Author: My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett)

Nablopomo Day 22: The Common Cold

My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humor, Humour, nablopomo , ,

In the last couple of days I’ve been struck down the most irritable of viruses, the common cold. Forget Darf Vader, Simon Cowell and reduced fat cheese, the common cold is the ultimate enemy of human kind, notably the British variety, who have to put up with the sickness all too frequently. As someone who tends to be cold-ridden for many weeks at a time (two-six weeks usually), I can honestly say I’ve tried to see the bright side. I’ve tried to see the humour in the husky voice and the excuse to binge on chocolate. However that Phoebe Buffay from Friends reference only carries so much water and what use is endless chocolate if you can’t taste anything?

In my feeble attempts to see a glimmer of positivity I have even turned to Google. Maybe there’s a new herb or questionable Hungarian drug I can buy. Search results – Vicks vapour rub and a healthy dose of ‘quit your whining and stay away from A&E’. Then I thought, ‘maybe there’s a fancy Latin name for the common cold I can use to make people think I’m really sick’. Search results – ‘the common cold, otherwise known as a cold, is an infectious disease of the upper respiratory tract…’. Only in the Western world would we rename something to have fewer words because two words was clearly one too many to remember. How come all the plants on Gardeners’ World get really long, fancy sounding, names? It’s just not fair.

I know what many of you are thinking, ‘here we go again, another case of Man Flu. It’s just a cold, she needs to get over it’. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking it, in fact I’d be saying the exact same thing in your shoes. Truth is, when I have a cold I become my own worst enemy. I don’t want to be near me, let alone anyone else. At the click of a finger I become the croaky, snotty, tired-eyed personification of an invisible force which doesn’t deserve the attention it gets. It’s like a (very) low budget, English, version of the Incredible Hulk ‘what do you mean, you’re out of cough sweets? Have you forgotten where we are? Did your stockist not look at the calendar?! That makes throat angry! ARGHHH!!’ (precedes to knock several boxes of paracetamol off the shelf and storm out of the shop, tutting).

Anyway, in short, I have a cold. Persons close to me for personal or professional reasons would be best placed to keep their distance until I am in a more fitting state to be social. Take this blog post as written approval.

An excuse to be antisocial? Hey, maybe there is a silver lining to this cold after all.

Nablopomo Day 21: Who The Heck Drinks Decaf?

My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Coffee, Humour, nablopomo , ,

On November 21 I came to the conclusion that a life without full-caffeine coffee is a life not worth living.

As I sat behind my desk at 9:15, staring aimlessly at emails it was hard to see any hope of salvation. So fixated I was with the screen you’d have thought I was reading the outcome of a serious political debate rather than the weekly printing reports. “If I stare at this for long enough I’ll establish the meaning of life or wake up, whichever comes first” I kept repeating (internally of course, my colleagues don’t need to be reminded of my insanity, especially not this early in the week). Then in the corner of my eye I caught glimpse of a holy purple beacon of hope. Without a second thought I reached across my desk and grabbed the thermos flask without haste (note that I did not throw myself across my desk in a Saving Private Ryan fashion. This is a significant improvement on previous weeks.) I found myself rushing to the kitchenette area, legs carrying me at as fast a walking pace as possible. Being a lazy/super organised/cheapskate (delete as appropriate) individual, the coffee granules and whitener were already sat at the bottom of the flask, the combination having been inputted into the contain several days beforehand. Probably for the best, given my zombie like state the thought of processing more than “just add hot water” would have only resulted in fire and/or the destruction of the entire office.

Flask in shaking hand, I trudged back to my desk. The next problem was the inner turmoil of deciding which was more important: the need to get caffeine into system or the desire to not burn mouth with boiling water. Grr, why must hot coffee be so hot?! The following five minutes were therefore spent typing simple emails whilst secretly cursing the thermos flask for keeping hot drinks hot. Finally I grew impatient and took the plunge. Inevitably perhaps, I burnt my mouth. Oh hello pain, my old friend. But then as emails starting pinging in left, right and centre I knew I couldn’t put this off any longer. “Sod it” I thought, and in true Pop Eye style motion, I tore off the lid of the flask and proceeded to drink the brownish mixture of questionable quality in massive gulps. Not thirty seconds later I was a changed woman, powering through emails, printing briefs, firing off quick responses to all questions. Less than an hour after entering the office I was back on top form. All the while only one thought passed through my head:

“Who the heck drinks decaf?”

