belongings and wandered off with a stranger.

Three hours.

Bin mank.

Blind panic.

And then I found them.

Under the fridge.

dum de doom doom doom…

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QPTMyaySoc0

the six p’s

I am reliably informed that the standard military alliterative adage is:

Prior Preparation and Planning Prevents Poor Performance.

I prefer our family’s version:

Perfect Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance.

To which end I have come up with a 5 year plan, as recommended by all financial institutions when considering expansion:

year 1.  win lottery (and not a piddling amount, either – a big rollover).

year 2.  win euromillions (never a piddling amount, so no worries there).

year 3. make Biblo solvent (am unclear as to why, after winning two lottos, it would even be neccessary, but hey – I needed a year 3).

year 4.  marry old rich guy a la Anna Nicole Smith. Without the stripping. Or drugs. Or that Stern bloke. (And he has to be rich – otherwise it’s creepy, not mercenary. Obviously).

year 5.  have Mysterious Benefactor. (Actually, that would be better than year 4, so perhaps I should swap them around and go for the old rich guy if the MB’s generosity only extends to chocolates).

Or maybe I should stick to Biblo’s own alliterative adage:

Bugger the Banks, Books and Booze Boost Bliss.

 

UPDATE: am taking my own advice and heading to Mancini’s with Hat and V.

 

UPDATE ON THE UPDATE: oh christ – I’m on a dobule tomorrow…

mistaken identity

Today a quiet Welsh voice called the shop and asked for Louisa.

I responded, as I’m sure you would have given the circumstances, ‘Hello, Grandma. How are you?’

I then spent the next 10 minutes reassuring a distraught 23 year old representative from student loans that my Grandmother is very youthful…

Monday

Things that have concerned me today:

1. The power cut. Dining by candle-light is all romantic and shit, but when you nearly burn off your recently beautified eyebrows it loses its appeal. We had power when I left the flat this morning, but whether it will still be on when I get home is uncertain; it’s been off and on like a teenage strop so I’ll take a leaf out of my mother’s book and ignore it until it behaves.

Great Western Road was a haze of patchouli-scented smoke for three days whereas we had to make do with the manky offerings I found under the sink. Which are now burnt down to stubs. Plus, what are the chances that the power company will still charge me day rate when the next bill comes in…?

2.  The weather. Rain. Wind. Hailstones so big that it set off the car alarms at 4 in the morning and then glorious sunshine and a light, restorative breeze. Consistency, please! (But Colin has a day off tomorrow, so dress warm – it will probably snow).

3. Banks. Given the current economic climate I feel that the continued existence of any small business is cause for celebration. We’ve all followed a dream, survived at least the first few years of trading and proven that our business models (if left unmolested) actually work. Yet at the moment I don’t know of anyone who sleeps through the night, content in the knowledge that perseverance will eventually prove justified, because if those financial genii who dragged our economy to the brink of disaster had their way we’d all be bankrupt within the week. Because the best way to shore up an institution riven with incompetence is to levy further exorbitant charges on those poor bastards misfortunate enough to have missed out on a £700000 pound pension deal. Obviously.

I often wonder if it wouldn’t just be easier to bow to the pressure, close the doors, change my name to Twinkle and fuck off to the beach.

4. My fringe. I attacked it with scissors this morning as it kept getting in my eyes so now I look as though my hair has been chewed by hamsters. Not a good look. But as Colin only sees me when I’ve just woken up – and therefore appear to be wearing Tina Turner’s fright wig – I doubt he’ll notice the difference.

April 09.

It’s been pointed out that I haven’t posted in over a month. Even taking into consideration a) my feelings on pointless blogging and b) my inherent laziness, I must admit it’s been a poor show.

So I have decided that the most efficient way to update is via bullet points: it’s concise, organised, and I won’t lose my thread if I pop out for a smoke halfway through…

1. My father’s birthday. I remember to send a card (5 stars!) and keep trying to ring and sing but every time I dial the number I get a customer and then everyone turns up for the lock-in. Take to humming ‘happy birthday to yooou’ so that I don’t forget to try again…Eventually remember at 9pm and interrupt him and mum in a restuarant (- 6 stars; thankless child etc.etc.) Hoping I’m forgiven by Christmas as I’ve got my eye on a table saw and Colin said no.

2. Lock-in successful. Everyone tries to introduce a different cataloguing system – 45 minutes spent debating hyphenated names and double barrelled monikers but I spend this time up a ladder trying to chalk-pen new menu boards as it is unanimously decided that I don’t have a clue. For every title priced and shelved there is a corresponding stack to be taken home. Result! (Although Dan Brown is still breeding in Crime…)

3. Jonny away. Surprisingly quiet. No new Kinder-egg toys have appeared and the quote board is devoid of Winnie the Pooh bon mots.

4. Have a late start so I go and get my eyebrows done. Meandering back towards the shop I call Hat to see if we need anything from the co-op. Conversation goes something like this:

H: That was quick – why are you finished so soon?

Me: It only takes a few minutes. How long do you normally take?

H: Half an hour at least.

Me: What?? To thread your eyebrows? Who are you – Groucho Marx?

H: What the hell are you talking about? Where are you?

Me: Beautician’s on Great Western Road – why?

H: You’re supposed to be at the dentist – didn’t you wonder why you weren’t due in til 3?

Me (wailing): Noooo! I totally forgot! I just thought you were feeling generous…!

The dentist was extremely understanding. Thank god. There’s nothing worse than paying £30 and still having coffee-stains on your teeth.

5. Continue my dispute with the power company about the new tariff – no matter how many times he sighs and calls me madam, I still cannot understand how a 124% increase on my unit price is justified. It’s not as if it was cheap to begin with so I make a mental note to call him every day at 9am on the dot so that he can endure my suffering until the matter is resolved…

6. Sign up for two free display fridges from one of my suppliers. Absolutely fab, darling, until the damn things arrive and it turns out that the rep (who measured the space) patently thinks that thisissixinches and forgets to include the socket in his calculations. So they don’t fit. What should have been as simple as plugging the units in becomes a byzantine dance between electrician, fridge and the immutable presence of the walls.

7. Make notes for topics upon which to blog. Lose notes. Find notes then saturate them to the point of illegibility when I knock a milk jug flying for the third time in an hour. Decide that, as no one appears to have noticed, wait until someone mentions the lack of attention before mentally wrestling with a blank wordpress page again.

8. V mentions that it’s been over a month since I blogged…