Nablopomo Day 20: Have Yourself a Scary Little Christmas

My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Christmas, Humor, Humour, nablopomo , ,

Apparently it’s no longer enough to put up freaky and scary decorations once a year on Halloween, now it’s happening for Christmas too. Take this ornament for example. For 25 of your hard earned pounds you can buy this monstrous piece of decorative tat:

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It’s big, it’s clunky, but those eyes. Who decided that painting those eyes on in that way was ok? If that wasn’t enough though, it gets worse. You press a button on the side and it does this:

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Because gold glitter and bright lights makes everything better. Especially in a darkened space.

Seriously, who is commissioning these items? Who is buying them? Both sets of people need to sit down in a room and take a good, long, look at themselves.

 

 

Nablopomo Day 19: Quick, Someone Call Jeremy Corbyn! (A Solution to Traingate)

My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) #book, Humour, nablopomo, train, Travel , ,

First there was this from Jeremy Corbyn, leader of the political UK opposition party, Labour:

 

Then there was this reaction from Virgin Trains/the media:

 

Look, politics aside, all I’m going to say is that if Jeremy wants to visit Bath Spa on a weekend he is more than welcome to hop on board my Great Western Railway train.

 

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I’m more than happy to share my carriage with him if he’s ok with getting the coffee round. He also has to promise not to ignore the seats and sit on the floor (like last time). If he’s going to be like that he can take his hummus and sandals elsewhere.

Nablopomo Day 18: Inappropriate Music

My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humor, Humour, Music ,

My colleague and I had an inappropriate song-struck-in head off today. As our chairs are located literally back to back (#OverstaffedOfficeProblems) we share a great deal of information, sometimes perhaps too much. Put it this way, it’s been a bonding experience. Nowhere else can I say I’ve learnt the art of careful wheeled office chair reversal (trust me, it’s a very unvalued skill). One of our many chats today was on the topic of music which followed minutes later by my colleague announcing she had “Apple Pen” stuck in her head. For those of you who have yet to experience the delights of this song, here is the video:

Pretty annoyingly catchy right? Double points for that fact for simplicity and dance moves I can learn. Besides, any music video that prioritises dress over props is going to score highly with me. Reduce the price of fruit and pens I say.

Despite this, I was all to quick to respond “I can better that” and muttered the lyrics I had stuck in my head. Faced with her disbelief, told her to Google it.

This was the song I had stuck in my head whilst sat in a professional office environment:

Definitely NSFW!

Nablopomo Day 16: A Messed up Food Diary

My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) food, Humour ,

Typical Dietary Routine on a Weekday

(08:00 – Wake up)

(08:45 – Get into work)

09:15 – Water/breakfast tea/coffee

10:30 – 11:00 – Breakfast (porridge oats in water, aka gruel)

11:30 – Frusli (cereal bar)

11:45 – Herbal/breakfast tea

12:30 – (On a bad day) additional Frusli bar or pack of Cadbury Mini Animals (because I’m a big girl)

13:30 – Whole carrot

(14:00 – 15:00 – Lunch break)

15:05 – Eat lunch (cheese sandwich and apple squash)

16:15 – Yoghurt

(17:00 – Home time)

17:30 – Cheap coffee and crisps

18:30 – Chocolate snack bar

20:30 – Assorted dinner

22:00 – Chocolate/dessert and breakfast tea

23:00 – Half a Frusli bar (on a bad day)

(23:30 – Bed)

Typical Dietary Routine on Weekends When Visiting Family

(10:30 – Get up)

10:45 – Nice coffee

10:50 – Croissants

11:30 – Chocolate

12:30 – More nice coffee at home/out and about with cake

14:00 – Biggest roast in the world

14:45 – Breakfast tea

16:00 – Dessert/cake (forced consumption on account of the large lunch)

20:00 – Dinner

21:00 – Ice cream/dessert

22:00 – Breakfast tea

(00:00 – Bed)

How am I not morbidly obese? How? I tell you what, if I stop my exercise routine I’m stuffed, quite literally.

Nablopomo Day 15: A Short Extract From that Book I’m Writing

My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) #book, Novel ,

A (very much) first draft from that novel I’m trying to write in the little free time I have.

In this segment, our narrator, executive Chantelle, is having a conversation with her superior, manager Sye. Manager Sye has come to view Chantelle’s stock/team as part of a routine inspection, after reports from a colleague that our protagonist is a sympathiser of ‘masses’ (a lower, slave-type, class of person).

We enter this segment mid-way through their dialogue.

…

“You know, executive, there are not many of your kind. Female I mean.”

“No sir, there are not.”

“Do you know why that is?”

“Because, unlike most women of our class, I am not privileged enough to bleed for The Cause in the same way they do. A previous manager decided that I’d be more fitted to monitoring masses rather than producing leaders.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“Feel sir?”

“Emotionally. How did you feel when your manager said you were not fit for purpose? Must have been tough.”

I could feel my manager’s eyes on me. He was observing; looking, waiting, maybe even hoping I’d slip up. Nowadays even the slightest twitch can condemn someone to the South. I carried on looking out towards my team, focusing my attention on a particular mass toiling in the dirt.    

“I cannot really remember how I felt. A lot has come to pass since that decision was made, and I have grown in many ways since. I have come to respect the department which my former manager recommended me for. In truth sir he did me a great honour by casting me off.”

In the corner of my eye I saw my manager raising his eyebrows.

“Oh really?”

I kept my focus on the mass. “Yes sir. Here I can fulfil my duty to The Cause. I monitor and control a team of masses, they grow and harvest the food, I give the food to managers and they distribute it out, a portion going to the breeders. In the old days I believe that is what they used to call feminism.” I turned to face my senior, “I bleed more than the breeders do anyway” I smirked.

My manager looked over at the toiling masses, “I had heard about your labouring efforts. It’s impressive to see an executive prepared to assist where necessary, just as long as they maintain their distance.” It was a veiled warning.

“I bleed in other ways too sir.”

I rolled up the sleeve on my right arm, revealing my various cuts and scratches. The sight shocked him, I wondered if he was going to faint. In absence of comment I explained myself.

“This is my atonement for what I lack. With every score I bleed for The Cause. Some days it hurts more than others, it depends how deep I go. This one,” I pointed to a prominent scar on my wrist, “this was one of my first ones. As you can see, none of the others incurred since look as bad. I am a quick learner sir. If my combined efforts do not make me a supporter of The Cause then question my loyalty now.”

My manager nodded. Any doubt for my loyalty had left him as much as his voice had left his throat. I rolled my sleeve down. I do not like to boast of what I do, it is nothing of note compared to what the other females endure. I know, I’ve seen it.

After a short pause my manager regained his composure, “I’ve been thinking about all the hard work and effort you’ve invested into your duties and I think it’s time you were given more authority. It’s clear you’re good at what you do, your masses are well trained and your assistant is one of the most loyal I’ve ever seen.”

“Hard work sir. Hard work and duty.” I replied.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” he said, flapping his hand in the air. “Anyway, there may be an opening coming up in one of the Townships, management I’m told. Nice lodgings, increased rations, a respectable position within society. A role that certainly wouldn’t involve dealing with grubby masses like these on a daily basis,” he wrinkled up his nose. “I think you, executive, would be perfect for this position and that’s why I’m going to nominate you for the role with my full support.”

Now it was my turn to be shocked. “Me sir? Why not nominate yourself? You’re already a manager at ground level, wouldn’t you be the better candidate?”

My manager laughed, “oh no, I couldn’t possibly fulfil the role to the standard it demands. I know what those Townships are like. Besides, my best interests lie here.”

When manager Sye says ‘best interests’ he means his best fuckable ones. It’s the same for all ground level managers. They gorge themselves on the poor quality meat freely available, leaving the executives to deal with the mess they leave behind.

“You are most kind” I said.

“Don’t get too excited executive. I need to tell those above you’re ready and to do that I need to know you can handle any challenge. That’s why I’m putting some Fallens into your team to monitor for a couple of weeks.”

“I thought Fallens were sent South to the toxic zones?”

“Not these ones. One is the daughter of a senior executive, another acted out a minor crime. Muttered thanks to Bamanga in a public place or something. Just see they’re treated like one of the masses and return them back with nothing but a revitalised love for The Cause. Do that and I’ll see you moved to the Township.”

I bowed, “thank you for this opportunity manager” I said, as is custom.

“The Cause thanks you too,” he said distractedly. “Now, if you don’t mind I have to see to executive Wayne. He’s apparently been having trouble managing his stock and, as his manager, it’s up to me to investigate the situation further. Until later.” He nodded at me and then started walking towards a group of Wayne’s masses.

“Glory to The Cause sir!” I cried out after him.

“Glory to The Cause executive Chantelle!” My manager cheerfully cried back, “glory to The Cause.”

Nablopomo Day 14: A Girl Named Tuna

My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humor, Humour, nablopomo , , , ,

Question. If you were to see someone stare right at you and exclaim “tuna!” what would be your first reaction? Whether that person was mentally sound or not, you’d probably avoid them, right? That would be the normal reaction to have. Unfortunately, normal and Alice Bennett never have quite gone hand in hand, which is why, at the sound of someone shouting “TUNNNNAAA!” I will instinctively look to the noise’s source and give a cheery wave.

To backtrack a little, during my secondary school days I was obsessed with the consumption of tuna fish. Pretty much every lunch consumed in the school canteen was tuna based. Jacket potatoes, wraps, baguettes, you name it, (as long as it had tuna in it) I ate it. To my small group of friends I was known as ‘tuna’, to the dinner ladies serving the jacket potatoes I was known as “the usual?” (and let me tell you, in a school of 1300 students it was quite an achievement to have your order remembered). For about three years I accepted my nickname as a rite of passage. With three other Alices in my year I also enjoyed being distinguishable from the heard.

Then I grew up.

When I left for university I decided I didn’t want to be linked to a smelly tinned fish that not everyone likes. In addition, on a student budget tuna turned from being a staple into a luxury food product, one that was seldom consumed in the face of cheap chips and discount chocolate. On every level, the name ‘tuna’ had to go. After eighteen years of avoiding the cliché I found myself shouting over bass line music “it’s Alice, you know, as in Alice in Wonderland?” To the most part it worked, I was able to breeze through university with no in-joke nicknames. However what I have discovered is that old habits die hard which is why, five years after secondary school, my Meerkat reactions are being activated still by someone yelling tuna from the other side of the street. My old school friends persist on doing it because they know it’s the only way to get my attention and, as much as it pains me to say it, it still works.

Why couldn’t I have just stuck with pizza and burgers?

(Written in response to the WordPress Daily Prompt, Fish)

The 12:37 Train from Swindon to Bath Spa

My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Commute, nablopomo, train, Travel ,

As I sit here on the Sunday afternoon 12:37 train hurtling towards Bath Spa it seems funny to think that what seems normal and run-of-the-mill now was a massive event back when I was nine years old. The first few train journeys I ever made were half an hour excursions to the dizzying heights of Worcester, accompanied by mum and my sister. The speed, sights and blurred colours all seemed so amazing, it was as if I was on a theme park ride. I never wanted it to end.

Flash forward some fifteen years and reality seems to have become quite different. Intrusively lit LED screens and computerised announcements are the only sights and sounds that stick in my head now and, as I sit here staring at a mobile screen, it is safe to say the stunning English countryside woos me less than my pre teen incarnation. Spoilt by a glut of train commutes, all I care about now when boarding is getting into a carriage with plenty of free double seats.

I am now arriving into another station. Is it mine? No, although they all look the same nowadays. Mostly simple constructions, their importance and status marked by the presence (or lack of) a Pumpkin Cafe, WHSmith or an M&S Food outlet at the bigger stations. These platforms appear to have none. The Victorian canopy is the only thing that suggests the station once held a degree of status in a bygone era. Not that I’m paying too much attention. Just another minor hold up on my route to Bath.

As we pull away I can see below me a flat canopy of brick and tile, interspersed with warehouses stocking mass produced, cheap, furniture and DIY goods. Glancing at it I ponder that this imagery before me could belong to any town across the United Kingdom, there are no unique features in the flat red skyline.

The light suddenly drops and the internal train lights brighten up. The little town is gone and replaced by a long tunnel. If I were not writing a blog post I could well be cursing this engineering masterpiece for interrupting my telephone signal, or my ability to like a photo on Facebook.

Seconds or maybe minutes (for who has time to dwell on the passing of time?) we exit the dark space. My mind is indifferent but my body welcomes the return to normal pressure. Over recent years my ears have taken a disliking to the changing characteristics of air in varying locations. Hills and small communities surround me and I know I must be on the final leg on my passage to Bath. These small communities must have been so isolated and undisturbed before the train line came. Is my carrier a blessing or a curse to these hillside villages?

And here I am, arriving into Bath now, where the occupied, Georgian, buildings are so beautiful and the derelict, graffiti covered, constructions are so ugly. Better pick up my belongings and quickly brush out my fringe, for the train is starting to slow down.

I now stand on the platform, gracefully dumped, and watch as the large diesel engine bellows smoke into the pure blue sky before powering on towards Bristol. He has fulfilled his promise today, for I have arrived at my destination on time. As far as our commuter-train relationship is concerned I can ask no more of him than that. Beauty and delicacy was never in our original agreement. So off I now head towards the ticket barrier, accompanied with the conviction of a girl that has done this a hundred times before.

My friend will be here soon and with the arrival of an old alliance my mind will fill with altogether different thoughts. Jobs, boys, ambitions, after two years apart there is much to discuss. The shops will sparkle with Christmas goods every so often to distract us, but conversation will undoubtedly pull us back to the heated debate over the rising price of merlot. The train will turn from hero to villain, pulling us both apart when our laughter hits its highest decibel.

Will I tell my friend about this commute? Of course not. Because, after all, what’s so special about the 12:37 train from Swindon to Bath Spa?

 

Written as part of the National Blog Posting Month (Nablopomo) challenge to write a post for everyday throughout the month of November. This post was written for day 13.